"Brother Philip leaned against the archway, watching. He knew his hand upon the bridle was no longer needed, from the moment when he saw the Reverend Mother gather up the reins in her left hand, lay her right gently on the neck of Icon, and, bending, speak low in his ear.
"She sat a horse—said Philip—as only they can sit, who have ridden from childhood.
"She walked him round the meadow once, then gently shook the reins, and he broke into a trot.
"The watching nuns, now on their feet again, shrieked aloud, with fright and glee.
"At the extreme end of the meadow, wheeling sharply, she let him out into a canter.
"The nuns at this were petrified into dumbness. One and all held their breath; while Mother Sub-Prioress—nobody quite knew why—turned upon Sister Mary Seraphine, and shook her.
"And the next moment the Prioress was among them, walking the palfrey slowly, settling her veil, which had streamed behind her as she cantered, bending to speak to one and another, as she passed.
"And the light of new life was in her eyes. Her cheeks glowed, she seemed a girl again.
"Reining in Iconoklastes, she paused beside Mother Sub-Prioress and said——"
The Bishop broke off, while he carefully stood the faggot-fork up in its corner.