The grief, the utter disillusion, the dismayed question in her tone, moved the Bishop to compunction.
"Mine was the phrase, to begin with, my daughter," he admitted. "I used it to the Holy Father, and I confess that, in using it, I did mean to convey that which, as you well know. I have long believed, that wifehood and motherhood, if worthily performed, may rank higher in the Divine regard than vows of celibacy. But, in adopting the expression, the Holy Father, we may rest assured, had no thought of undervaluing the monastic life, or the high position within it to which you have attained. I should rather take it that he was merely accepting my assurance that the new vocation to which you were called would, in your particular case, be higher service."
The Prioress, lifting her head, looked long into the Bishop's face, without making reply.
Her eyes were drowned in tears; dark shadows lay beneath them. Yet the light of a high resolve, unconquerable within her, shone through this veil of sorrow, as when the sun, behind it, breaks through the mist, victorious, chasing by its clear beams the baffling fog.
Seeing that look, the Bishop knew, of a sudden, that he had failed; that the Knight had failed; that the all-powerful pronouncement from the Vatican had failed.
The woman and her conscience held the field.
Having conquered her own love, having mastered her own natural yearning for her lover, she would overcome with ease all other assailants.
In two days' time Hugh would ride away alone. Unless a miracle happened, Mora would not be with him.
The Bishop faced defeat as he looked into those clear eyes, fearless even in their sorrowful humility.
"Oh, child," he said, "you love Hugh! Can you let him ride forth alone, accompanied only by the grim spectres of unfaith and of despair? His hope, his faith, his love, all centre in you. Another Prioress can be found for this Nunnery. No other bride can be found for Hugh d'Argent. He will have his own betrothed, or none."