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Barclay, Florence L. (Florence Louisa), 1862-1921

"The White Ladies of Worcester A Romance of the Twelfth Century"


"There, my pretty!" said Deborah, as best she could for her own sobs.
"There, there! We are at home, now we are together. Come and see the
chamber in which we shall sleep, just as we slept long years ago, when
you were a babe, my dear."
So, with her old nurse's arms about her, she, who had come in so
proudly, went gently out in a soft mist of tears.
The Bishop turned away.
"Love never faileth," he murmured, half aloud.
Hugh turned with him, and laughed; but in his laughter there was no
vexation, no bitterness, no unrest. It was the happy laugh of a heart
aglow with a hope amounting to certainty.
"There were two of us the other night, my dear lord," he said; "but now
old Debbie has appeared, methinks there are three!"


CHAPTER XXXV
IN THE ARBOUR OF GOLDEN ROSES
The next day dawned, clear and radiant; a perfect summer morning.
Mora awoke soon after five o'clock.
Notwithstanding the fatigue of the previous day, the strain and stress
of heart, and the late hour at which she had at length fallen asleep,
the mental habit of years overcame the physical need of further slumber.
Her first conscious thought was for the rope which worked over a pulley
through a hole in the wall of her cell, enabling her from, within to
ring the great bell in the passage, thus rousing the entire community.
It had been her invariable habit to do this herself. She liked the
nuns to feel that the call to begin a new day came to them from the
hand of their Prioress.


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