en images.

Thoughts of our Lady seemed more living and vital while she kept her
eyes upon the fleecy whiteness of those tiny clouds, or watched a
flight of mountain birds, silver-winged in the sunshine.

What was the one command recorded as having been given, by the blessed
Mother of our Lord, to men? "Whatsoever He saith unto you, do it."
And what was His last injunction to His Church on earth? "Go ye into
all the world and preach glad tidings to every creature. . . . And lo,
I am with you always."

Mora could not but know that she had come forth into her world bringing
the glad tidings of love requited, of comfort, and of home.

By virtue of this promise the feet of the risen Christ would move
beside her "all the days."

It seemed to her, that if she went back now into her Convent cell, she
would nail those blessed feet to the wood again. In slaying this new
life within herself, she would lose forever the sense of living
companionship, retaining only the religion of the Crucifix. Enough,
perhaps, for the cloistered life. But this life more abundant,
demanded that grace should yet more abound.

A great apostolic injunction sounded, like a clarion call, from the
stored chancel of her memory. "As ye have therefore received Christ
Jesus the Lord, so walk ye in Him."

She flung wide her arms. A sense of all-pervading liberty, a complete
freedom from all bondage of spirit, soul, or body, leapt up responsive
to the call.

"I will!" she said. "Without any further fear or faltering, I will!"

She passed to the couch, folded the robes she had worn so long, and
laid them away in an empty chest.

This done, she took her cross of office, and went down to the terrace.
Her one thought was to reach Hugh with as little delay as possible.
She could not leave that noble heart in suspense, a moment longer than
she need.

The sun was still high in the heavens. By the short way through the
woods, she could reach the castle long before sunset.

She owed Hugh much. Yet there was another to whom she also owed a
debt; how much she owed to him, this day's new light had shewn her.
She would go forward to her joy with a freer heart if she gave herself
time to discharge, by acknowledgment and thanks, the great debt she
owed to her old and faithful friend, Symon, Bishop of Worcester.

She sent for her steward.

"Zachary," she said, "Sir Hugh has ridden on before. I follow by the
short way through the forest, and shall