"You leave to me the crucifix--heart broken, love betrayed; feet and
hands nailed to the wood of cruel circumstance; side pierced by spear
of treachery--lonely, forsaken. But you take from me all the best,
both in life and in religion; all that tells of love, of joy, of hope
for the years to come.
"Oh, my beloved, weigh it well! There are so many, with a true
vocation, serving Heaven in Convent and in Cloister. There is but one
woman in the whole world for me. In the sight of Heaven, nothing
divides us. Convent walls now stand between--but they were built by
man, not God. Vows of celibacy were not meant to sunder loving hearts.
Mora? . . . Come!"
The Prioress rose and faced him.
"I cannot come," she said. "That which I have taught to others, I must
myself perform. Hugh, I am dead to the world; and if I be dead to the
world, how can I live to you? Had I, in very deed, died and been
entombed, you would not have gone down into the vaults and forced my
resting-place, that you might look upon my face, clasp my cold hand,
and pour into deaf ears a tale of love. Yet that is what, by trick and
artifice, you now have done. You come to a dead woman, saying; 'Love
me, and be my wife.' She must, perforce, make answer: 'How shall I,
who am dead to the world, live any longer therein?' Take a wife from
among the Living, Hugh. Come not to seek a bride among the Dead."
"Mother of God!" exclaimed the Knight, "is this religion?"
He turned to the window, then to the door.
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