But the reward of those "whose strength is to sit still," had come to the Bishop.

Soon after he fixed his eyes upon the Gregorian and Gelasian Sacramentaries, his eyelids gently began to droop. Sleep was already upon him when he decided to let the Palace, the City, yea, even the Cathedral go, if he might but keep the Prioress. And as he walked with Mora up the golden stair, his mind was at rest; his weary body slept.

A very few minutes of sleep sufficed the Bishop.

He awoke as suddenly as he had fallen asleep; and, as he awoke, he seemed to hear himself say: "Nay, Hugh. None save the old lay-sister, Mary Antony."

He sat up, wondering what this sentence could mean; also when and where it had been spoken.

As he wondered, his eye fell upon the white stone which he had flung into the Severn, and which the Knight, diving from the parapet, had retrieved from the river bed. The stone seemed in some way connected with this chance sentence which had repeated itself in his brain.

The Bishop rose, walked over to his deed chest, took the white stone in his hand and stood motionless, his eyes fixed upon it, wrapped in thought. Then he pa.s.sed out on to the lawn, and paced slowly to and fro between the archway leading from the courtyard, to the parapet overlooking the river.

Yes; it was here.

He had ridden in on Shulamite, from the heights above the town, whence he had watched the Prioress ride in the river meadow.

He had found Hugh d'Argent awaiting him, and together they had paced this lawn in earnest conversation.

Hugh had been anxious to hear every detail of his visit to the Convent and the scene in the Prioress's cell when he had shewn her the copy of the Pope's mandate, just received from Rome. In speaking of the possible developments which might take place in the course of the next few hours, Hugh had asked whether any in the Convent, beside Mora herself, knew of his presence in Worcester, or that he had managed to obtain entrance to the cloisters by the crypt pa.s.sage, to make his way disguised to Mora's cell, and to have speech with her.

The Bishop had answered that none knew of this, save the old lay-sister Mary Antony, who was wholly devoted to the Prioress, made shrewd by ninety years of experience in outwitting her superiors, and could be completely trusted.

"How came she to know?" the Bishop seemed to remember that the Knight had asked. And he had made answer that he had as yet no definite information, but was inclined to suspect that when the Prioress had bidden the old woman begone, she had slipped into some place of concealment from whence she had seen and heard something of what pa.s.sed in the cell.

To this the Knight had made no comment; and now, walking up and down the lawn, the white stone in his hand, the Bishop could not feel sure how far Hugh had taken in the exact purport of the words; yet well he knew that sentences which pa.s.s almost unnoticed when heard with a mind preoccupied, are apt to return later on, with full significance, should anything occur upon which they shed a light.

This then was the complication which had brought the Bishop out to pace the lawn, recalling each step in the conversation, there where it had taken place.

Sooner or later, Mora will tell her husband of Mary Antony's wondrous vision. If she reaches the conclusion, uninterrupted, all will be well. The Knight will realise the importance of concealing the fact of the old lay-sister's knowledge--by non-miraculous means--of his presence in the cell, and his suit to the Prioress. But should she preface her recital by remarking that none in the Community had knowledge of his visit, the Knight will probably at once say: "Nay, there you are mistaken! I have it from the Bishop that the old lay-sister, Mary Antony, knew of it, having stayed hidden where she saw and heard much that pa.s.sed; yet being very faithful, and more than common shrewd, could--so said the Bishop--be most completely trusted."

Whereupon irreparable harm would be done; for, at once, Mora would realise that she had been deceived; and her peace of mind and calm of conscience would be disturbed, if not completely overthrown.

One thing seemed clear to the Bishop.

Hugh must be warned. Probably no harm had as yet been done. The vision was so sacred a thing to Mora, that weeks might elapse before she spoke of it to her husband.

With as little delay as possible Hugh must be put upon his guard.

CHAPTER XLII

THE WARNING

Alert, determined, all trace of la.s.situde departed, the Bishop returned to the library, laid the stone upon the deed chest, sat down at a table and wrote a letter. He had made up his mind as to what must be said, and not once did he pause or hesitate over a word.

While still writing, he lifted his left hand and struck upon a silver gong.

When his servant entered, the Bishop spoke without raising his eyes from the table.

"Request Brother Philip to come here, without loss of time."

When the Bishop, having signed his letter, laid down the pen, and looked up, Brother Philip stood before him.

