Sitting upon the seat on which she had sat while telling Hugh of old Mary Antony's most blessèd and wondrous vision, Mora unfolded and read the Bishop's letter.
CHAPTER XLIX
TWICE DECEIVED
The blood-red banner had drooped, dipped, and vanished.
The sky overhead had deepened to purple, and opened starry eyes upon the world beneath. Each time the silent woman, alone upon the battlements, lifted a sorrowful face to the heavens, yet another bright eye seemed to spring wide and gaze down upon her.
At length the whole expanse of the sky was studded with stars; the planets hung luminous; the moon, already waning, rose large and golden from behind the firs, growing smaller and more silvery as she mounted higher.
Mora covered her face with her hands. The summer night was too full of scented sweetness. The stars sang together. The moon rode triumphant in the heavens. In this her hour of darkness she must shut out the brilliant sky. She let her face sink into her hands, and bowed her head upon her knees.
Blow after blow had fallen upon her from the Bishop's letter.
First that the Bishop himself was plotting to deceive her, and seemed to take Hugh's connivance for granted.
Then that she had been hoodwinked by old Mary Antony, on the evening of Hugh's intrusion into the Nunnery; that this hoodwinking was known to the Bishop, and appeared but to cause him satisfaction, tempered by a faint amusement.