re the most
beautiful and saintly character. I would there were more such as she,
in our British homes."

"Father," said Hugh, brokenly, "knew you how much she had to bear? My
father's fierce feuds with all, shut her up at last to utter
loneliness. His anger against Holy Church and his contempt of Her
priests, cost my mother the comfort of your visits. His life-long
quarrel with Earl Eustace de Norelle caused that our families, though
dwelling within a three hours' ride, were allowed no intercourse.
Never did I enter Castle Norelle until I rode up from the South, with a
message for Mora from the King. And, to this day, Mora has never been
within the courtyard of my home! When we were betrothed, I dared not
tell my parents--though Earl Eustace and his Countess both were
dead--lest my father's wrath might reach Mora, when I had gone. News
of his death, chancing to me in a far-off land, brought me home. And
truly, it was home indeed, at last! Peace and content, where always
there had been turbulence and strain. Father, I tell you this because
I know my gentle mother feared you did not understand, and that you may
have thought her love for you had failed."

Symon of Worcester smiled.

"Dear lad," he said, "I understood."

"Ah why," cried Hugh, with sudden passion, "why should a woman's whole
life be spoiled, and other lives be darkened and made sad, just by the
angry, churlish, sullen whims of----"

"Hush, boy!" said the Bishop, quickly. "You speak of your father, and
you name the Dead. Something dies in the Living, each time they speak
evil of the Dead. I knew your father; and, though he loved me not,
yet, to be honest, I must say this of him: Sir Hugo was a good man and
true; upright, and a man of honour. He carried his shield untarnished.
If he was feared by his friends, he was also feared by his foes. Brave
he was and fearless. One thing he lacked; and often, alas, they who
lack just one thing, lack all.

"Hugo d'Argent knew not love for his fellow-men. To be a man, was to
earn his frown; all things human called forth his disdain. To view the
same landscape, breathe the same air, in fact walk the same earth as
he, was to stand in his way, and raise his ire. Yet in his harsh,
vexed manner he loved his wife, and loved his little son. Nor had he
any self-conceit. He realised in himself his own worst foe. Lest we
fall into this snare, it is well daily to pray: 'O Lover of Mankind,
grant unto me