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In speaking of the possible developments which might take place in the course of the next few hours, Hugh had asked whether any in the Convent, beside Mora herself, knew of his presence in Worcester, or that he had managed to obtain entrance to the cloisters by the crypt passage, to make his way disguised to Mora's cell, and to have speech with her.
I said that nothing could induce me to break my vows, unless our Lady herself gave me a clear sign that my highest duty was to you, thus absolving me from my vows, and making it evident that God's will for me was that I should leave the Cloister, and keep my early troth to you." "And gave our Lady such a sign?" asked the Knight, his dark eyes fixed on Mora's face.
He had no intention of betraying the Bishop; but Mora's own explanation, making it quite clear that she would not be likely to suspect the identity of the Bishop with his supposed cousin, Father Gervaise, seemed to the Knight to remove the one possible reason for concealment. He was willing to risk present loss, rather than imperil future peace.
"It has naught to do with love, my lord," she said, rather coldly; "unless you mean the divine lovingkindness of our blessèd Lady." "Precisely," replied the Bishop, leaning back in his seat, and at length looking straight into Mora's earnest eyes. "The divine lovingkindness of our blessèd Lady never faileth." "You agree, my lord, that the vision shed a clear light upon all my perplexities?"
As he paced the lawn, on which the Bishop had promenaded the evening before, Hugh cursed his rashness in speaking; yet knew, in the heart of his heart, that he could not have done otherwise. Mora's words concerning truth, gave him a background of comfort. Even so had he ever himself felt. But would it prove that his honesty had indeed shattered his chances of happiness, and hers?
Jansoulet, or did the discredit which the Duke de Mora's death had thrown on the fashionable physician fall on her who bore his name? There was a little of each of these reasons, and perhaps of another, in the cool greeting of the baroness. A slight greeting on the ends of her lips, some hurried words, and she returned to the noble battalion nibbling vigorously away.
Mora's brow cleared. "I think I understand, my lord; and that you should so feel, helps me to confess to you a thing which I have scarce dared admit to myself. I found it difficult in mine own soul to attach due weight to our blessèd Lady's words as heard by Mary Antony.
The Cour des Comptes has stuck its nose into my affairs again' " "What the devil's that you're reading?" exclaimed Monpavon abruptly, snatching the letter from his hands. And in an instant, thanks to Mora's negligence in allowing such private letters to lie around, the terrible plight in which he would be left by his protector's death came to his mind. In his grief he had not as yet thought of it.
"Where are we to go, pray?" He hesitated a second, then answered: "To Hemerlingue's." She looked up at him with her great eyes, convinced that he was laughing at her. Thereupon he told her of his meeting with the baron at Mora's funeral and the agreement they had made.
It is the funeral procession." She put her head out of the window and drew it back again immediately, terrified. A line of soldiers marching with reversed arms, a confusion of caps and hats raised from the forehead at the passage of an endless cortege. It was Mora's funeral procession defiling past. "Don't stop here. Go round," she cried to the cabman.
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