The hall chamber was in the centre of the Castle. Its casements looked
out upon the gardens. Thus it came about that he did not hear a
cavalcade ride into the courtyard. He did not hear the shouting of the
men, the ring of hoofs on the paving stones, the champing of horses.
He sat in a great carved chair beside the fireplace in the hall
chamber, forcing himself to stillness, yet tormented by anxiety; half
minded to order a fresh horse and to ride back to Worcester.
Suddenly, without any warning, the door, leading from the ante-chamber
at the further end of the hall, opened.
Framed in the doorway appeared a vision, which for a moment led Symon
of Worcester to question whether he dreamed, so beautiful beyond belief
was the woman in a green riding-dress, looking at him with starry eyes,
her cheeks aglow, a veil of golden hair falling about her shoulders.
_Oh, Mora, child of delight! Has the exquisite promise of thy girlhood
indeed fulfilled itself thus? Have the years changed thee so
little---and yet so greatly?_
_"The captive exile hasteneth"; exile, long ago, for thy sake; seeking
to be free, yet captive still, caught once and forever in the meshes of
that golden hair._
_Oh, Mora, child of delight! Must all this planning for thy full
development and perfecting of joy, involve the poignant anguish of thus
seeing thee again?_
Symon of Worcester rose and stood, a noble figure in crimson and gold,
at the top of the hall.
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