wo hours had passed since his arrival.

Unless something unforeseen had occurred the Knight's cavalcade must be
here before long. He had planned to start within the hour; and, though
the Bishop had ridden fast, they could scarcely have taken more than an
hour longer to do the distance.

But supposing the Prioress had faltered at the last, and had besought
to be returned to the Nunnery? Would the chivalry of the Knight have
stood such a test? And, having left in secret, how could she return
openly? Would the way through the crypt be possible?

The Bishop began to wish that he had ridden to the Star hostel and
awaited developments there, instead of hastening on before.

The hall chamber was in the centre of the Castle. Its casements looked
out upon the gardens. Thus it came about that he did not hear a
cavalcade ride into the courtyard. He did not hear the shouting of the
men, the ring of hoofs on the paving stones, the champing of horses.

He sat in a great carved chair beside the fireplace in the hall
chamber, forcing himself to stillness, yet tormented by anxiety; half
minded to order a fresh horse and to ride back to Worcester.

Suddenly, without any warning, the door, leading from the ante-chamber
at the further end of the hall, opened.

Framed in the doorway appeared a vision, which for a moment led Symon
of Worcester to question whether he dreamed, so beautiful beyond belief
was the woman in a green riding-dress, looking at him with starry eyes,
her cheeks aglow, a veil of golden hair falling about her shoulders.

_Oh, Mora, child of delight! Has the exquisite promise of thy girlhood
indeed fulfilled itself thus? Have the years changed thee so
little---and yet so greatly?_

_"The captive exile hasteneth"; exile, long ago, for thy sake; seeking
to be free, yet captive still, caught once and forever in the meshes of
that golden hair._

_Oh, Mora, child of delight! Must all this planning for thy full
development and perfecting of joy, involve the poignant anguish of thus
seeing thee again?_

Symon of Worcester rose and stood, a noble figure in crimson and gold,
at the top of the hall. But for the silver moonlight of his hair, he
might have been a man in his prime--so erect was his carriage, so keen
and bright were his eyes.

The tall woman in the doorway gave a little cry; then moved quickly
forward.

"You?" she said. "You! The priest who is to wed us? You!"

He stood his ground, awa