THE WARNING
Alert, determined, all trace of lassitude departed, the Bishop returned
to the library, laid the stone upon the deed chest, sat down at a table
and wrote a letter. He had made up his mind as to what must be said,
and not once did he pause or hesitate over a word.
While still writing, he lifted his left hand and struck upon a silver
gong.
When his servant entered, the Bishop spoke without raising his eyes
from the table.
"Request Brother Philip to come here, without loss of time."
When the Bishop, having signed his letter, laid down the pen, and
looked up, Brother Philip stood before him.
"Philip," said the Bishop, "select a trustworthy messenger from among
the stable men, one possessed of wits as well as muscle; mount him on a
good beast, supply him with whatsoever he may need for a possible six
days' journey. Bring him to me so soon as he is ready to set forth.
He must bear a letter, of much importance, to Sir Hugh d'Argent; and,
seeing that I know only the Knight's route and stopping places, on his
northward ride, but not his time of starting, which may have been
yesterday or may not be until to-morrow, my messenger must ride first
to Warwick, which if the Knight has left, he must then follow in his
tracks until he overtake him."
"My lord," said Brother Philip, "the sun is setting and the daylight
fades. The messenger cannot now reach Warwick until long after
nightfall. Would it not be safer to have all in readiness, and let him
start at dawn. He would then arrive early in the day, and could
speedily overtake the most worshipful Knight who, riding with his lady,
will do the journey by short stages."
"Nay," said the Bishop, "the matter allows of no delay. Mount him so
well, that he shall outdistance all dangers. He must start within half
an hour."
Brother Philip, bowing low, withdrew.
The Bishop bent again over the table, and read what he had written.
Glancing quickly through the opening greetings, he considered carefully
what followed.
_"This comes to you, my son, by messenger, riding in urgent haste,
because the advice herein contained is of extreme importance.
"On no account let Mora know that which I told you here, four days
since, as we paced the lawn; namely: that the old lay-sister, Mary
Antony, was aware of your visit to the Convent, and had, from some
place of concealment, seen and heard much of what passed in Mora's
cell. How far you realised this, when I made mention of it, I know
not. You made no comment. It mattered little, then; but has now
become a thing of extreme importance.
"On that morning, finding the old lay-sister knew more than any
supposed, and was wholly devoted to the Prioress, I had chanced to
remark to her as I rode out of the courtyard that the Reverend Mother
would thrust happiness from her with both hands unless our Lady herself
offered it, by vision or revelation.
"Whereupon, my dear Knight, that faithful old heart using wits she had
prayed our Lady to sharpen, contrived a vision of her own devising, so
wondrously contrived, so excellently devised, that Mora--not dreaming
of old Antony's secret knowledge--could not fail to believe it true.
In fact, my son, you may praise heaven for an old woman's wits, for, as
you will doubtless some day hear from Mora herself, they gave you your
wife!
"But beware lest any chance words of yours lead Mora to suspect the
genuineness of the vision. It would cost HER her peace of mind. It
might cost YOU her presence.
"Meanwhile the agèd lay-sister died yesterday, after having mystified
the entire Community by locking herself into the Prioress's cell, and
remaining there, from the time she found it empty when the nuns
returned from Vespers, until I arrived on the following afternoon. She
thus prevented any questionings concerning Mora's flight, and averted
possible scandal. But the twenty-four hours without food or drink cost
the old woman her life. A faithful heart indeed, and a most shrewd wit!
"Some day, if occasion permit, I will recount to you the full story of
Mary Antony's strategy. It is well worth the hearing.
"I trust your happiness is complete; and hers, Hugh, hers!
"But we must take no risks; and never must we forget that, in dealing
with Mora, we are dealing with the heart of a nun.
"Therefore, my son, be wary. Heaven grant this may reach you without
delay, and in time to prevent mischief."_
When the messenger, fully equipped for his journey, was brought before
the Bishop by Brother Philip, this letter lay ready, sealed, and
addressed to Sir Hugh d'Argent, at Warwick Castle in the first place,
but failing there, to each successive stopping place upon the northward
road, including Castle Norelle, which, the Bishop had gathered, was to
be reached on the seventh day after leaving Warwick.
So presently the messenger swung into the saddle, and rode out through
the great gates. In a leathern wallet at his belt, was the letter, and
a good sum of money for his needs on the journey; and in his somewhat
stolid mind, the Bishop's very simple instructions--simple, yet given
with so keen a look, transfixing the man, that it seemed to the honest
fellow he had received them from the point of a blue steel blade.
He was to ride to Warwick, without drawing rein; to wake the porter at
the gate, and the seneschal within, no matter at what hour he arrived.
If the Knight were still at the Castle, the letter must be placed in
his hands so soon as he left his chamber in the morning. But had he
already gone from Warwick, the messenger, after food and rest for
himself and his horse, was to ride on to the next stage and, if
needful, to the next, until he overtook Sir Hugh and delivered into his
own hands, with as much secrecy as possible, the letter.
