The Bishop smiled as he looked into the blue eyes and open countenance of young Roger de Berchelai, a youth wholly devoted to his service.

Here was another who remembered in pictures, and Symon of Worcester loved the gallop, and rush, and breeze of the sea, which had swept through the chamber, in the eager young voice of his envoy.

"Yes, my son," said the Bishop. "You have returned, not merely in time, but with two days to spare. Was there ever fleeter messenger!

Indeed my choice was well made and my trust well placed. Now you must sup and then take a much-needed rest, dear lad; and to-morrow tell me if you had need to spend more than I gave you."

Raising his voice, the Bishop called his Chaplain; whereupon that sinister figure at once appeared in the doorway.

The Bishop gave orders concerning the entertaining of the young Esquire of Berchelai; then added; "And let the chapel be lighted, Father Benedict. So soon as the aurora appears in the east, I shall celebrate ma.s.s, in thanksgiving for the blessing of a letter from the Holy Father, and for the safe return of my messenger. I shall not need your presence nor that of any of the brethren, save those whose watch it chances to be. . . . _Benedicite_."

"_Deus_," responded Father Benedict, bowing low.

Young Roger, gay and glad, knelt and kissed the Bishop's ring; then, rising, flung back a strand of fair hair which fell over his forehead, and said: "A bath, my lord, would be even more welcome than supper and bed. It shames me to have come in such travel-stained plight into your presence, and that of this n.o.ble knight," with a bow to Hugh d'Argent.

"Nay," said Hugh, smiling in friendly response. "Travel-stains gained in such fashion, are more to be desired than silks and fine linen. I would I could go to rest this night knowing I had accomplished as much."

"Go and have thy bath, boy," said the Bishop. "This will give my monks time to tickle, catch, and cook, trout for thy supper! Ah, thou young rascal! But that field is _Corban_, remember. Sup well, rest well, and the blessing of the Lord be with thee."

The brown riding-suit vanished through the archway.

Father Benedict's lean hand pulled the door to.

The Bishop and the Knight were once more alone.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE POPE'S MANDATE

The Bishop and Hugh d'Argent were once more alone. It was characteristic of both that they sat for some minutes in unbroken silence.

Then the Bishop put out his hand, took up the packet from Rome, and looked at the Knight.

Hugh d'Argent rose, walked over to the cas.e.m.e.nt, and leaned out into the still, summer night.

He could hear the Bishop breaking the seals of the Pope's letter.

Below in the courtyard, all was quiet. The great gates were barred.

He wondered whether the steaming horse had been well rubbed down, clothed, and given a warm mash mixed with ale.

He could hear the Bishop unfolding the parchment, which crackled.

The moon, in her first quarter, rode high in the heavens. The towers of St. Mary's church looked black against the sky.

The Palace stood on the same side of the Cathedral as the main street of the city, in the direct route to the Foregate, the t.i.thing, and the White Ladies' Nunnery at Whytstone. How strange to remember, that beneath him lay that mile-long walk in darkness; that just under the Palace, so near the Cathedral, she and he, pacing together, had known the end of their strange pilgrimage to be at hand. Yet then----

He could hear the Bishop turning the parchment.

How freely the silvery moon sailed in this stormy sky, like a n.o.ble face looking calmly out, and ever out again, from amid perplexities and doubts.

In two nights' time, the moon would be well-nigh full. Would he be riding to Warwick alone, or would she be beside him?

As the Bishop had said, he had described her as riding all day, like a bird, on the moors. Yet now he loved best to picture her riding forth upon Icon into the river meadow, her veil streaming behind her; "on her face the light of a purposeful radiance."

Ah, would she come? Would she come, or would she stay? Would she stay, or would she come?

The moon was now hidden by a cloud; but he could see the edge of the cloud silvering.

If the moon sailed forth free, before he had counted to twelve, she would come.

He began to count, slowly.

At nine, the moon was still hidden; and the Knight's heart failed him.

But at ten, the Bishop called: "Hugh!" and turning from the cas.e.m.e.nt the Knight answered to the call.

The Bishop held in his hands the Pope's letter, and also a legal-looking doc.u.ment, from which seals depended.

"This doth closely concern you, my son," said the Bishop, with some emotion, and placed the parchment in the Knight's hands.

Hugh d'Argent could have mastered its contents by the light of the wax taper burning beside the Bishop's chair. But some instinct he could not have explained, caused him to carry it over to the table in the centre of the hall, whereon four wax candles still burned. He stood to read the doc.u.ment, with his back to the Bishop, his head bent close to the flame of the candles.

Once, twice, thrice, the Knight read it, before his bewildered brain took in its full import. Yet it was clear and unmistakable--a dispensation, signed and sealed by the Pope, releasing Mora, Countess of Norelle, from all vows and promises taken and made when she entered the Nunnery of the White Ladies of Worcester, at Whytstone, in the parish of dairies, and later on when she became Prioress of that same Nunnery; and furthermore stating that this full absolution was granted because it had been brought to the knowledge of His Holiness that this n.o.ble lady had entered the cloistered life owing to a wicked and malicious plot designed to wrest her castle and estates from her, and also to part her from a valiant Knight, at that time fighting in the Holy Wars, to whom she was betrothed.

Furthermore the deed empowered Symon, Bishop of Worcester or any priest he might appoint, to unite in marriage the Knight Crusader, Hugh d'Argent, and Mora de Norelle, sometime Prioress of the White Ladies of Worcester.

The Knight walked back to the hearth and stood before the Bishop, the parchment in his hand.

"My Lord Bishop," he said, "do I dream?"

Symon of Worcester smiled. "Nay, my son. Surely no dream of thine was ever signed by His Holiness, nor bore suspended from it the great seal of the Vatican! The doc.u.ment you hold will be sufficient answer to all questions, and will ensure your wife's position at Court and her standing in the outer world--should she elect to re-enter it.

"But whether she shall do this, or no, is not a matter upon which the Church would give a decisive or even an authoritative p.r.o.nouncement; and the Holy Father adds, in, his letter to me, further important instructions.

"Firstly: that it must be the Prioress's own wish and decision, apart from any undue pressure from without, to resign her office and to accept this dispensation, freeing her from her vows.

"Secondly; that she must leave the Nunnery and the neighbourhood, secretly; if it be possible, appearing in her new position, as your wife, without much question being raised as to whence she came.

"Thirdly: that when her absence becomes known in the Nunnery, I am authorized solemnly to announce that she has been moved on by me, secretly, with the knowledge and approval of the Holy Father, to a place where she was required for higher service."

The Bishop smiled as he p.r.o.nounced the final words. There was triumph in his eye.

The Knight still looked as if he felt himself to be dreaming; yet on his face was a great gladness of expectation.

"And, my lord," he exclaimed joyously, "what news for her! Shall you send it, in the morn, or yourself take it to her?"

The Bishop's lips were pressed against his finger-tips.