The Bishop led him, through a postern, into the garden; and there on a
wide lawn, out of earshot of any possible listeners, the Bishop and the
Knight walked up and down in earnest conversation.
At length: "To-morrow, in the early morn," said the Knight, "I send her
tire-woman on to Warwick, with all her effects, keeping back only the
riding suit. Should she elect to come, we must be free to ride without
drawing rein. Even so we shall reach Warwick only something before
midnight."
"She tore it up and planted her foot upon it," remarked the Bishop.
"I will not give up hope," said the Knight.
"Nothing short of a miracle, my son, will change her mind, or move her
from her fixed resolve."
"Then our Lady will work a miracle," declared the Knight bravely. "I
prayed 'Send her to me!' and our blessed Lady smiled."
"A sculptured smile, dear lad, is ever there. Had you prayed 'Hold her
from me!' our Lady would equally have smiled."
"Nay," said the Knight; "I keep my trust in prayer."
They paused at the parapet overhanging the river.
"I was successful," said the Knight, "in dealing with Eustace, her
nephew. There will be no need to apply to the King. The ambition was
his mother's. Now Eleanor is dead, he cares not for the Castle. Next
month he weds an heiress, with large estates, and has no wish to lay
claim to Mora's home. All is now once more as it was when she left it.
Her own people are in charge.
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