"Mora, my belovèd," he said, "every fibre of my being cries out for thee. Yet I want thy happiness before my own; and, above and beyond all else, I want the Madonna in my home. Even at our Lady's bidding I cannot take thee. Not until thine own sweet lips shall say: 'Take me! I have been ever thine.'"
She lifted her eyes to his. In the moonlight, her face seemed almost unearthly, in its pure loveliness; and, as on that night so long ago, he saw her eyes, brighter than any jewels, shining with love and tears.
"Dear man of mine," she whispered, "to-night we are betrothed. But to-morrow I will ride home with thee. To-morrow shall be indeed our bridal day. I will say all—I will say anything—I will say everything thou wilt! Nay, see! The dawn is breaking in the east. Call it 'to-day'—TO-DAY, dear Knight! But now let me flee away, to fathom my strange happiness alone. Then, to sleep in mine own chamber, and to awake refreshed, and ready to go with thee, Hugh, when and where and how thou wilt."
The Knight folded his arms across his breast.
"Go," he said, softly, "and our Lady be with thee. Our spirits to-night have had their fill of holy happiness. I ask no higher joy than to watch the breaking of the day which gives thee to me, knowing thee to be safely sleeping in thy chamber below."
"I love thee!" she whispered; and fled.
Hugh d'Argent watched the dawn break—a silver rift in the purple sky.
His heart was filled with indescribable peace and gladness.
It meant far more to him that his bride should have come to him in obedience to a divine vision, than if his love had mastered her will, and she had yielded despite her own conscience.
Also he knew that at last his patient self-restraint had won its reward. The heart of a nun feared him no longer. The woman he loved was as wholly his as she had ever been.