The White Ladies of Worcester - Florence Louisa Barclay (best classic books of all time txt) 📗

whose hand he had himself placed hers, pronouncing the Church's blessing upon their union.

Riding away--leaving behind; leaving behind--riding away. This was what his love had ever brought him.

Yet he felt rich to-day, finding himself in possession of the certain knowledge that he had been right in judging necessary, that first departure into exile long years ago.

For had not Mora told him--little dreaming to whom she spoke--that there was a time when he had stood to her for all her heart held dearest; yet that she had loved him, not as a girl loves a man, but rather as a nun loves her Lord.

But surely a man would need to be divine to be so loved, and to hold such love aright. And, even then, when that other man arrived who would fain woo her to love him as a girl loves a man, would her heart be free to respond to the call of nature? Nay. To all intents and purposes, her heart would be a cloistered thing; yet would she be neither bride of Christ nor bride of man. The fire in his eyes would indeed have called her to an altar, and the sacrifice laid thereon would be the full completion of her womanhood.

"I did well to pass into exile," said the Bishop, reviewing the past, as he rode. Yet deep in his heart was the comfort of those words she had said: that once he had stood to her for all her heart held dearest. Mora, the girl, had felt thus; Mora, the woman, remembered it; and the Bishop, as he thought of both, offered up a thanksgiving that neither he nor Father Gervaise had done aught which was unworthy of the ideal of her girlhood's dream.

Gathering up the reins, he urged Shulamite to a rapid trot. There must be no lingering by the way.

Hasten, Shulamite! Even now the sluice-gates may be opening. Even now the crystal bowl may be slipping from its pedestal, presently to lie in a hundred fragments on the ground.

Nay, trotting will scarce do. Gallop, gallop, brave black mare!

The city walls are just in sight.

Well done!

* * * * * *


Not far from the Convent gate, the Bishop chanced, by great good fortune, upon Brother Philip, trying in the meadows the paces of a young horse, but lately purchased.

The Bishop bade the lay-brother ride with him to the Nunnery and, so soon as he should have dismounted, lead Shulamite to the Palace stables, carefully feed and tend her; then bring him out a fresh mount.

As they rode forward: "Hath any message arrived at the Palace from the Convent, Philip?" inquired the Bishop.

"None, my lord."

"Or at the Priory?"

"Nay, my lord. But I did hear, at the Priory, a strange rumour"----

"Rumours are rarely worth regarding or repeating, Brother Philip."

"True, my lord. Yet having so lately aided her to ride upon Icon"----

"'Her'? With whom then is rumour making free? And what saith this Priory rumour concerning 'her'?"

"They say the old lay-sister, Mary Antony, hath fled the Convent."

"Mary Antony!" exclaimed the Bishop, and his voice held the most extraordinary combination of amazement, relief, and incredulity. "But, in heaven's name, good brother, wherefore should the old lay-sister leave the Convent?"

"They say she was making her way into the city in search of you, my lord; but she hath not reached the Palace."

"Any other rumour, Philip?"

"Nay, my lord, none; save that the Prioress is distraught with anxiety concerning the aged nun, and has commanded that the underground way to the Cathedral crypt be searched; though, indeed, the porteress confesses to having let Sister Mary Antony out at the gate."

"Rumour again," said the Bishop, "and not a word of truth in it, I warrant. Deny it, right and left, my good Philip; and say, on my authority, that the Reverend Mother hath most certainly not caused the crypt way to be searched. I would I could lay hands on the originator of these foolish tales."

The Bishop spoke with apparent vexation, but his heart had bounded in the upspring of a great relief. Was he after all in time to save with outstretched hand that most priceless crystal bowl?

The Bishop dismounted outside the Convent gate. He took Shulamite's nose into his hand, and spoke gently in her ear.

Then: "Lead her home, Philip," he said, "and surround her with tenderest care. Her brave heart hath done wonders this day. It is for us to see that her body doth not pay the penalty. Here! Take her rein, and go."

Mary Mark looked out through the wicket, in response to a knocking on the door. She gasped when she saw the Lord Bishop, on foot, without the gate.

Quickly she opened, wide, and wider; hiding her buxom form behind the door.

But the Bishop had no thought for Mary Mark, nor inclination to play hide-and-seek with a conscience-stricken porteress.

Avoiding the front entrance, he crossed the courtyard to the right, passed beneath the rose-arch, along the yew walk, and over the lawn, to the seat under the beech, where two days before he had awaited the coming of the Prioress.

Here he paused for a moment, looking toward the silent cloisters, and picturing her tall figure, her flowing veil and stately tread, advancing toward him over the sunny lawn.

Yet no. Even in these surroundings he could not see her now as Prioress. Even across the Convent lawn there moved to meet him the lovely woman with jewelled girdle, white robe, and coronet of golden hair--the bride of Hugh.

