"
"Why not say at once: 'It is from the Bishop, written from his Palace
in the city of Worcester'?"
Hugh frowned.
"How knew you that?" he asked, almost roughly.
"My dear Knight, hearing much champing of horses in my courtyard, I
looked down from a casement and saw a lay-brother well known to me, and
three other horsemen wearing the Bishop's livery. What can Symon of
Worcester have written which takes you from me on this day, of all
days?"
"That I cannot tell thee," he made answer. "But he writes, without
much detail, of a matter about which I must know fullest details,
without loss of time. I have no choice but to ride and see the Bishop,
face to face. It is not a question which can be settled by writing nor
could it wait the passing to and fro of messengers. Believe me, Mora,
it is urgent. Naught but exceeding urgency could force me from thee on
this day."
"Has it to do with my flight from the Convent?" she asked.
He bowed his head.
"Will you tell me the matter on your return, Hugh?"
"I know not," he answered, with face averted. "I cannot say." Then
with sudden violence: "Oh, my God, Mora, ask me no more! See the
Bishop, I must! Speak with him, I must! In nine days at the very
most, I will be back with thee. Duty takes me, my beloved, or I would
not go."
Her mind responded instinctively to the word "duty," "Go then, dear
Knight," she said. "Settle this business with Symon of Worcester.
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