Old Debbie, looking from her casement, thought them beautiful beyond
words as she watched them cross the lawn--she in white and gold, he in
white and silver; his dark head towering above her fair one, though she
was uncommon tall. And, falling upon her knees, old Debbie prayed to
the Angel Gabriel that she might live to hold in her arms, and rock to
sleep upon her bosom, sweet babes, both fair and dark: "Fair little
maids," she said, "and fine, dark boys," explaining to Gabriel that
which she thought would be most fit.
Meanwhile Hugh and Mora, walking a yard apart--all unconscious of these
family plans, being so anxiously made for them at an upper
casement--bent their tall heads and passed under the arch in the yew
hedge, crossed the bowling-green, and entered the arbour of the golden
roses.
Hugh led the way; yet Mora gladly followed. The Bishop's presence
seemed to abide here, in comfort and protection.
All signs of the early repast were gone from the rustic table.
Mora took her seat there where in the early morning she had sat; while
Hugh, not knowing he did so, passed into the Bishop's place.
The sun shone through the golden roses, hanging in clusters over the
entrance.
The sense of the Bishop's presence so strongly pervaded the place, that
almost at once Mora felt constrained to speak of him.
"Hugh," she said, "very early this morning, long before you were awake,
the Bishop and I broke our fast, in this arbour, together.
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