The Bishop passed along the gallery, after the messenger had left the
library, mounted to the banqueting hall and watched him ride away, from
that casement, overlooking the courtyard, from which Hugh had looked
down upon the arrival of Roger de Berchelai, bringing the letter from
Rome.
A great relief filled the mind of the Bishop as he heard the clattering
hoofs of the fastest nag in his stables, ring on the paving stones
without, and die away in the distance.
A serious danger would be averted, if the Knight were warned in time.
The Bishop prayed that his letter might reach Hugh's hands before Mora
was moved to speak to him of Mary Antony's vision.
He blamed himself bitterly for not having sooner recalled that
conversation on the lawn. How easy it would have been, after hearing
Mora's story in the arbour, to have given Hugh a word of caution before
leaving Warwick.
Just after sunset, one of the Bishop's men, who had remained behind at
Warwick, reached the Palace, bringing news that the Knight, his Lady,
and their entire retinue, had ridden out from Warwick in the afternoon
of the previous day.
The Bishop chafed at the delay this must involve, yet rejoiced at the
prompt beginning of the homeward journey, having secretly feared lest
Hugh should find some difficulty in persuading his bride to set forth
with him.
After all, they were but two days ahead of the messenger who, by fast
riding, might overtake them on the morrow. Mistress Deborah, even on a
pillion, should prove a substantial impediment to rapid progress.
But, alas, before noon on the day following, Brother Philip appeared in
haste, with an anxious countenance.
The messenger had returned, footsore and exhausted, bruised and
wounded, with scarce a rag to his back.
In the forest, while still ten miles from Warwick, overtaken by the
darkness, he had met a band of robbers, who had taken his horse and all
he possessed, leaving him for dead, in a ditch by the wayside. Being
but stunned and badly bruised, when he came to himself he thought it
best to make his way back to Worcester and there report his
misadventure.
The Bishop listened to this luckless tale in silence.
When it was finished he said, gently: "My good Philip, thou art proved
right, and I, wrong. Had I been guided by thee, I should not have lost
a good horse, nor--which is of greater importance at this
juncture--twenty-four hours of most precious time."
Brother Philip made a profound obeisance, looking deeply ashamed of his
own superior foresight and wisdom, and miserably wishful that the
Reverend Father had been right, and he, wrong.
"However," continued the Bishop, after a moment of rapid thought, "I
must forgo the melancholy luxury of meditating upon my folly, until
after we have taken prompt measures, so far as may be, to put right the
mischief it has wrought.
"This time, my good Philip, you shall be the bearer of my letter. Take
with you, as escort, two of our men--more, if you think needful. Ride
straight from here, by the most direct route to Castle Norelle, the
home of the noble Countess, lately wedded to Sir Hugh. I will make you
a plan of the road.
"If, when you reach the place, Sir Hugh and his bride have arrived, ask
to have speech with the Knight alone, and put the letter into his own
hands. But if they are yet on the way, ride to meet them, by a road I
will clearly indicate. Only be careful to keep out of sight of all
save the Knight or his body-servant, Martin Goodfellow.
"The letter delivered, and the answer in thy hands, return, to me as
speedily as may be, without overpressing men or steeds. How soon canst
thou set forth?"
"Within the hour, my lord," said Brother Philip, joyfully, cured of his
shame by this call to immediate service; "with an escort of three, that
we may ride by night as well as by day."
"Good," said the Bishop; and, as the lay-brother, bowing low, hastened
from the chamber, Symon of Worcester drew toward him writing materials,
and penned afresh his warning to the Knight; not at such length as in
the former missive, but making very clear the need for silence
concerning Mary Antony's previous knowledge of his visit to the
Nunnery, lest Mora should come to doubt the genuineness of the vision
which had brought her to her great decision, and which in very truth
had been wholly contrived by the loving heart and nimble wits of Mary
Antony.
So once again the Bishop stood at the casement in the banqueting hall;
and, looking down into the courtyard, saw faithful Philip, with an
escort fully armed, ride out at the Palace gates.
No time had been lost in repairing the mistake. Yet there was heavy
foreboding at the Bishop's heart, as he paced slowly down the hall.
Greatly he feared lest this twenty-four hours' delay should mean
mischief wrought, which could never be undone.
Passing into the chapel, he kneeled long before the shrine of Saint
Joseph praying, with an intense fervour of petition, that his warning
might reach the Knight before any word had passed his lips which could
shake Mora's belief in that which was to her the sole justification for
the important step she had taken.
The Bishop prayed and fasted; fasted, prayed, and kept vigil. And all
the night through, in thought, he followed Brother Philip and his
escort as they rode northward, through the forests, up the glens, and
over the moors, making direct for Mora's home, to which she and Hugh
were travelling by a more roundabout way.