She drew back, regarding him with grave eyes, her hands folded before her.
"Tell me the tale," she said, "and I will pronounce upon its truth."
"Years ago, Mora, when you were a young maiden at the Court, attending on the Queen, you were most deeply loved by one who knew he could never ask you in marriage. That being so, so noble was his nature and so unselfish his love, that he would not give himself the delight of seeing you, nor the enjoyment of your friendship, lest, being so strong a thing, his love—even though unexpressed—should reach and stir your heart to a response which, might hinder you from feeling free to give yourself, when a man who could offer all sought to win you. Therefore, Mora, he left the Court, he left the country. He went to foreign lands. He thought not of himself. He desired for you the full completion which comes by means of wedded love. He feared to hinder this. So he went."
Her face still expressed incredulous astonishment.
"His name?" she demanded, awaiting the answer with parted lips, and widely-open eyes.
"Father Gervaise," said the Knight.
He saw her slowly whiten, till scarce a vestige of colour remained.
For some minutes she spoke no word; both sat silent, Hugh ruefully facing his risks, and inclined to repent of his honesty.
At length: "And who told you this tale," she said; "this tale of the love of Father Gervaise for a young maid, half his age?"
"Symon of Worcester told it me, three nights ago."