"And deeply do I love you, Reverend Father, for your wondrous goodness to her, and—for her sake—to me. And I pray heaven," added Hugh d'Argent simply, "that if she come to me, she may never know that she once won the love of so greatly better a man than he who won hers."
With which the Knight dropped upon one knee, and humbly kissed the hem of the Bishop's robe.
Symon of Worcester was greatly moved.
"My son," he said, "we are at one in desiring her happiness and highest good. For the rest, God, and her own pure heart, must guide her feet into the way of peace."
The Bishop rose, and went to the casement.
"The aurora breaks in the east. The dawn is near. Come with me, Hugh, to the chapel. We pray for His Holiness, giving thanks for his gracious letter and mandate; we praise for the safe return of my messenger. But we will also offer up devout petition that the Prioress may have clear light at this parting of the ways, and that our enterprise may be brought to a happy conclusion."
So, presently, in the dimly-lighted chapel, the Knight knelt alone; while, away at the high altar, remote, wrapt, absorbed in the supreme act of his priestly office, stood the Bishop, celebrating mass.
Yet one anxious prayer ascended from the hearts of both.
And, in the pale dawn of that new day, the woman for whom both the Knight and the Bishop prayed, kept vigil in her cell, before the shrine of the Madonna.
"Blessèd Virgin," she said; "thou who lovedst Saint Joseph, being betrothed to him, yet didst keep thyself an holy shrine consecrate to the Lord and His need of thee—oh, grant unto me strength to put from me this constant torment at the thought of his sufferings to whom once I gave my troth, and to reconsecrate myself wholly to the service of my Lord."