w Eleanor is dead, he cares not for the Castle. Next
month he weds an heiress, with large estates, and has no wish to lay
claim to Mora's home. All is now once more as it was when she left it.
Her own people are in charge. I plan to take her there when we leave
Warwick, riding northward by easy stages."

The Bishop, stooping, picked up a smooth, white stone, and flung it
into the river. It fell with a splash, and sank. The water closed
upon it. It had vanished instantly from view.

Then the Bishop spoke. "Hugh, my dear lad, she thought it was the
Pope's own deed and signature, yet she tore it across, and then again
across; flung it upon the ground, and set her foot upon it. I deem it
now as impossible that the Prioress should change her mind upon this
matter, as that we should ever see again that stone which now lies deep
on the river-bed."

It was a high dive from the parapet; and, to the Bishop, watching the
spot where the Knight cleft the water, the moments seemed hours.

But when the Knight reappeared, the white stone was in his hand.

The Bishop went down to the water-gate.

"Bravely done, my son!" he called, as the Knight swam to the steps.
"You deserve to win."

But to himself he said: "Fighting men and quick-witted women will be
ever with us, gaining their ends by strenuous endeavour. But the age
of miracles is past."

Hugh d'Argent mounted the steps.

"I _shall_ win," he said, and shook himself like a great shaggy dog.

The Bishop, over whom fell a shower, carefully wiped the glistening
drops from his garments with a fine Italian handkerchief.

"Go in, boy," he said, "and get dry. Send thy man for another suit,
unless it would please thee better that Father Benedict should lend
thee a cassock! Give me the stone. It may well serve as a reminder of
that famous sacred stone from which the Convent takes its name.
Methinks we have, between us, contrived something of an omen,
concluding in thy favour."

Presently the Bishop, alone in his library, stood the white stone upon
the iron-bound chest within which he had placed the Pope's mandate.

"The age of miracles is past," he said again. "Iron no longer swims,
neither do stones rise from the depths of a river, unless the Divine
command be supplemented by the grip of strong human fingers.

"Stand there, thou little tombstone of our hopes. Mark the place where
lies the Holy Father's mandate, ecclesiastically all-powerful, yet
rendered null