The next morning he left the Court, and soon after sailed
for Spain; and on the passage thither the ship foundered in a great
storm, and he, with all on board, perished. Heard you of that, my
lord?"
"I heard it," said the Bishop.
"All believed it, and mourned him; for by all he was beloved. But
never could I feel that he was dead. Always for me it seemed that he
still lived. And last night--when I entered--across the great hall
chamber, it seemed as if, once more, the eyes of Father Gervaise looked
upon me, with that glowing fire in them, which called me to an altar."
The Bishop smiled again, and there was in his look a gentle merriment.
"You were over-strained, my daughter. When you drew near, you
found--instead of a ghostly priest with eyes of fire, drowned many
years ago, off the coast of Spain--your old friend, Symon of Worcester,
who had stolen a march on you, by reason of the swift paces of his good
mare, Shulamite."
Mora leaned forward, and laid her hand on his.
"Mock not, my friend," she said. "There was a time when Father
Gervaise stood to me for all my heart held dearest. Yet I loved him,
not as a girl loves a man, but rather as a nun loves her Lord. He
stood to me for all that was noblest and best; and, above all, for all
that was vital and alive in life and in religion; strong to act; able
to endure. He confessed me once, and told me, when I kneeled before
the crucifix, to say of Him Who hangs thereon: 'He ever liveth to make
intercession for us.
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