live, and still unwed. To my
thinking, no Divine pronouncement was required; and when the Holy
Father's mandate arrived bringing the Church's sanction, why then
indeed naught seemed to stand between us. But Mora thought otherwise."

A tiny gleam came into the Bishop's eyes; an exceedingly refined
edition of the look of cunning which used to peep out of old Mary
Antony's.

"Have you ever heard tell, my son, that two negatives make an
affirmative? Think you not that, in something the same way, two
deceptions may make a truth. Mora was deceived into entering the
Convent, and deceived into leaving it; but from out that double
deception arises the great truth that she has, in the sight of Heaven,
been all along yours. The first deception negatives the second, and
the positive fact alone remains that Mora is wedded to you, is yours to
guard and shield from sorrow; and those whom God hath joined together,
let no man put asunder."

Hugh d'Argent passed his hand across his brow.

"I trust the matter may appear thus to Mora," he said.

The banner still wafted, gently. The Bishop gave himself time to
ponder whence that draught could come.

Then: "It will not so appear," he said. "My good Hugh, when your wife
learns from you that she was tricked by Mary Antony, she will go back
in mind to where she was before the spurious vision, and will feel
herself to be still Prioress of the White Ladies."

"I have so felt her, since the knowledge reached me," agreed the Knight.

The efficacy of the soothing drug taken by the Bishop was strained to
its utmost.

"And what then do you propose to do, my son, with this wedded Prioress?
Do you expect her to remain with you in your home, content to fulfil
her wifely duties?"

"I fear," said the Knight sadly, "that she will leave me."

"And I am certain she will leave you," said the Bishop.

"It was largely this fear for the future which brought me at once to
you, my lord. If Mora desires, as you say, to consider herself as she
was, before she was tricked into leaving the Convent, will you arrange
that she shall return, unquestioned, to her place as Prioress of the
White Ladies of Worcester?"

"Impossible!" said the Bishop, shortly. "It is too late. We can have
no Madonna groups in Nunneries, saving those carven in marble or stone."

To which there followed a silence, lasting many minutes.

Then the Knight said, with effort, speaking very low: "It is _not_ too
late."

In