“A woman with the true instinct of motherhood cannot see a little child without yearning to clasp it to her bosom.  When she finds her mate, she thinks more of being the mother of his children than the object of his devotion, because the Self in her is subservient to the maternal instinct for self-sacrifice.  These women are pure as snow, and they hold their men to the highest and the best.  Such women are needed in the world.  Our Lady knoweth, I speak not lightly, unadvisedly nor wantonly; but were Seraphine such an one as this, I should say; ’Leave the door on the latch.  Without permission, yet without reproach—­let her go.’”

“Were Seraphine such an one as that, my lord,” said the Prioress, firmly, “then would there be no question of her going.  If the cornerstone of character be loyalty, the very essential of loyalty is the keeping of vows.”

“Quite so,” murmured the Bishop; “undoubtedly, my daughter.  Unless, by some strange fatality, those vows were made under a total misapprehension.  You tell me Sister Seraphine expected a man to intervene?”

The Bishop sat up, of a sudden keenly alert.  His eyes, no longer humorous and tender, became searching and bright—­young still, but with the fire of youth, rather than its merriment.  As he leaned forward in his chair, his hands gripped his knees.  Looking at his ring the Prioress saw the stone the colour of red wine.

“What if, after all, I can help you in this,” he said.  “What if I can throw light upon the whole situation, and find a cause for the little foolish bird’s restless condition, proving to you that she may have heard something more than the mere neighing of a palfrey!  Listen!

“A Knight arrived in this city, rather more than a month ago; a very noble Knight, splendid to look upon; one of our bravest Crusaders.  He arrived here in sore anguish of heart.  His betrothed had been taken from him during his absence from England, waging war against the Turks in Palestine—­taken from him by a most dastardly and heartless plot.  He made many inquiries concerning this Nunnery and Order, rode north again on urgent business, but returned, with a large retinue, five days since.”

The Prioress did not stir.  She maintained her quiet posture as an attentive listener.  But her face grew as white as her wimple, and she folded her hands to steady their trembling.

But the Bishop, now eagerly launched, had no interest in pallor, or possible palsy.  His vigorous words cut the calm atmosphere.  The gem on his finger sparkled like red wine in a goblet.

“I knew him of old,” he said; “knew him as a high-spirited lad, yet loving, and much beloved.  He came to me, in his grief, distraught with anguish of heart, and told me this tale of treachery and wrong.  Never did I hear of such a network of evil device, such a tragedy of loving hearts sundered.  And when at last he returned to this land, he found that the girl whom he had thought false, thinking him so, had entered a Nunnery.  Also he seemed convinced that she was to be found among our White Ladies of Worcester.  Now tell me, dear Prioress, think you she could be Seraphine?”