"Put back thy weapon," he said, sternly, "into its hiding-place. No
other man is here; yet, should another come, my sword would well
suffice to guard thine honour, and the honour of thy nuns."

She looked at his dark face, scornful in its pain; then went at once,
obedient, to the secret panel.

"Yes, Hugh," she said. "That much of trust indeed I owe thy love."

As she placed the dagger in the wall and closed the panel, something
fell from her, intangible, yet real.

For so long, she had had to command. Bowing, kneeling, hurrying women
flew to do her behests. Each vied with the others to magnify her
Office. Often, she felt lonely by reason of her dignity.

And now--a man's dark face frowned on her in scornful anger; a man's
stern voice flung back her elaborate threat with a short command, which
disarmed her, yet which she obeyed. Moreover, she found it strangely
sweet to obey. Behind the sternness, behind the scornful anger, there
throbbed a great love. In that love she trusted; but with that love
she had to deal, putting it from her with a finality which should be
beyond question.

Yet the "Prioress" fell from her, as she closed the panel. It was the
Woman and the Saint who moved over to the window and stood beside the
Knight, in the radiance of a golden sunset after storm.

There was about her, as she spoke, a wistful humbleness; and a patient
sadness, infinitely touching.

"Sir Hugh," she said, "my dear Knight, whom I ever found brave and
tender, and whom I now know to have been always loyal and true--there
is no need that I should add a word to your recital. The facts you
wrung from Alfrida--God grant forgiveness to that tormented heart--are
all true. Believing the messenger, not dreaming of doubting Eleanor,
my one thought was to hide from the world my broken heart, my shattered
pride. I hastened to offer to God the love and the life which had been
slighted by man. I confess this has since seemed to me but a poor
second-best to have brought to Him, Who indeed should have our very
best. But, daily kneeling at His Feet, I said: 'A broken and a
contrite heart, Lord, Thou wilt not despise.' My heart was 'broken,'
when I brought it here. It has been 'contrite' since. And well I
know, although so far from worthy, it has not been despised."

She lifted her eyes to the golden glory behind the battlements of
purple cloud.

"Our blessed Lady interceded," she said, simply; "she, who understands