And I fear I must have put the
matter clumsily, concerning Father Gervaise. As the Bishop told it to
me, there was naught that was not noble. It seemed to me it should be
sweet to the heart of a woman to be so loved."

"Hush," she said, sternly. "You know not the heart of a nun."

He did not reason further. It was enough for him to know that the
shattered image she had buried was not the ideal of his love and hers,
or the hope of future happiness together.

"Time flies, dear Heart," he said. "May I speak to thee of immediate
plans?"

"I listen," she answered.

Hugh stood in the entrance, among the yellow roses, leaning against the
doorpost, his arms folded on his breast, his feet crossed.

At once she was reminded of the scene in her cell, when he had taken up
that attitude while still garbed as a nun, and she had said: "I know
you for a man," and, in her heart had added: "And a stronger man,
surely, than Mary Seraphine's Cousin Wilfred!"

"We ride on to-day," said the Knight, "if you feel able for a few hours
in the saddle, to the next stage in our journey. It is a hostel in the
forest; a poor kind of place, I fear; but there is one good room where
you can be made comfortable, with Mistress Deborah. I shall sleep on
the hay, without, amongst my men. Some must keep guard all night. We
ride through wild parts to reach our destination."

He paused. He could not hold on to the matter of fact tones in which
he had started. When he spoke again, his voice was low and very tender.

"Mora, I am taking thee first to thine own home; to the place where,
long years ago, we loved and parted. There, all is as it was. Thy
people who loved thee and had fled, have been found and brought back.
Seven days of journeying should bring us there. I have sent men on
before, to arrange for each night's lodging, and make sure that all is
right. Arrived at thine own castle, Mora, we shall be within three
hours' ride of mine--that home to which I hope to bring thee. Until we
enter there, my wife, although this morning most truly wed, we will
count ourselves but betrothed. Once in thy home, it shall be left to
thine own choice to come to mine when and how thou wilt. The step now
taken--that of leaving the Cloister and coming to me--had perforce to
be done quickly, if done at all. But, now it is safely accomplished,
there is no further need for haste. The wings of my swift desire shall
be dipt to suit thine inclination