triumph to the surface, Hugh had felt
sure he would win. Aye, even before Symon had flung the stone; when,
in reply to the doubt cast by him on our Lady's smile, the Knight had
said: "I keep my trust in prayer," a joyous confidence had then and
there awakened within him. He had stretched out the right hand of his
withered faith, and lo, it had proved strong and vital.

Yet as, in the heavy silence of the crypt, he heard the turning of the
key in the lock, his heart stood still, and every emotion hung
suspended, as the first veiled figure--shadowy and ghostlike--moved
into view.

It was not she.

The Knight's pulses throbbed again. His heart pounded violently as,
keeping their measured distances, nine, ten, eleven, white figures
passed.

Then--twelfth: a tall nun, almost her height; yet not she.

Then--thirteenth: Oh, blessed Virgin! Oh, saints of God! Mora! She,
herself. Never could he fail to recognize her carriage, the regal
poise of her head. However veiled, however shrouded, he could not be
mistaken. It was Mora; and that she should be walking in this central
position meant that she might with comparative safety, step aside.
Yet, even this----

But, at that moment, passing him, she turned her head, and for an
instant her eyes met the eyes of the Knight looking out from the
shadows.

Another moment and she had vanished up the winding stairway in the wall.

But that instant was enough. As her eyes met his, Hugh d'Argent knew
that his betrothed was once more his own.

His heart ceased pounding; his pulses beat steadily.

The calm of a vast, glad certainty enfolded him; a joy beyond belief.
Yet he knew now that he had been sure of it, ever since he came up from
the depths of the Severn into the summer sunshine, grasping the white
stone.

"I keep my trust in prayer. . . . Give her to me! Give her to me!
Blessed Virgin, give her to me! 'A sculptured smile'? Nay, my lord.
I keep my trust in prayer!"

The solemn chanting of the monks, stole down from the distant choir.
Vespers had begun.

The Knight strode to the altar, and knelt for some minutes, his hands
clasped upon the crossed hilt of his sword.

Then he rose, and spoke in low tones to his men-at-arms.

"When a thrush calls, you will leave the crypt, and guard the entrance
from without; allowing none, on any pretext, to pass within. When a
blackbird whistles you will return, lift the stretcher, and pass with
it, as heretofore,