short of perdition, is, at
best, folly and failure."

The Bishop paused.

The eyes of the woman before him were dark with sorrow, regret, and the
dawning of a great fear. Presently she spoke.

"To say these things here, my lord, is to say them too late."

"It is never too late," replied Symon of Worcester. "'Too late' tolls
the knell of the coward heart. If we find out a mistake while we yet
walk the earth where we made it, it is not too late to amend it."

"Think you so, Reverend Father? Then what do you counsel me to
do--with Seraphine?"

"Speak to her gently, and with great care and prudence. Say to her
much of that which you have said to me, and a little of that which I
have said to you, but expressed in such manner as will be suited to a
foolish mind. You and I can hurl bricks at one another, my dear
Prioress, and be the better for the exercise. But we must not fling at
little Seraphine aught harder than a pillow of down. Empty heads, like
empty eggshells, are soon broken. Tell her you have consulted me
concerning her desire to return to the world; and that I, being
lenient, and holding somewhat wider views on this subject than the
majority of prelates, also being well acquainted with the mind of His
Holiness the Pope concerning those who embrace the religious life for
reasons other than a true vocation, have promised to arrange the matter
of a dispensation. But add that there must be no possibility of any
scandal connected with the Nunnery. Since the Lady Wulgeova, mother of
Bishop Wulstan, of blessed memory, took the veil here a century and a
half ago, this house has ever been above reproach. You will tacitly
allow her to slip away; and, once away, I will set matters right for
her. But nothing must transpire which could stumble or scandalise the
other members of the Community. The peculiar circumstances which the
Knight made known to me--always, of course, without making any mention
of the name of Seraphine--can hardly have occurred in any other case.
It is not likely, for instance, that our worthy Sub-Prioress was torn
by treachery from the arms of a despairing lover; and she would
undoubtedly share your very limiting ideas of a lover's physical
qualities and requirements; possibly not even allowing him a voice.

"Now I happen to know that the Knight daily spends the hour of Vespers
in the Cathedral crypt, kneeling before the shrine of Saint Oswald
beside a stretcher whereon lies one of his