"Alas, poor
Knight! A corpse for a bride!"
The Bishop came down from the battlements.
When he left his chamber an hour later, he had donned those crimson
robes which he wore on the evening when the Knight supped with him at
the Palace.
As he paced up and down the lawns, the gold cross at his breast gleamed
in the evening light.
A night-hawk, flying high overhead and looking downward as it flew,
might have supposed that a great scarlet poppy had left its clump in
the flower-beds, and was promenading on the turf.
A steward came out to ask when it would please the Lord Bishop to sup.
To the hovering hawk, a blackbird seemed to have hopped out,
confronting and arresting the promenading poppy.
The Bishop said he would await the arrival of Sir Hugh; but he turned
and followed the man into the Castle.
And now he sat in the great hall chamber.
Two hours had passed since his arrival.
Unless something unforeseen had occurred the Knight's cavalcade must be
here before long. He had planned to start within the hour; and, though
the Bishop had ridden fast, they could scarcely have taken more than an
hour longer to do the distance.
But supposing the Prioress had faltered at the last, and had besought
to be returned to the Nunnery? Would the chivalry of the Knight have
stood such a test? And, having left in secret, how could she return
openly? Would the way through the crypt be possible?
The Bishop began to wish that he had ridden to the Star hostel and
awaited developments there, instead of hastening on before.
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