"The dress is also here," he said.
"What dress?" she questioned, starting.
He pointed to where he had laid it: her white habit, scapulary, wimple,
veil and girdle; the dress of a Prioress of the Order of the White
Ladies.
She turned her startled eyes upon it. Then quickly looked away.
"Did you yourself think a vision needed, in order that I might be
justified in leaving the Convent, Hugh?"
"Nay, then," he cried, "always from the first I held thee mine in the
sight of Heaven."
"Are you of opinion that, the vision being proved no vision, I should
go back?"
"No!" said the Knight; and the word fell like a blow from a battle-axe.
"Does the Bishop expect that I shall return?"
"Yes," replied the Knight, groaning within himself that she should have
chanced to change the form of her question.
"He would so expect," mused Mora. "He would be sure I should return.
He remembers my headstrong temper, and my imperious will. He remembers
how I tore the Pope's mandate, placing my foot upon it. He knows I
said how that naught would suffice me but a divine vision. Also he
knoweth well the heart of a nun; and when I asked him if the heart of a
nun could ever become as the heart of other women, he did most piously
ejaculate: 'Heaven forbid?'"
Little crinkles of merriment showed faintly at the corners of her eyes.
The Bishop would have seen them, and smiled responsive. But the sad
Knight saw them not.
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