The Bishop waited, a radiant figure, in the afternoon sunshine. His
silken cassock, his silvery hair, his blue eyes, so vivid and
searching, not only made a spot on which light concentrated, but almost
seemed themselves to give forth light.
The steady tramp of the men-at-arms drew nearer.
Hugh d'Argent walked beside the stretcher, head erect, eyes shining,
his hand upon the hilt of his sword.
When the Bishop saw the face of the Knight, he moved to meet the little
procession as it approached.
He held up his hand, and the men-at-arms halted.
"Good-day to you, Sir Hugh," said the Bishop. "Hath your pilgrimage to
the shrine of the blessed Saint Oswald worked the recovery you hoped?"
"Aye, my lord," replied the Knight, "a great recovery and restoration.
We start for Warwick in an hour's time."
"Wonderful!" said the Bishop. "Our Lady and the holy Saint be praised!
But you are wise to keep the patient well covered. However complete
the restoration, great care is required at first, and over-exertion
must be avoided."
"Your blessing for the patient, Reverend Father," said the Knight,
uncovering.
The Bishop moved nearer. He laid his hand upon the form beneath the
blue and silver cloak.
"_Benedictio Domini sit vobiscum_," he said. Then added, in a lower
tone: "Be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed. . . . Go in peace."
The two men who loved the Prioress, looked steadily at one another.
The men-at-arms moved forward with their burden.
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