"Brother Philip leaned against the archway, watching. He knew his hand
upon the bridle was no longer needed, from the moment when he saw the
Reverend Mother gather up the reins in her left hand, lay her right
gently on the neck of Icon, and, bending, speak low in his ear.
"She sat a horse--said Philip--as only they can sit, who have ridden
from childhood.
"She walked him round the meadow once, then gently shook the reins, and
he broke into a trot.
"The watching nuns, now on their feet again, shrieked aloud, with
fright and glee.
"At the extreme end of the meadow, wheeling sharply, she let him out
into a canter.
"The nuns at this were petrified into dumbness. One and all held their
breath; while Mother Sub-Prioress--nobody quite knew why--turned upon
Sister Mary Seraphine, and shook her.
"And the next moment the Prioress was among them, walking the palfrey
slowly, settling her veil, which had streamed behind her as she
cantered, bending to speak to one and another, as she passed.
"And the light of new life was in her eyes. Her cheeks glowed, she
seemed a girl again.
"Reining in Iconoklastes, she paused beside Mother Sub-Prioress and
said----"
The Bishop broke off, while he carefully stood the faggot-fork up in
its corner.
"She paused and said: 'None need remain here longer than they will.
But, being up and mounted, and our Lord Bishop in no haste for the
return of his palfrey, it is my intention to ride for an hour.
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