The gem
on his finger sparkled like red wine in a goblet.
"I knew him of old," he said; "knew him as a high-spirited lad, yet
loving, and much beloved. He came to me, in his grief, distraught with
anguish of heart, and told me this tale of treachery and wrong. Never
did I hear of such a network of evil device, such a tragedy of loving
hearts sundered. And when at last he returned to this land, he found
that the girl whom he had thought false, thinking him so, had entered a
Nunnery. Also he seemed convinced that she was to be found among our
White Ladies of Worcester. Now tell me, dear Prioress, think you she
could be Seraphine?"
The Prioress smiled; and truly it was a very creditable smile for a
face which might have been carved in marble.
"From my knowledge of Sister Mary Seraphine," she said, "it seems
unlikely that for loss of her, so noble a Knight as you describe would
be distraught with anguish of heart."
"Nay, there I do not agree," said the Bishop. "It is ever opposites
which attract. The tall wed the short; the stout, the lean; the dark,
the fair; the grave, the gay. Wherefore my stern Crusader may be
breaking his heart for your foolish little bird."
"I do not think so," said the Prioress, shortly; then hastened to add:
"Not that I would presume to differ from you, Reverend Father.
Doubtless you are better versed in such matters than I. But--if it be
as you suppose--what measures do you suggest? How am I to deal with
Sister Mary Seraphine?"
The Bishop leaned forward and whispered, though not another soul was
within hearing; but at this juncture in the conversation, a whisper was
both dramatic and effective.
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