These--the saints be praised--were now
intent upon the closely written page.
The light of the taper illumined the almost waxen whiteness of the
gentle face, and gleamed upon the Bishop's ring. The Knight, fixing
his eyes upon the stone, saw it the colour of red wine.
At last the Bishop began to speak with careful deliberation, his eyes
upon the letter, yet telling, instead of reading; a method ofttimes
maddening to an anxious listener, eager to snatch the parchment and
master its contents for himself; yet who must perforce wait to receive
them, with due patience, from another.
"The Prioress relates to me first of all a conversation she had, by my
suggestion, with Sister Mary Serephine, in which she told that lady
much of what passed between herself and me when she consulted me upon
the apparent desire of this nun to escape from the Convent, renounce
her vows, and return to her lover and the world--her lover who had come
to save her."
The Bishop paused.
The Knight stirred uneasily in his seat. A net seemed to be closing
around him. Almost he saw himself compelled to ride to Warwick in
company with this most undesired and undesirable nun, Mary Seraphine.
The Bishop raised his eyes from the letter and looked pensively into
the fire.
"A most piteous scene took place," he said, "on the day when Sister
Seraphine first heard again the call of the outer world. Most moving
it was, as told me by the Prioress.
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