The Bishop paused. It became suddenly difficult to proceed. The clear eyes of the Prioress were upon him.
"Whereupon, my lord?"
"Whereupon I realised—an early dream of mine seemed promised a possible fulfilment. I knew Hugh as a lad— It is a veritable passion with me that all things should attain unto their full perfection— In short, I sent a messenger to Rome, bearing a careful account of the whole matter, in a private letter from myself to His Holiness the Pope. Last evening, my messenger returned, bringing a letter from the Holy Father, with this enclosed."
The Bishop held out the folded document.
The Prioress rose, took it from him, and unfolded it.
As she read the opening lines, the amazement on her face quickly gathered into a frown.
"What!" she said. "The name and rank I resigned on entering this
Order! Who dares to write or speak of me as 'Mora, Countess of
Norelle'?"
"Merely His Holiness the Pope, and the Bishop of Worcester," said the Bishop meekly, in an undertone, not meaning the Prioress to hear; and, indeed, she ignored this answer, her words having been an angry ejaculation, rather than a question.
But there was worse to come.
"Dispensation!" exclaimed the Prioress.