"So passed the years in the calm service of God and of the Church; yet
always I seemed aware that a crisis would come, and that, when that
crisis came, she would need me."
The Bishop paused and looked at the Knight.
Hugh's face was in shadow; but, as the Bishop looked at him, the rubies
on his breast glittered in the firelight, as if some sudden thought had
set him strongly quivering.
At sight of which, a flash of firm resolve, like the swift drawing of a
sword, broke o'er the Bishop's calmness. It was quick and powerful; it
seemed to divide asunder soul and spirit, joints and marrow, and to
discern the thoughts and intents of the heart. And before that
two-edged blade could sheathe itself again, swiftly the Bishop spoke.
"Therefore, my dear Hugh, when you arrived with your tale of wrong and
treachery, all unconsciously to yourself, every word you spoke of your
betrothed revealed her to the man who had loved her while you were yet
a youth, with your spurs to win, and all life before you.
"I saw in your arrival, and in the strange tale you told, a wondrous
chance for her of that fuller development of life for which I knew her
to be so perfectly fitted.
"It had seemed indeed the irony of fate that, while I had fled and
dwelt in exile lest my presence should hold her back from marriage, the
treachery of others should have driven her into a life of celibacy.
"Therefore while, with my tacit consent, you went to work in your own
way, I sent my messenger to Rome bearing to the Holy Father a full
account of all, petitioning a dispensation from vows taken owing to
deception, and asking leave to unite in the holy sacrament of marriage
these long-sundered lovers, undertaking that no scandal should arise
therefrom, either in the Nunnery or in the City of Worcester.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195