Florence L. Barclay

“ The dawn is breaking in the east. Call it 'to-day'—TO-DAY, dear Knight! But now let me flee away, to fathom my strange happiness alone. Then, to sleep in mine own chamber, and to awake refreshed, and ready to go with thee, Hugh, when and where and how thou wilt."
The Knight folded his arms across his breast.
"Go," he said, softly, "and our Lady be with thee. Our spirits to-night have had their fill of holy happiness. I ask no higher joy than to watch the breaking of the day which gives thee to me, knowing thee to be safely sleeping in thy chamber below." ”

“ With a growing dread at his heart, Hugh watched the increasing pallor of her face, the hard line of the lips which, but a few moments before, had parted in such gentle sweetness.
"Alas!" he exclaimed, "I should not have told thee! With my clumsy desire to keep nothing from thee, I have spoilt an hour which else might have been so perfect."
"You did well to tell me, dear Knight of mine," she said, a ripple of tenderness passing across her stern face, as swiftly and gently as the breeze stirs a cornfield. "Nor is there anything in this world so perfect as the truth. ”

“ The woman he loved was as wholly his as she had ever been.
As the sun began to gild the horizon, flecking the sky with little rosy clouds, Hugh turned into the turret archway, went down the steps, and sought his chamber. No sooner was he stretched upon his couch, than, for very joy, he fell asleep.
But—beyond the dark fir woods, and over the hills on the horizon, four horsemen, having ridden out from a wayside inn before the dawn, watched, as they rode, the widening of that silver rift in the sky, and the golden tint, heralding the welcome appearance of the sun. ”

“ Alas, I would indeed that I might rightly be turned therefrom."
"Hugh," said the Bishop, eagerly, "you deemed her justified in coming to you, apart from any vision."
"True," replied the Knight, "but I cannot feel justified in taking her, and all she would give me, knowing she gives it, with a free heart, because of her faith in the vision. Moments of purest joy would be clouded by my secret shame. Being aware of the deception, I too should be deceiving her; I, whom she loves and trusts."
"To withhold a truth is not to lie," asserted the Bishop. ”

“ And there would not have been a vision if old Antony had not contrived one. Yet I fear me, for the sin of that contriving, I shall never find forgiveness; my soul must ever stay in torment."
Tears coursed down the wrinkled cheeks.
The Bishop kneeled beside the bed.
"Dear Antony," he said. "Listen to me. 'Perfect love casteth out fear, because fear hath torment.' You have loved with a perfect love. You need have no fear. Trust in the love of God, in the precious blood of the Redeemer, which cleanseth from all sin, in the understanding tenderness of our Lady, who knoweth a woman's heart. ”

“ It had seemed indeed a lifetime to the Prioress of the White Ladies, during the first days of her return to the world. But to the woman who now kneeled at the casement, drinking in the balmy sweetness of the summer night, looking with soft yearning eyes at the well-remembered landscape flooded in silvery moonlight, it seemed—a night.
A night—since she stood on the battlements, her lover's arms about her.
A night—since she said: "Thou wilt come back to me, Hugh. . . . My love will ever be around thee as a silver shield." ”

“ Over their heads, in the meadows, walked lovers, arm in arm; young men and maidens out in the gathering twilight. All nature, refreshed, poured forth a fragrant sweetness. But the rose, with its dewy petals, seemed to the youth less sweet than the lips of the maid. This, he shyly ventured to tell her; whereupon, as she bent to its fragrance, her cheeks reflected the crimson of those delicate folds.
So walked and talked young lovers in the Worcester meadows; little dreaming that, beneath their happy feet, the Knight and the Prioress paced slowly, side by side, through the darkness. ”

“ Lest we fall into this snare, it is well daily to pray: 'O Lover of Mankind, grant unto me truly to love my fellow-men; to honour them, until they prove worthless; to trust them, until they prove faithless; and ever to expect better of them, than I expect of myself; to think better of them, than I think of myself.' Let us go through life, my son, searching for good in others, not for evil; we may miss the good, if we search not for it; the evil, alas, will find us, quite soon enough, unsought."
Suddenly Hugh lifted his head. ”

“ The Bishop himself wore crimson and gold; and, just as the dark beauty of the Knight was enhanced by the fair white and silver of his dress, so did these gorgeous Italian robes set off the frail whiteness of the Bishop's delicate face, the silvery softness of his abundant hair. And just as the collar of rubies gleamed like fiery eyes upon the Knight's white satin doublet, so from out the pallor of the Prelate's countenance the eyes shone forth, bright with the fires of eternal, youth, the gay joy of life, the twinkling humour of a shrewd yet kindly wit. ”

“ I have seen all others fail, but my Knight of the Silver Shield stand faithful. I have been shewn this by so strange a chance, that I humbly take it to be the Finger of God pointing out the pathway of His will. My pride is in the dust. My self-will lies slain. But my love for thee has become as great a thing as the heart of a woman may know. Thy faithfulness shames my poor doubts of thee. The richness of thy giving, beggars my yearning to bestow. Yet now at last thy wife can come to thee without a doubt, without a tremor, all hesitancy gone, all she is, and all she has, quite simply, thine. ”

“ Tightly clenched in her hands were fragments of her torn veil.
She beat her knuckles upon the stones with rhythmic regularity; then, when her arms would lift no longer, took up the measure with her toes, in wild imitation of a galloping horse.
As she lay, she repeated with monotonous reiteration: "Trappings of crimson, and silver bells: mane and tail, like foam of the waves; a palfrey as white as snow!"
The Prioress entered, closed the door behind her, and looked searchingly at the prostrate figure; then, lifting the master-key which hung from her girdle, locked the door on the inside. ”

