“Wherefore, no sooner were all the facts in my possession, those you told me, those I already knew, and those I did for myself deduce from both, than I sent for young Roger de Berchelai, whose wits and devotion I could safely trust, gave him all he would need for board and lodging, boats and steeds, that he might accomplish the journey in the shortest possible time, and despatched him to Rome with a written account of the whole matter, under my private seal, to His Holiness the Pope.”

The Knight stood during this recital, his eyes fixed in searching question upon the Bishop’s face.

Then:  “My lord,” he said, “such kindness on your part, passes all understanding.  That you should have borne with me while I told my tale, was much.  That you should tacitly have allowed me the chance to have speech with my betrothed, was more.  But that, all this time, while I was giving you half-confidence, and she no confidence at all, you should have been working, spending, planning for us, risking much if the Holy Father had taken your largeness of heart and breadth of mind amiss!  All this, you did, for Mora and for me!  That you were, as you tell me, a frequent guest in my childhood’s home, holding my parents in warm esteem, might account for the exceeding kindness of the welcome you did give me.  But this generosity—­this wondrous goodness—­I stand amazed, confounded!  That you should do so great a thing to make it possible that I should wed the Prioress—­ It passes understanding!”

When Hugh d’Argent ceased speaking, Symon of Worcester did not immediately make reply.  He sat looking into the fire, fingering, with his left hand, the gold cross at his breast, and drumming, with the fingers of his right, upon the carved lion’s head which formed the arm of his chair.

It seemed as if the Bishop had, of a sudden, grown restive under the Knight’s gratitude; or as if some train of thought had awakened within him, to which he did not choose to give expression, and which must be beaten back before he allowed himself to speak.

At length, folding his hands, he made answer to the Knight, still looking into the fire, a certain air of detachment wrapping him round, as with an invisible yet impenetrable shield.

“You overwhelm me, my dear Hugh, with your gratitude.  It had not seemed to me that my action in this matter would demand either thanks or explanation.  There are occasions when to do less than our best, would be to sin against all that which we hold most sacred.  To my mind, the most useful definition of sin, in the sacred writings, is that of the apostle Saint James, most practical of all the inspired writers, when he said:  ’To him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.’  I knew quite clearly the ‘good’ to be done in this case.  Therefore no gratitude is due to me for failing to fall into the sin of omission.

“Also, my son, many who seem to deserve the gratitude of others, would be found not to deserve it, if the entire inward truth of motive could be fully revealed.