“My poor Hugh,” she whispered; “it is useless to wait.  I shall not come.”

“Yet five days,” said the Knight, “I shall tarry in Worcester.  Each day, after Vespers, I shall be here.”

“Go to-day, dear Hugh.  Ride to Warwick and tell thy priest, that which indeed he should know without the telling:  that a nun does not break her vows.  This is our final farewell, Hugh.  Thou hadst best believe it, and go.”

“Our last farewell?” he said.

“Our last.”

“Here and now?”

“Here and now, dear Hugh.”

Looking into that calm face, so lovely in its sadness, he saw that she meant it.

Of a sudden he knew he had lost her; he knew life’s way stretched lonely before him, evermore.

“Yes,” he said, “yes.  It is indeed farewell—­here and now—­forever.”

The dull despair in the voice which, but a few moments before, had vibrated with love and hope, wrung her heart.

She still held her hands before her, as if to ward him off.

“Ah, Hugh,” she cried, sharply, “be merciful, and go!  Spare me, and go quickly.”

The Knight heard in her voice a tone it had not hitherto held.  But he loved her loyally; therefore he kept his own anguish under strong control.

Placing the lantern on the ground, he knelt on one knee before her.

“Farewell, my Love,” he said.  “Our Lady comfort thee; and may Heaven forgive me, for that I have disturbed thy peace.”

With which he lifted the hem of her robe, and pressed his lips upon it.

Thus he knelt, for a space, his dark head bent.

Slowly, slowly, the Prioress let drop her hands until, lightly as the fall of autumn leaves,—­sad autumn leaves—­they rested upon his head, in blessing and farewell.

But feeling his hair beneath her hands, she could not keep from softly smoothing it, nor from passing her fingers gently in and out of its crisp thickness.

Then her heart stood still, for of a sudden, in the silence, she heard a shuddering sob.

With a cry, she bent and gathered him to her, holding his head first against her knees, then stooping lower to clasp it to her breast; then as his strong arms were flung around her, she loosed his head, and, as he rose to his feet, slipped her arms about his neck, and surrendered to his embrace.

His lips sought hers, and at once she yielded them.  His strong hands held her, and she, feeling the force of their constraint, did but clasp him closer.

Long they stood thus.  In that embrace a life-time of pain passed from them, a life-time of bliss was born, and came with a rush to maturity, bringing with it a sense of utter completeness.  A world of sweetest trust and certainty filled them; a joy so perfect, that the lonely vista of future years seemed, in that moment, to matter not at all.

All about them was darkness, silence as of the tomb; the heavy smell of earth; the dank chill of the grave.