The Knight made no protest at the mention of our Lady; but his left hand moved to the medallion hanging by a gold chain from his neck, covered it and clasped it firmly.

The Bishop paused; but finding that the Knight had relapsed into silence, continued: 

“So you wish the entire history of the inspired devotion of the old lay-sister, Mary Antony—­may God rest her soul.”  Both men crossed themselves devoutly, as the Bishop named the Dead.  “Shall I give it you now, my son, or will you wait until the morrow, when a good night’s rest shall fit you better to enjoy the recital?”

“My lord,” said Hugh, “ere this sun sets, I hope to be many miles on my homeward way.”

“In that case,” said the Bishop, “I must tell you this moving story, without further delay.”

So, beginning with her custom of counting the White Ladies by means of the dried peas, the Bishop gave the Knight the whole history of Mary Antony’s share in the happenings in the Nunnery on the day of his intrusion, and those which followed; laying especial stress on her devotion to Mora, and her constant prayers to our Lady to sharpen her old wits.

The Bishop had undoubtedly intended to introduce into the recital somewhat more of mysticism and sublimity than the actual facts warranted.  But once launched thereon, his sense of humour could not be denied its full enjoyment in this first telling of the entire tale.  Full justice he did to the pathos, but he also shook with mirth over the ludicrous.  As he quoted Mary Antony, the old lay-sister’s odd manner and movements could be seen; her mumbling lips, and cunning wink.  And here was Mother Sub-Prioress, ferret-faced and peering; and here Sister Mary Rebecca, long-nosed, flat-footed, eager to scent out and denounce wrong doing.  And at last the Bishop told of his talk with Mora in the arbour of golden roses; and lo, there was Mora, devout, adoring, wholly believing.  “Thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent and hast revealed them unto babes”; and here, the Bishop himself, half amused, half incredulous:  “An ancient babe!  Truly, a most wise and prudent babe.”  Then the scene outside the Prioress’s cell when the Bishop unlocked the door; the full confession and the touching death of old Mary Antony.

To it all the Knight listened silently, shading his face with his right hand.

“Therefore, my son,” concluded Symon of Worcester, “when on a sudden I remembered our conversation on the lawn, and that I had told you of my belief that the old lay-sister knew of your visit to the Convent and had seen you in Mora’s cell, I hastened to send you a warning, lest you should, unwittingly, mention this fact to Mora, and raise a doubt in her mind concerning the genuineness of the vision, thus destroying her peace, and threatening her happiness and your own.  Hath she already told you of the vision?”

Still shielding his face the Knight spoke, very low: