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The voices of two of Prestongrange's liveried men upon his doorstep recalled me to myself. "Ha'e," said the one, "this billet as fast as ye can link to the captain." "Is that for the cateran back again?" asked the other. "It would seem sae," returned the first. "Him and Symon are seeking him." "I think Prestongrange is gane gyte," says the second. "He'll have James More in bed with him next."
From the moment when, his breath almost exhausted, he had seen and grasped the Bishop's stone, bringing it in triumph to the surface, Hugh had felt sure he would win. Aye, even before Symon had flung the stone; when, in reply to the doubt cast by him on our Lady's smile, the Knight had said: "I keep my trust in prayer," a joyous confidence had then and there awakened within him.
Peace and content, where always there had been turbulence and strain. Father, I tell you this because I know my gentle mother feared you did not understand, and that you may have thought her love for you had failed." Symon of Worcester smiled. "Dear lad," he said, "I understood."
They were richly embroidered, usually in heraldic style. When Symon, Bishop of Ely, performed the ceremony of Churching for Queen Philippa, the royal dame bestowed upon him the gown which she wore on that occasion; it is described as a murrey-coloured velvet, powdered with golden squirrels, and was of such voluminous pattern that it was cut over into three copes!
The Advocate, who is not without some spunks of a remainder decency, has wrung your life-safe out of Symon and the Duke. He has refused to put you on your trial, and refused to have you killed; and there is the clue to their ill words together, for Symon and the Duke can keep faith with neither friend nor enemy.
He confessed me once, and told me, when I kneeled before the crucifix, to say of Him Who hangs thereon: 'He ever liveth to make intercession for us. Never have I forgotten it. And sometimes when I say the sacred words, and, saying them, my mind turns to Father Gervaise, an echo seems to whisper to my spirit: 'He, also, liveth." Symon of Worcester rose.
Finding no opportunity of going to Staten Island, we asked our old friend Symon, who had come over from Gouanes, what was the best way for us to get there, when he offered us his services to take us over in his skiff, which we accepted; and at dusk accompanied him in his boat to Gouanes, where we arrived about eight o'clock, and where he welcomed us and entertained us well. 11th, Wednesday.
The Prioress wept, her head upon her hands, clasped and resting upon the Bishop's knees. Symon of Worcester laid his hand very gently upon that bowed head, and as he did so his eyes sought again the figure of the Christ upon the cross.
The fitful enthusiasm of Stinks at once caught fire, and he eagerly asked if the lights and the door worked together. "Yes, it's all one system," replied Symon. "It was all fitted up for the day His Royal Highness deposited the thing here. You see, it's locked up behind a glass case exactly as he left it."
Such an honour had never, in the history of the Community, been accorded even to the Canonesses, much less to a lay-sister. Surely Father Peter or the Prior? Had it been the Prioress herself, why then Few can remember the petrifying effect of a flash of sudden anger in the kindly eyes of Symon of Worcester. Mother Sub-Prioress will never forget it.
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