'"
Symon of Worcester turned and looked full at the Knight.
"And the Prioress rode for an hour," he said. "For a full hour, in the
sunshine, on the soft turf of the river meadow, THE PRIORESS TRIED HER
WINGS."
CHAPTER XXIII
THE MIDNIGHT ARRIVAL
Hugh d'Argent sat speechless, returning the Bishop's steady gaze.
No fear was in his face; only a great surprise.
Presently into the eyes of both there crept a look which was
half-smile, half-wistful sorrow, but wholly trustful; a look to which,
as yet, the Bishop alone held the key.
"So you know, my lord," said Hugh d'Argent.
"Yes, my son; I know."
"Since this morning?"
"Nay, then! Since the first day you arrived with your story; asking
such careful questions, carelessly. But be not wroth with yourself,
Hugh. Faithful to the hilt, have you been. Only--no true lover was
ever a diplomat! Matters which mean more than life, cannot be
dissembled by true hearts from keen eyes."
"Then why all the talk concerning Seraphine?" demanded the Knight.
"Seraphine, my son, has served a useful purpose in various
conversations. Never before, in the whole of her little shallow,
selfish life has Seraphine been so disinterestedly helpful. That you
sat here just now, thinking me witless beyond belief, just when I most
desired not to appear to know too much, I owe to the swollen
countenance of Seraphine."
"My lord," exclaimed the Knight, overcome with shame.
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