Passing into an alcove, she bathed and clothed herself, even putting on
the jewelled band to clasp the shining softness of her hair. Debbie's
will on these points had never been disputed, and truly it mattered
little to Mora what she wore, since wimple and holy veil were forever
laid aside.
She passed softly from the chamber, without awakening the old nurse,
made her way down a winding stair, out through a postern door, and so
into the gardens bathed in early morning sunshine.
Seeking to escape observation from the Castle walls or windows, she
made her way through a rose-garden to where a high yew hedge surrounded
a bowling-green. At the further end of this secluded place stood a
rustic summer-house, now a veritable bower of yellow roses.
Bending her head, Mora passed through an archway of yew, down three
stone steps, and so on to the lawn.
Then, out from the arbour stepped the Bishop, in his violet cassock and
biretta, his breviary in his hand.
If this first sight of Hugh's bride, in bridal array, on her wedding
morning, surprised or stirred him, he gave no sign of unusual emotion.
As he came to meet her, his lips smiled kindly, and in his eyes was
that half whimsical, half tender look, she knew so well. He might have
been riding into the courtyard of the Nunnery, and she standing on the
steps to receive him, so natural was his greeting, so wholly as usual
did he appear.
"You are up betimes, my daughter, as I guessed you would be; also you
have come hither, as I hoped you might do.
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