For an hour the Prioress rode, with flying veil, white on the white steed; a fair marble group, quickened into motion.
Then, that penance being duly performed, she vanished through the archway.
Turning Shulamite, Symon of Worcester rode slowly down the hill, passed southward, and entered the city by Friar's Gate; and so to the Palace, where Hugh d'Argent waited.
The Bishop led him, through a postern, into the garden; and there on a wide lawn, out of earshot of any possible listeners, the Bishop and the Knight walked up and down in earnest conversation.
At length: "To-morrow, in the early morn," said the Knight, "I send her tire-woman on to Warwick, with all her effects, keeping back only the riding suit. Should she elect to come, we must be free to ride without drawing rein. Even so we shall reach Warwick only something before midnight."
"She tore it up and planted her foot upon it," remarked the Bishop.
"I will not give up hope," said the Knight.
"Nothing short of a miracle, my son, will change her mind, or move her from her fixed resolve."
"Then our Lady will work a miracle," declared the Knight bravely. "I prayed 'Send her to me!' and our blessèd Lady smiled."
"A sculptured smile, dear lad, is ever there. Had you prayed 'Hold her from me!' our Lady would equally have smiled."