He carried her to the hearth in the great hall, and placed her in the chair in which his mother used to sit.
Then, his arms still around her, he kneeled before her, lifting his face in which the dark eyes glowed with a deeper light than passion's transient fires.
"The Madonna!" he said. "The Madonna in my home."
He stooped and lifted the hem of her robe to his lips.
"Not as Prioress," he said, "but as my adored wife."
Again he stooped and pressed it to his lips.
"Not as Reverend Mother to a score of nuns," he said, "but as——"
She caught his head between her hands, hiding his glowing eyes against her breast.
Presently: "And did thy people come with thee, my sweetheart? And how could a three hours' ride be accomplished in this bridal array? Oh, Heaven help me, Mora! Thou art so beautiful!"
"Hush," she said, "thou dear, foolish man! Heaven hath helped thee through worse straits than that! Nay, I rode alone, and in my riding dress of green. Arrived here, I changed, in mine own chamber, to these marriage garments."