And as he walked with
Mora up the golden stair, his mind was at rest; his weary body slept.
A very few minutes of sleep sufficed the Bishop.
He awoke as suddenly as he had fallen asleep; and, as he awoke, he
seemed to hear himself say: "Nay, Hugh. None save the old lay-sister,
Mary Antony."
He sat up, wondering what this sentence could mean; also when and where
it had been spoken.
As he wondered, his eye fell upon the white stone which he had flung
into the Severn, and which the Knight, diving from the parapet, had
retrieved from the river bed. The stone seemed in some way connected
with this chance sentence which had repeated itself in his brain.
The Bishop rose, walked over to his deed chest, took the white stone in
his hand and stood motionless, his eyes fixed upon it, wrapped in
thought. Then he passed out on to the lawn, and paced slowly to and
fro between the archway leading from the courtyard, to the parapet
overlooking the river.
Yes; it was here.
He had ridden in on Shulamite, from the heights above the town, whence
he had watched the Prioress ride in the river meadow.
He had found Hugh d'Argent awaiting him, and together they had paced
this lawn in earnest conversation.
Hugh had been anxious to hear every detail of his visit to the Convent
and the scene in the Prioress's cell when he had shewn her the copy of
the Pope's mandate, just received from Rome. In speaking of the
possible developments which might take place in the course of the next
few hours, Hugh had asked whether any in the Convent, beside Mora
herself, knew of his presence in Worcester, or that he had managed to
obtain entrance to the cloisters by the crypt passage, to make his way
disguised to Mora's cell, and to have speech with her.
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