ckle, catch, and cook, trout for thy supper! Ah, thou young
rascal! But that field is _Corban_, remember. Sup well, rest well,
and the blessing of the Lord be with thee."

The brown riding-suit vanished through the archway.

Father Benedict's lean hand pulled the door to.

The Bishop and the Knight were once more alone.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE POPE'S MANDATE

The Bishop and Hugh d'Argent were once more alone. It was
characteristic of both that they sat for some minutes in unbroken
silence.

Then the Bishop put out his hand, took up the packet from Rome, and
looked at the Knight.

Hugh d'Argent rose, walked over to the casement, and leaned out into
the still, summer night.

He could hear the Bishop breaking the seals of the Pope's letter.

Below in the courtyard, all was quiet. The great gates were barred.
He wondered whether the steaming horse had been well rubbed down,
clothed, and given a warm mash mixed with ale.

He could hear the Bishop unfolding the parchment, which crackled.

The moon, in her first quarter, rode high in the heavens. The towers
of St. Mary's church looked black against the sky.

The Palace stood on the same side of the Cathedral as the main street
of the city, in the direct route to the Foregate, the Tithing, and the
White Ladies' Nunnery at Whytstone. How strange to remember, that
beneath him lay that mile-long walk in darkness; that just under the
Palace, so near the Cathedral, she and he, pacing together, had known
the end of their strange pilgrimage to be at hand. Yet then----

He could hear the Bishop turning the parchment.

How freely the silvery moon sailed in this stormy sky, like a noble
face looking calmly out, and ever out again, from amid perplexities and
doubts.

In two nights' time, the moon would be well-nigh full. Would he be
riding to Warwick alone, or would she be beside him?

As the Bishop had said, he had described her as riding all day, like a
bird, on the moors. Yet now he loved best to picture her riding forth
upon Icon into the river meadow, her veil streaming behind her; "on her
face the light of a purposeful radiance."

Ah, would she come? Would she come, or would she stay? Would she
stay, or would she come?

The moon was now hidden by a cloud; but he could see the edge of the
cloud silvering.

If the moon sailed forth free, before he had counted to twelve, she
would come.

He began to count, slowly.

At nine, the moon was still