The Bishop had made no attempt to prevent the tearing of the document.
When she flung it upon the floor, placing her foot upon the fragments,
he merely looked at them regretfully, and then back upon her face, back
into those eyes which flamed on him in furious indignation. And in his
own there was a look so sorrowful, so deeply wounded, and yet withal so
tenderly understanding, that it quelled and calmed the anger of the
Prioress.
Her eyes fell slowly, from the serene sadness of that quiet face, to
the silver cross, studded with oriental amethysts, at his breast; to
the sash girdling his purple cassock; to the hand resting on his knees;
to the stone in his ring, from which the rich colour had faded, leaving
it pale and clear, like a large teardrop on the Bishop's finger; to his
shoes, with their strange Italian buckles; then along the floor to her
own angry foot, treading upon the torn fragments of that precious
document, procured, at such pains and cost, from His Holiness at Rome.
Then, suddenly, the Prioress faltered, weakened, fell upon her knees,
with a despairing cry, clasped her hands upon the Bishop's knees, and
laid her forehead upon them.
"Alas," she sobbed, "what have I done! In my pride and arrogance, I
have spoken ill to you, my lord, who have ever shewn me most
considerate kindness; and in a moment of ill-judged resentment, I have
committed sacrilege against the Holy Father, rending the deed which
bears his signature.
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