"
Then it was that the Knight rose to his feet.
"And I refuse," he said, "to owe my wife to sacrilege, fraud, and
falsehood."
The Bishop leaned forward, gripping with both hands the arms of his
chair. His face was absolutely colourless; but his eyes, like blue
steel, seemed to transfix the Knight, who could not withdraw his regard
from those keen points of light.
The Bishop's whisper, when at length he spoke, was more alarming than
if he had shouted.
"Fool!" he said. "Ungrateful, unspeakable fool! What mean you by such
words?"
"Call me fool if you will, my Lord Bishop," said the Knight, "so long
as I give not mine own conscience cause to call me knave."
"What mean you by such words?" persisted the Bishop. "I mean, my lord,
that if the truth opened out an abyss which plunged me into hell, I
would sooner know it than attempt to enter Paradise across the flimsy
fabric of a lie."
Now during many days, Symon of Worcester had worked incessantly,
suffered much, accomplished much, surrendered much, lost much. Perhaps
it is hardly to be wondered at, that, at this juncture, he lost his
temper.
"By Saint Peter's keys!" he cried, "I care not, Sir Knight, whether you
drop to hell or climb to Paradise. But it is my business to see to it
that you do not disturb the peace of mind of the woman you have wed.
Therefore I warn you, that if you ride from here set upon so doing, you
will not reach your destination alive.
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