ed pieces,
the hands of the whole world are powerless to make it again as it was
before it fell.

Faster, faster, Shulamite!

When the messenger of Mother Sub-Prioress reports the absence of the
Bishop, he will most certainly be sent in haste to Father Benedict, who
will experience a sinister joy at the prospect of following his long
nose into the Prioress's empty cell, who will scent out scandal where
there is but a fragrance of lilies, and tear to pieces Mora's
reputation, with as little compunction as a wolf tears a lamb.

Gallop, gallop, Shulamite! If no hand be put forth to save it, between
Mother Sub-Prioress and Father Benedict, this crystal bowl will be
broken into a hundred pieces.

At length the Bishop drew rein, and walked his mare a mile. He had
left Warwick ten miles behind him. He would soon be half-way to
Worcester.

He had left Warwick behind him!

It seemed to the Bishop that, ever since he had first known Mora de
Norelle, he had always been riding away and leaving behind.

For her sake he rode away, leaving behind the Court, his various
offices, his growing influence and popularity.

For her sake he left his identity as Father Gervaise at the bottom of
the ocean, taking up his life again, in Italy, under his other name.

For her sake, when he heard that she had entered the Convent of the
White Ladies, he obtained the appointment to the see of Worcester,
leaving the sunny land he loved, and the prospect of far higher
preferment there.

And now for her sake he rode away from Warwick as fast as steed could
carry him, leaving her the bride of another, in whose hand he had
himself placed hers, pronouncing the Church's blessing upon their union.

Riding away--leaving behind; leaving behind--riding away. This was
what his love had ever brought him.

Yet he felt rich to-day, finding himself in possession of the certain
knowledge that he had been right in judging necessary, that first
departure into exile long years ago.

For had not Mora told him--little dreaming to whom she spoke--that
there was a time when he had stood to her for all her heart held
dearest; yet that she had loved him, not as a girl loves a man, but
rather as a nun loves her Lord.

But surely a man would need to be divine to be so loved, and to hold
such love aright. And, even then, when that other man arrived who
would fain woo her to love him as a girl loves a man, would her heart
be free to respond to the call of