“Father,” said Hugh, brokenly, “knew you how much she had to bear?  My father’s fierce feuds with all, shut her up at last to utter loneliness.  His anger against Holy Church and his contempt of Her priests, cost my mother the comfort of your visits.  His life-long quarrel with Earl Eustace de Norelle caused that our families, though dwelling within a three hours’ ride, were allowed no intercourse.  Never did I enter Castle Norelle until I rode up from the South, with a message for Mora from the King.  And, to this day, Mora has never been within the courtyard of my home!  When we were betrothed, I dared not tell my parents—­though Earl Eustace and his Countess both were dead—­lest my father’s wrath might reach Mora, when I had gone.  News of his death, chancing to me in a far-off land, brought me home.  And truly, it was home indeed, at last!  Peace and content, where always there had been turbulence and strain.  Father, I tell you this because I know my gentle mother feared you did not understand, and that you may have thought her love for you had failed.”

Symon of Worcester smiled.

“Dear lad,” he said, “I understood.”

“Ah why,” cried Hugh, with sudden passion, “why should a woman’s whole life be spoiled, and other lives be darkened and made sad, just by the angry, churlish, sullen whims of——­”

“Hush, boy!” said the Bishop, quickly.  “You speak of your father, and you name the Dead.  Something dies in the Living, each time they speak evil of the Dead.  I knew your father; and, though he loved me not, yet, to be honest, I must say this of him:  Sir Hugo was a good man and true; upright, and a man of honour.  He carried his shield untarnished.  If he was feared by his friends, he was also feared by his foes.  Brave he was and fearless.  One thing he lacked; and often, alas, they who lack just one thing, lack all.

“Hugo d’Argent knew not love for his fellow-men.  To be a man, was to earn his frown; all things human called forth his disdain.  To view the same landscape, breathe the same air, in fact walk the same earth as he, was to stand in his way, and raise his ire.  Yet in his harsh, vexed manner he loved his wife, and loved his little son.  Nor had he any self-conceit.  He realised in himself his own worst foe.  Lest we fall into this snare, it is well daily to pray:  ’O Lover of Mankind, grant unto me truly to love my fellow-men; to honour them, until they prove worthless; to trust them, until they prove faithless; and ever to expect better of them, than I expect of myself; to think better of them, than I think of myself.’  Let us go through life, my son, searching for good in others, not for evil; we may miss the good, if we search not for it; the evil, alas, will find us, quite soon enough, unsought.”

Suddenly Hugh lifted his head.

“Father,” he said, “the starling!  Mind you the starling with the broken wing, which you and I found in the woods and carried home; and you did set his wing, and tamed him, and taught him to say ‘Hugh’?  Each time I brought him food, you said:  ‘Hugh!  Hugh!’ And soon the starling, seeing me coming, also said:  ‘Hugh!  Hugh!’ Do you remember, Father?”