and void by the faithful conscience and the firm will of
a woman. God send us more such women!"

The Bishop sounded a silver gong, and when his body-servant appeared,
pointed to the handkerchief, damp and crumpled, upon the table.

"Dry this, Jasper," he said, "and bring me another somewhat larger.
These dainty trifles cannot serve, when 'tears run down like a river.'
Nay, look not distressed, my good fellow. I do but jest. Yonder wet
Knight hath given me a shower-bath."

CHAPTER XXIX

THE VISION OF MARY ANTONY

On the afternoon following the Bishop's unexpected visit to the Nunnery,
the Prioress elected to walk last in the procession to and from the
Cathedral, placing Mother Sub-Prioress first. It was her custom
occasionally to vary the order of procession. Sometimes she walked
thirteenth, with twelve before, and twelve behind her.

She had at first inclined on this day, after her strenuous time with the
Bishop, followed by the hour's ride upon Icon, not to go to Vespers.

Then her heart failed her, and she went. On these two afternoons--this
and the morrow--Hugh would still be in the crypt. She should not so much
as glance toward the pillar at the foot of the winding stairway leading
to the clerestory; yet it would be sweet to feel him to be standing there
as she passed; sweet to know that he heard the same sounds as fell upon
her ear.

To-day, and again on the morrow, she might yield to this yearning for the
comfort of his nearness; but never again, for Hugh would not return.

She had wondered whether she dared ask him, by the Bishop, on a given
date once a year to attend High Mass in the Cathedral, so that she might
know him to be under the same roof, worshipping, at the same moment, the
same blessed manifestation of the Divine Presence.

But almost at once she had dismissed the desire, realising that comfort
such as this, could be comfort but to the heart of a woman, more likely
torment to a man. Also that should his fancy incline him to seek
companionship and consolation in the love of another, a yearly pilgrimage
to Worcester for her sake, would stand in the way of his future happiness.

Walking last in that silent procession back to the Nunnery, the Prioress
walked alone with her sadness. Her heart was heavy indeed.

She had angered her old friend, Symon of Worcester. After being
infinitely patient, when he might well have had cause for wrath, he had
suddenly taken a sterner tone, an