" Both men crossed
themselves devoutly, as the Bishop named the Dead. "Shall I give it
you now, my son, or will you wait until the morrow, when a good night's
rest shall fit you better to enjoy the recital?"
"My lord," said Hugh, "ere this sun sets, I hope to be many miles on my
homeward way."
"In that case," said the Bishop, "I must tell you this moving story,
without further delay."
So, beginning with her custom of counting the White Ladies by means of
the dried peas, the Bishop gave the Knight the whole history of Mary
Antony's share in the happenings in the Nunnery on the day of his
intrusion, and those which followed; laying especial stress on her
devotion to Mora, and her constant prayers to our Lady to sharpen her
old wits.
The Bishop had undoubtedly intended to introduce into the recital
somewhat more of mysticism and sublimity than the actual facts
warranted. But once launched thereon, his sense of humour could not be
denied its full enjoyment in this first telling of the entire tale.
Full justice he did to the pathos, but he also shook with mirth over
the ludicrous. As he quoted Mary Antony, the old lay-sister's odd
manner and movements could be seen; her mumbling lips, and cunning
wink. And here was Mother Sub-Prioress, ferret-faced and peering; and
here Sister Mary Rebecca, long-nosed, flat-footed, eager to scent out
and denounce wrong doing. And at last the Bishop told of his talk with
Mora in the arbour of golden roses; and lo, there was Mora, devout,
adoring, wholly believing.
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