"Ah, why!"
But, even then, his own true heart made answer. He had loosed her
because he loved her too well to hold her to him when she had seemed to
wish to stand free. And he had gone alone, because never would he
force a woman to come with him against her will. His very strength was
safeguard to her weakness.
Presently Hugh heard the Bishop folding the Prioress's letter. He
lifted his head and held out his hand.
The Bishop was slipping the letter into his sash.
He paused. Those eyes implored. That outstretched hand demanded.
"Nay, dear lad," said the Bishop. "I may not give it you, because it
mentions the White Ladies by name, the Order, and poor little shallow,
changeful Seraphine herself, But this much I will do: as _you_ may not
have it, none other shall." With which the Bishop, unfolding the
Prioress's letter, flung it upon the burning logs.
Together they watched it curl and blacken; uncurl again, and slowly
flake away. Long after the rest had fallen to ashes, this sentence
remained clear: "Better an empty hearth; than a hearth where broods a
curse." The flames played about it, but still it remained legible;
white letters, upon a black ground; then, letters of fire upon grey
ashes.
Of a sudden the Knight, seizing the faggot-fork, dashed out the words
with a stroke.
"I would risk the curse," he cried, with passion. "By Pilate's water,
I would risk the curse!"
"I know you would, my son," said the Bishop, "and, by our Lady's crown,
I would have let you risk it, believing, as I do, that it would end in
blessing.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157