“I must take with me the dress she left behind,” said the Knight, “so that, should she decide to go, she may ride back fully robed.”

The Bishop went again to the chest, raised the heavy lid, and lifted out the white garments rolled together.  At sight of them both men fell silent, as in presence of the dead; and the Knight felt his heart grow cold with apprehension, as he received them from the Bishop’s hand.

They passed together through the doorway leading to the river terrace, and so down the lawn, under the arch, and into the courtyard.

There Brother Philip waited, mounted, while another lay-brother held the Knight’s horse.

As they came in sight of the horses:  “Philip will see you a few miles on your way,” said the Bishop.

“I thank you, Father,” replied the Knight, “but it is not needful.  The good Brother has had many long days in the saddle.”

“It is most needful,” said the Bishop.  “Let Philip ride beside you until you have passed through the Monk’s Wood, and are well on to the open ground beyond.  There, if you will, you may bid him turn back.”

“Is this to ensure the safety of the Worcester cut-throats, my lord?”

The Bishop smiled.

“Possibly,” he said.  “Saracens may be hewn in pieces, with impunity.  But we cannot allow our Worcester lads rashly to ride to such a fate.  Also, my dear Hugh, you carry things of so great value that we must not risk a scuffle.  These are troublous times, and dangers lurk around the city.  Three miles from here you may dismiss Brother Philip, and ride forward alone.”

Arrived at the horses, the Knight put away safely, that which he carried, into his saddle-bag.  Then he dropped on one knee, baring his head for the Bishop’s blessing.

Symon of Worcester gave it.  Then, bending, added in low tones:  “And may God and the blessed Saints aid thee to a right judgment in all things.”

“Amen,” said Hugh d’Argent, and kissed the Bishop’s ring.

Then he mounted; and, without one backward look, rode out through the Palace gates, closely followed by Brother Philip.

CHAPTER LII

THE ANGEL-CHILD

Symon of Worcester turned, walked slowly across the courtyard, made his way to the parapet above the river, and stood long, with bent head, watching the rapid flow of the Severn.

His eyes rested upon the very place where the Knight had cleft the water in his impulsive dive after the white stone, made, by the Bishop’s own words, to stand to him for his chances of winning the Prioress.

Yet should that sudden leap be described as “impulsive”?  The Bishop, ever a stickler for accuracy in descriptive words, considered this.

Nay, not so much “impulsive” as “prompt.”  Even as the warrior who, having tested his trusty sword, knowing its readiness in the scabbard and the strength of his own right arm, draws, on the instant, when surprised by the enemy.  Prompt, not impulsive.  A swift action, based upon an assured certainty of power, and a steadfast determination, of long standing, to win at all costs.