Perhaps this was the hardest moment to Symon of Worcester, in the whole of that hard day.

It was the one time when he thought of himself.

"I have lost her!" he said. "Holy Jesu--Thou Whose heart did break after three hours of darkness and of God-forsaken loneliness--have pity! The light of my life is gone from me, yet must I live."

Overwhelmed by this sudden realisation of loss, worn out in mind and exhausted in body, the Bishop sank upon the seat.

Mora was safe with Hugh. That much had been accomplished.

For the rest, things must take their own course. He could do no more--go no further.

Then he heard again her voice in the arbour of golden roses, saying, in those low sweet tones which thrilled his very soul: "He stood to me for all that was vital and alive, in life and in religion; strong to act; able to endure."

During five minutes the Bishop sat, eyes closed, hands firmly clasped.

So still he sat, that the little Knight of the Bloody Vest, watching, with bright eyes, from the tree overhead, almost made up his mind to drop to the other end of the seat. He was missing Sister Mary Antony, who had not appeared at all that morning. This meant neither crumbs nor cheese, and the "little vain man" was hungry.

But at the end of five minutes the Bishop rose, calm and purposeful; moved firmly up the lawn, mounted the steps, and passed into the cloisters.


CHAPTER XXXVII


WHAT MOTHER SUB-PRIORESS KNEW

Mother Sub-Prioress had applied her eye, for the fiftieth time, to the keyhole; but naught could she see in the Prioress's cell, save a portion of the great wooden cross against the opposite wall.

Sister Mary Rebecca, mounted upon a stool, attempted to spy through the hole over the rope and pulley by means of which the Reverend Mother rang the Convent bell. But all Sister Mary Rebecca saw, after bumping her head upon a beam, and her nose on the wall, owing to the impossibility of getting it out of the way of her eye, was a portion of the top of the Reverend Mother's window.

She cried out, as a great discovery, that the curtains were drawn back; upon which, Mother Sub-Prioress, exclaiming, tartly, that that had been long ago observed from the garden below, pushed the stool in her anger, and sent Sister Mary Rebecca flying.

Jumping to save herself, she alighted heavily on the feet of Sister Teresa, striking Mary Seraphine full in the face with her elbow, and scattering, to right and left, the crowd around the door.

This cleared a view for Mother Sub-Prioress straight down the passage and through the big open door, to the cloisters; when, looking up--to scold Mary Rebecca for taking such a leap, to bid Sister Teresa cease writhing, and Mary Seraphine to shriek in her cell with the door shut, if shriek she must--Mother Sub-Prioress saw the Bishop, alone and unattended, walking toward them from the cloisters.

"_Benedicite_," said the Bishop, as he approached. "I am fortunate in chancing to find the whole community assembled."

The Bishop's uplifted fingers brought the nuns to their knees; but they rose at once to their feet again and crowded behind Mother Sub-Prioress as, taking a step forward, she hastened to explain the situation.

"My Lord Bishop, you find us in much distress. The Reverend Mother is locked into her cell, and we fear that, after a long night of vigil and fasting, she hath swooned. We cannot get an answer by much knocking, and we have no means of forcing the door, which is of most massive strength and thickness."

The Bishop looked searchingly into the ferrety face of Mother Sub-Prioress, but he saw naught there save genuine distress and perplexity.

He looked at the massive door, and at the excited crowd of nuns. He even gave himself time to note that the nose and lip of Seraphine were beginning to swell, and to experience a whimsical wish that the Knight could see her.

Then his calm, observant eye turned again to Mother Sub-Prioress.

"And why do you make so sure, Mother Sub-Prioress, that the Reverend Mother is indeed within her cell?"

"Because we _know_ her to be," replied Mother Sub-Prioress, as tartly as she dared, when addressing the Lord Bishop. "Permit me, Reverend Father, to recount to you the happenings of the last twenty hours.

"Soon after her return from Vespers, yestereven, the Reverend Mother sent word by Mary Antony that she purposed again spending the night in prayer and vigil, and would not be present at the evening meal; also that she must not, on any account whatever, be disturbed. Mary Antony took this message to the kitchens, bidding the younger lay-sisters to prepare the meal without her, saying she cared not how badly it was served, seeing the Reverend Mother would not be there to partake of it."

Mother Sub-Prioress paused to sniff, and to give the other nuns an opportunity for ejaculations concerning Sister Antony. But their awe of the Lord Bishop, and their genuine anxiety for the old lay-sister, kept them silent.

The Bishop stroked his chin, keeping the corners of his mouth firmly in place by means of his thumb and finger. Old Antony was delectably funny when she said these things herself; but she was delectably funnier, when her remarks were repeated by Mother Sub-Prioress.

"The old _creature_," continued Mother Sub-Prioress,