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

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

And the loving
spirit of Mary Antony went with him.
The Bishop laid the worn-out body gently back upon the couch, closed
the eyes, and folded the hands upon the breast.
Then he walked over to the window, and stood looking at the golden
ramparts of that sunset city, glowing against the delicate azure of the
evening sky.
Great loneliness of soul came to the Bishop, standing thus in the empty
cell.
The Prioress had gone; the robin had gone; Mary Antony had gone; and
the Bishop greatly wished that he might go, also.
Presently he turned to the Prioress's table. She had sent to the
Palace the copy she had made, and the copy she had mended, of the
Pope's mandate. But she had left upon the table the strips of
parchment upon which she had inscribed, on the night of her vigil,
copies and translations of ancient prayers from the Sacramentaries.
The Bishop gathered these up, reading them as he stood. Two he slipped
into his sash, but the third he took to the couch and placed beneath
the folded hands.
"Take this with thee to thy jasper seat, dear faithful heart," he said;
"for truly it was given unto thee to perceive and know what things thou
oughtest to do, and also to have grace and power faithfully to fulfil
the same."
The peaceful face, growing beautiful with that solemn look of eternal
youth which death brings, even to the aged, seemed to smile, as the
precious parchment passed into the keeping of those folded hands.


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