"Philip," said the Bishop, "select a trustworthy messenger from among the stable men, one possessed of wits as well as muscle; mount him on a good beast, supply him with whatsoever he may need for a possible six days' journey. Bring him to me so soon as he is ready to set forth.

He must bear a letter, of much importance, to Sir Hugh d'Argent; and, seeing that I know only the Knight's route and stopping places, on his northward ride, but not his time of starting, which may have been yesterday or may not be until to-morrow, my messenger must ride first to Warwick, which if the Knight has left, he must then follow in his tracks until he overtake him."

"My lord," said Brother Philip, "the sun is setting and the daylight fades. The messenger cannot now reach Warwick until long after nightfall. Would it not be safer to have all in readiness, and let him start at dawn. He would then arrive early in the day, and could speedily overtake the most worshipful Knight who, riding with his lady, will do the journey by short stages."

"Nay," said the Bishop, "the matter allows of no delay. Mount him so well, that he shall outdistance all dangers. He must start within half an hour."

Brother Philip, bowing low, withdrew.

The Bishop bent again over the table, and read what he had written.

Glancing quickly through the opening greetings, he considered carefully what followed.

_"This comes to you, my son, by messenger, riding in urgent haste, because the advice herein contained is of extreme importance.

"On no account let Mora know that which I told you here, four days since, as we paced the lawn; namely: that the old lay-sister, Mary Antony, was aware of your visit to the Convent, and had, from some place of concealment, seen and heard much of what pa.s.sed in Mora's cell. How far you realised this, when I made mention of it, I know not. You made no comment. It mattered little, then; but has now become a thing of extreme importance.

"On that morning, finding the old lay-sister knew more than any supposed, and was wholly devoted to the Prioress, I had chanced to remark to her as I rode out of the courtyard that the Reverend Mother would thrust happiness from her with both hands unless our Lady herself offered it, by vision or revelation.

"Whereupon, my dear Knight, that faithful old heart using wits she had prayed our Lady to sharpen, contrived a vision of her own devising, so wondrously contrived, so excellently devised, that Mora--not dreaming of old Antony's secret knowledge--could not fail to believe it true.

In fact, my son, you may praise heaven for an old woman's wits, for, as you will doubtless some day hear from Mora herself, they gave you your wife!

"But beware lest any chance words of yours lead Mora to suspect the genuineness of the vision. It would cost HER her peace of mind. It might cost YOU her presence.

"Meanwhile the aged lay-sister died yesterday, after having mystified the entire Community by locking herself into the Prioress's cell, and remaining there, from the time she found it empty when the nuns returned from Vespers, until I arrived on the following afternoon. She thus prevented any questionings concerning Mora's flight, and averted possible scandal. But the twenty-four hours without food or drink cost the old woman her life. A faithful heart indeed, and a most shrewd wit!

"Some day, if occasion permit, I will recount to you the full story of Mary Antony's strategy. It is well worth the hearing.

"I trust your happiness is complete; and hers, Hugh, hers!

"But we must take no risks; and never must we forget that, in dealing with Mora, we are dealing with the heart of a nun.

"Therefore, my son, be wary. Heaven grant this may reach you without delay, and in time to prevent mischief."_

When the messenger, fully equipped for his journey, was brought before the Bishop by Brother Philip, this letter lay ready, sealed, and addressed to Sir Hugh d'Argent, at Warwick Castle in the first place, but failing there, to each successive stopping place upon the northward road, including Castle Norelle, which, the Bishop had gathered, was to be reached on the seventh day after leaving Warwick.

So presently the messenger swung into the saddle, and rode out through the great gates. In a leathern wallet at his belt, was the letter, and a good sum of money for his needs on the journey; and in his somewhat stolid mind, the Bishop's very simple instructions--simple, yet given with so keen a look, transfixing the man, that it seemed to the honest fellow he had received them from the point of a blue steel blade.

He was to ride to Warwick, without drawing rein; to wake the porter at the gate, and the seneschal within, no matter at what hour he arrived.

If the Knight were still at the Castle, the letter must be placed in his hands so soon as he left his chamber in the morning. But had he already gone from Warwick, the messenger, after food and rest for himself and his horse, was to ride on to the next stage and, if needful, to the next, until he overtook Sir Hugh and delivered into his own hands, with as much secrecy as possible, the letter.