dfellow.

"The letter delivered, and the answer in thy hands, return, to me as
speedily as may be, without overpressing men or steeds. How soon canst
thou set forth?"

"Within the hour, my lord," said Brother Philip, joyfully, cured of his
shame by this call to immediate service; "with an escort of three, that
we may ride by night as well as by day."

"Good," said the Bishop; and, as the lay-brother, bowing low, hastened
from the chamber, Symon of Worcester drew toward him writing materials,
and penned afresh his warning to the Knight; not at such length as in
the former missive, but making very clear the need for silence
concerning Mary Antony's previous knowledge of his visit to the
Nunnery, lest Mora should come to doubt the genuineness of the vision
which had brought her to her great decision, and which in very truth
had been wholly contrived by the loving heart and nimble wits of Mary
Antony.

So once again the Bishop stood at the casement in the banqueting hall;
and, looking down into the courtyard, saw faithful Philip, with an
escort fully armed, ride out at the Palace gates.

No time had been lost in repairing the mistake. Yet there was heavy
foreboding at the Bishop's heart, as he paced slowly down the hall.

Greatly he feared lest this twenty-four hours' delay should mean
mischief wrought, which could never be undone.

Passing into the chapel, he kneeled long before the shrine of Saint
Joseph praying, with an intense fervour of petition, that his warning
might reach the Knight before any word had passed his lips which could
shake Mora's belief in that which was to her the sole justification for
the important step she had taken.

The Bishop prayed and fasted; fasted, prayed, and kept vigil. And all
the night through, in thought, he followed Brother Philip and his
escort as they rode northward, through the forests, up the glens, and
over the moors, making direct for Mora's home, to which she and Hugh
were travelling by a more roundabout way.

CHAPTER XLIII

MORA MOUNTS TO THE BATTLEMENTS

The moonlight, shining in at the open casement, illumined, with its
clear radiance, the chamber which had been, during the years of her
maidenhood, Mora de Norelle's sleeping apartment.

It held many treasures of childhood. Every familiar thing within it,
whispered of the love and care of those long passed into the realm of
silence and of mystery; a noble father, slain in battle; a gentle
mother, una