As it illumined the white and silver doublet, and glowed in
the rubies, the Bishop conceived the whimsical fancy that the Knight
might well be some splendid archangel, come down to force the Convent
gates and carry off a nun to heaven. And the Knight, watching the
leaping flame flicker on the Bishop's crimson robes and silvery hair,
saw the lenient smile upon the saintly face and took courage as he
realised how kindly was the heart, filled with most human sympathy,
which beat beneath the cross of gold upon the Prelate's breast.
Leaning forward, the Bishop lifted the faggot-fork and moved one of the
burning logs so that a jet of blue smoke, instead of mounting the
chimney, came out toward them on the hearth.
Symon of Worcester sat back and inhaled it with enjoyment.
"This is refreshing," he said. "This soothes and yet braces the mind.
And now, my son, let us return to the question of your own private
concerns. First, let me ask--Hugh, dear lad, as friend and counsellor
I ask it--are you able now to tell me the name of the woman you desire
to wed?"
"Nay, my dear lord," replied the Knight, "that I cannot do. I guard
her name, as I would guard mine honour. If--as may our Lady be pleased
to grant--she consent to fly with me, her name will still be mine to
guard; yet then all men may know it, so they speak it with due respect
and reverence. But if--as may our blessed Lady forbid--she withhold
herself from me, so that three days hence I ride away alone; then must
I ride away leaving no shadow of reproach on her fair fame.
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