In the reaction of a great relief, Hugh d'Argent seized the extended hand and fervently kissed the Bishop's ring.
It was the reverent homage of a loyal heart. Symon of Worcester, as with a Benedicite he graciously acknowledged it, suffered a slight twinge of conscience; almost as unusual an experience as the ebullition of temper. He took up the conversation exactly at that point to which it best suited him to return, namely, there where he had made the first false step.
"Therefore, my dear Hugh, I have now given you in detail the true history of the vision, making it clear that we owe it, alas! to earthly devotion, rather than to Divine interposition—though indeed the one may well be the means used by the other. It remains for us to consider, and to decide upon, the best line to take with Mora in order to safeguard most surely her peace of mind, and permanently to secure her happiness."
"I have considered, Reverend Father," said the Knight, simply; "and I have decided."
"What have you decided to do, my son?" questioned Symon of Worcester, in his smoothest tones.
"To make known to Mora, so soon as I return, the entire truth."
The Bishop cast his eyes upward, to see whether the banner still waved.
It did.
Undoubtedly there must be a current of air among the rafters.
"And what effect do you suppose such a communication will have, my son, upon the mind of your wife?"