The Bishop had known Hugh d'Argent as a boy.
He grieved to see him thus in sorrow.
Yet the Bishop smiled as he rode on.
Perhaps he did not put much faith in the efficacy of relics, for so
heavily bandaged a broken head as that upon the stretcher.
For there was a whimsical tenderness about the Bishop's smile.
CHAPTER XIX
THE BISHOP PUTS ON HIS BIRETTA
Symon, Lord Bishop of Worcester, having received a letter from the
Prioress of the White Ladies, praying him for an interview at his
leisure, sent back at once a most courtly and gracious answer, that he
would that same day give himself the pleasure of visiting the Reverend
Mother, at the Nunnery, an hour after Vespers.
The great gates were thrown open, and the Bishop rode his palfrey into
the courtyard.
The Prioress herself met him at the door and, kneeling, kissed his
ring; then led him through the lower hall, where the nuns knelt to
receive his blessing, and up the wide staircase, to the privacy of her
own cell.
There she presently unfolded to him the history of her difficulties
with that wayward little nun, Sister Mary Seraphine.
"But the point which I chiefly desire to lay before you, Reverend
Father," concluded the Prioress, "is this: If the neighing of a palfrey
calls more loudly to her than the voice of God; if her mind is still
set upon the things of the world; if she professed without a true
vocation, merely because she wished to be the central figure of a great
ceremony, yet was all the while expecting a man to intervene and carry
her off; if all this bespeaks her true state of heart, then to my mind
there comes the question: Is she doing good, either to herself or to
others, by belonging to our Order? Would she not be better away?
"My lord, I fear I greatly shock you by naming such a possibility.
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