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

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

I
have no desire to know its purport. If it concerns my flight from the
Convent, surely the Pope's mandate is all-sufficient. But, be it what
it may, in the hands of my faithful Knight and of my trusted friend,
the Bishop, I may safely leave it. I do but ask that, the work
accomplished, you come with all speed back to me."
With a swift movement he dropped on one knee at her feet.
"Send me away with a blessing," he said. "Bless me before I go."
She laid her hands on the bowed head.
"Alas!" she cried, "how shall I let thee go?"
Then, pushing her fingers deeper into his hair and bending over him,
with infinite tenderness: "How shall thy wife bless thee?" she
whispered.
He caught his breath, as the fragrance of the newly gathered roses at
her bosom reached and enveloped him.
"Bless me," he said, hoarsely, "as the Prioress of the White Ladies
used to bless her nuns, and the Poor at the Convent gate."
"Dear Heart," she said, and smiled. "That seems so long ago!" Then, as
with bent head he still waited, she steadied her voice, lifting her
hands from off him; then laid them back upon his head, with reverent
and solemn touch. "The Lord bless thee," she said, "and keep thee; and
may our blessed Lady, who hath restored me to thee, bring thee safely
back to me again."
At that, Hugh raised his head and looked up into her face, and the
misery in his eyes stirred her tenderness as it had never been stirred
by the vivid love-light or the soft depths of passion she had
heretofore seen in them.


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