The sun shone through the golden roses, hanging in clusters over the entrance.
The sense of the Bishop's presence so strongly pervaded the place, that almost at once Mora felt constrained to speak of him.
"Hugh," she said, "very early this morning, long before you were awake, the Bishop and I broke our fast, in this arbour, together."
The Knight smiled.
"I knew that," he said. "In his own characteristic way the Bishop told it me. 'My son,' he said, 'you have reversed the sacred parable. In your case it was the bride-groom who, this morning, slumbered and slept.' 'True, my lord,' said I. 'But there were no foolish virgins about.' 'Nay, verily!' replied the Bishop. 'The two virgins awake at that hour were pre-eminently wise: the one, making as the sun rose most golden pats of butter and crusty rolls; the other, rising early to partake of them with appetite. Truly there were no foolish virgins about. There was but one foolish prelate.'"
She, who so lately had been Prioress of the White Ladies, flushed with indignation at the words.
"Wherefore said he so?" she inquired, severely. "He, who is always wiser than the wisest."
Hugh noted the heightened colour and the ready protest.
"Perhaps," he suggested, speaking slowly, as if choosing his words with care, "the Bishop's head, being so wise, revealed to him, in himself, a certain foolishness of heart."
Mora struck the table with her hand.