“ She leaned her elbows on the table, framed her face in her hands, and looked straight into his eyes.
"Father Gervaise was more to me than I then told you, Hugh."
"What was he to thee, Mora?"
"He was the Ideal of my girlhood. For a time, I thought of him by day, I dreamed of him by night. No word of his have I ever forgotten. Many of his sayings and precepts have influenced, and still deeply influence, my whole life. In fact, Hugh, I loved Father Gervaise; not as a woman loves a man—ah, no! But, rather, as a nun loves her Lord."
"I see," said the Knight. "But you were not then a nun, Mora." ”

“ At the feet of the Madonna stood a wondrous bouquet of lilies of the valley and white roses.
Pale but radiant, the Prioress passed into her sleeping-chamber. The loving heart of old Mary Antony had been full of lilies and roses. It was not her fault that her old hands had been filled with weeds. Divine Love, understanding, had wrought this gracious miracle.
As the Prioress stretched herself upon her couch, she murmured softly: "The Lord seeth not as man seeth: for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart. ”

“ If you kill Humphry, Hugh, you do but make a widow of the woman you have loved; nor could you wed the widow of a man yourself had slain. If Humphry kills you—well, a valiant arm is lost to the Holy Cause, and other hearts, more faithful than hers, may come nigh to breaking. Stay here, and play the man.'
"So, by the messenger, I sent thee back a letter, asking thee to write me word how it was that thou, being my betrothed, hadst come to do this thing; and whether Humphry was good to thee, and making thy life pleasant. ”

“ At sound of that soft purring snore, she knew all she needed to know—knew she was no longer Prioress, knew she had renounced her vows; knew that even now the Convent was waking and wondering, as last night it must have marvelled and surmised, and to-morrow would question and condemn; knew that this was her wedding morn; that this robe of softest white, with jewelled girdle, and jewelled circlet to crown her hair, were old Debbie's choice for her of suitable attire in which to stand beside her bridegroom at the altar. ”

“ God is not a man that he should lie, or rob another of his bride. If I had wed another woman, I should have done that thing, honestly believing thee the wife of another man. But, all these years, while thou and I were both deceived, He, Who knoweth all, has known the truth. He knew thee betrothed to me. He heard thee say, upon the battlements, when last we stood together: 'God knows, I am all thine own.' He knew how, when I thought I had lost thee, I yet lived faithful to the pure memory of our love. The day thy vows were made, He knew that I was free, and thou, therefore, still pledged to me. ”

“ Hugh, I would have you think of the treasure of her golden heart, rather than of the brightness of your own selfish, silver shield."
"Selfish!" cried the Knight. "Selfish! Is it selfish to hold honour dear? Is it selfish to be ashamed to deceive the woman one loves? Have I, who have so striven in all things to put her welfare first, been selfish towards my wife in this hour of crisis?"
He sat down, heavily; leaned his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands.
This attitude of utter dejection filled the Bishop with thankfulness. ”

“ Even across the Convent lawn there moved to meet him the lovely woman with jewelled girdle, white robe, and coronet of golden hair—the bride of Hugh.
Perhaps this was the hardest moment to Symon of Worcester, in the whole of that hard day.
It was the one time when he thought of himself.
"I have lost her!" he said. "Holy Jesu—Thou Whose heart did break after three hours of darkness and of God-forsaken loneliness—have pity! The light of my life is gone from me, yet must I live."
Overwhelmed by this sudden realisation of loss, worn out in mind and exhausted in body, the Bishop sank upon the seat. ”

“ I grieve for the sorrow and disappointment to a brave and noble knight, a loyal lover, and a most faithful heart. But I cannot reward faith with un-faith. If I broke my sacred vows in order to give myself to him, I should not bring a blessing to his home. Better an empty hearth than a hearth where broods a curse. Besides, we never could live down the scandal caused. I should be anathema to all. The Pope himself would doubtless excommunicate us. It would mean endless sorrow for me, and danger for Hugh. ”

“ But nature is at one with God, and therefore immutable. Earthly kingdoms may rise and wane; mighty cities may spring up, then fall into ruin. Nations may conquer and, in their turn, be conquered. Man may slay man and, in his turn, be slain. But, through it all, the mountains stand, the rivers flow, the forests wave, and the redbreast builds his nest in the hawthorn, and warbles a love-song to his mate."
The Prioress rose and stretched wide her arms to the sunlit garden, to the bough where the robin sang. ”

“ To learn that he loved me as a man loves a woman, and that he had to flee before that love, lest it should harm me and himself, changes the hallowed memory of years. This morning, three names stood to me for all that is highest, noblest, best: Father Gervaise, Symon of Worcester, and Hugh d'Argent. Now, the Bishop and yourself alone are left. Fail me not, Hugh, or I shall be bereft indeed."
The Knight laughed, joyously. The relief at his heart demanded that much vent. "Then, if I failed thee, Mora, there would be but the Bishop?" ”

“ I envy her the motherhood which, but for her, would have been mine. . . . I want the soft dark head against my breast. . . . I want sweet baby lips drawing fresh life from mine. . . . I want the little feet, resting together in my hand. . . . All Nature sings of life, and the power to bestow life. Yet mine arms are empty, and my strength does but carry mine own self to and fro. . . . Oh, give me grace to turn my thoughts from Life to Sacrifice."
The Prioress rose, crossed the floor, and knelt long in prayer and contemplation before the crucifix. ”