A GREAT RECOVERY AND RESTORATION
Symon, Bishop of Worcester, attended by his Chaplain, chanced to be
walking through the Precincts on his way from the Priory to the Palace,
just as the men-at-arms bearing the stretcher came through the great
door of the Cathedral.
Father Benedict, cowled, and robed completely in black, a head and
shoulders taller than the Bishop, walked behind him, a somewhat
sinister figure.
The Bishop stopped. "Precede me to the Palace, Father Benedict," he
said. "I wish to have speech with yonder Knight who, I think, comes
this way."
The Chaplain stood still, made deep obeisance, jerked his cowl more
closely over his face, and strode away.
The Bishop waited, a radiant figure, in the afternoon sunshine. His
silken cassock, his silvery hair, his blue eyes, so vivid and
searching, not only made a spot on which light concentrated, but almost
seemed themselves to give forth light.
The steady tramp of the men-at-arms drew nearer.
Hugh d'Argent walked beside the stretcher, head erect, eyes shining,
his hand upon the hilt of his sword.
When the Bishop saw the face of the Knight, he moved to meet the little
procession as it approached.
He held up his hand, and the men-at-arms halted.
"Good-day to you, Sir Hugh," said the Bishop. "Hath your pilgrimage to
the shrine of the blessèd Saint Oswald worked the recovery you hoped?"
"Aye, my lord," replied the Knight, "a great recovery and restoration.
We start for Warwick in an hour's time."
"Wonderful!" said the Bishop. "Our Lady and the holy Saint be praised!
But you are wise to keep the patient well covered. However complete
the restoration, great care is required at first, and over-exertion
must be avoided."
"Your blessing for the patient, Reverend Father," said the Knight,
uncovering.
The Bishop moved nearer. He laid his hand upon the form beneath the
blue and silver cloak.
"_Benedictio Domini sit vobiscum_," he said. Then added, in a lower
tone: "Be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed. . . . Go in peace."
The two men who loved the Prioress, looked steadily at one another.
The men-at-arms moved forward with their burden.
The Knight smiled as he walked on beside the stretcher.
The Bishop hastened to the Palace.
It was the Knight who had smiled, and there was glory in his eyes, and
triumph in the squaring of his broad shoulders, the swing of his
stride, and the proud poise of his head.
The Bishop was white to the lips. His hands trembled as he walked.
He feared--he feared sorely--this that they had accomplished.
It was one thing to theorize, to speculate, to advise, when the
Prioress was safe in her Nunnery. It was quite another, to know that
she was being carried through the streets of Worcester, helpless, upon
a stretcher; that when that blue pall was lifted, she would find
herself in a hostel, alone with her lover, surrounded by men, not a
woman within call.
The heart of a nun was a thing well known to the Bishop, and he
trembled at thought of this, which he had helped to bring about.
Also he marvelled greatly that the Prioress should have changed her
mind; and he sought in vain to conjecture the cause of that change.
Arrived in the courtyard of the Palace, he called for Brother Philip.
"Saddle me Shulamite," he said. "Also mount Jasper on our fastest nag,
with saddle-bags. We ride to Warwick; and must start within a quarter
of an hour."
A portion of that time the Bishop spent writing in the library.
When he was mounted, he stooped from the saddle and spoke to Brother
Philip.
"Philip," he said, "a very noble lady, betrothed to Sir Hugh d'Argent,
has just arrived at the Star hostel, where for some days he has awaited
her. She rides with the Knight forthwith to Warwick, where they will
join me at the Castle. It is my wish to lend Iconoklastes to the lady.
Therefore I desire thee to saddle the palfrey precisely as he was
saddled when he went to the Convent of the White Ladies for their
pleasuring and play. Lead him, without delay, to the hostel; deliver
him over to the men-at-arms of Sir Hugh d'Argent, and see that they
hand this letter at once to the Knight, that he may give it to his
lady. Lose not a moment, my good Philip. Look to see me return
to-morrow."
The Bishop gathered up the reins, and started out, at a brisk pace, for
the Warwick road.
The letter he had intrusted to Brother Philip, sealed with his own
signet, was addressed to Sir Hugh d'Argent. But within was written:
_Will the Countess of Norelle be pleased to accept of the palfrey
Iconoklastes as a marriage gift from her old friend Symon Wygorn._