“Our Lord, Who knoweth the heart of a man,” she said, “hath made my man so strong that he will not fail.”

But she let him go; and rising, the Knight stood before her.

“The letter brought to me by Brother Philip,” he began, “told me something of that which I am about to tell thee.  But I could not speak of it to thee until I knew it in fullest detail, and had consulted with the Bishop concerning its possible effect upon thy future.  Hence my instant departure to Worcester.  That which I now shall tell thee, I had, in each particular, from the Bishop in most secret conversations.  He and I, alone, know of this matter.”

Then with his arms folded upon his breast, his eye fixed upon the sunny garden, beyond the window, deep sorrow, compunction, and, at times, awe in his voice, Hugh d’Argent recited the entire history of the pretended vision; beginning with the hiding of herself of old Antony in the inner cell, her anxiety concerning the Reverend Mother, confided to the Bishop; his chance remark, resulting in the old woman’s cunningly devised plan to cheat the Prioress into accepting happiness.

And, as he told it, the horror of the sacrilege fell as a dark shadow between them, eclipsing even the radiance of their love.  Upon which being no longer blinded, Mora clearly perceived the other issue which she was called upon to face:  If our Lady’s sanction miraculously given to the step she had taken in leaving the Nunnery had after all not been given, what justification had she for remaining in the world?

Presently Hugh reached the scene of the full confession and death of the old lay-sister.  He told it with reverent simplicity.  None of the Bishop’s flashes of humour had found any place in the Knight’s recital.

But now his voice, of a sudden, fell silent.  The tale was told.

Mora had sat throughout leaning forward, her right elbow on her knee, her chin resting in the palm of her right hand; her left toying with the jewelled cross upon her lap.

Now she looked up.

“Hugh, you have made no mention of the Bishop’s opinion as regards the effect of this upon myself.  Did he advise that I be told the entire truth?”

The Knight hesitated.

“Nay,” he admitted at length, seeing that she must have an answer.  “The Bishop had, as you indeed know, from the first considered our previous betrothal and your sister’s perfidy, sufficient justification for your release from all vows made through that deception.  Armed with the Pope’s mandate, the Bishop saw no need for a divine manifestation, nor did he, from the first, believe in the vision of this old lay-sister.  Yet, knowing you set great store by it, he feared for your peace of mind, should you learn the truth.”

“Did he command you not to tell me, Hugh?”

“For love of you, Mora, out of tender regard for your happiness, the Bishop counselled me not to tell you.”