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Updated: May 28, 2025
Duty takes me, my belovèd, or I would not go." Her mind responded instinctively to the word "duty," "Go then, dear Knight," she said. "Settle this business with Symon of Worcester. I have no desire to know its purport. If it concerns my flight from the Convent, surely the Pope's mandate is all-sufficient.
Turning Shulamite, Symon of Worcester rode slowly down the hill, passed southward, and entered the city by Friar's Gate; and so to the Palace, where Hugh d'Argent waited. The Bishop led him, through a postern, into the garden; and there on a wide lawn, out of earshot of any possible listeners, the Bishop and the Knight walked up and down in earnest conversation.
Also, dear Knight, I must ask you to remember, even when we are alone, that your old friend, Father Gervaise, in his brown habit, lies at the bottom of the ocean; yet that your new friend, Symon of Worcester, holds you and your interests very near his heart." The Bishop put out his hand. Hugh seized and kissed it, knowing this was his farewell to Father Gervaise. Then he rose to his feet.
In the year 1486, a report spread of the escape of this Prince, and soon afterwards Richard Symon, a Priest of Oxford, landed in Dublin with a youth of the same age, of prepossessing appearance and address, who could relate with the minutest detail the incidents of his previous imprisonment.
Symon scarcely seemed to hear the newcomers; it seemed almost as if he had not realized that the return of the light revealed his brooding attitude. Then he started in a guilty fashion, and when he saw the elder of the two strangers, his pale face seemed to turn a shade paler. "Why it's Horne Fisher!" and then after a pause he said in a low voice, "I'm in the devil of a hole, Fisher."
There, upon a rustic table was spread a dainty repast new milk, fruit freshly gathered, white rolls, and most golden pats of butter, the dew of the dairy yet upon them. "Come, my daughter," said Symon of Worcester, gaily. "We of the Church, who know the value of these early hours, let us break our fast together." "Is it magic, my lord?" she asked, suddenly conscious of unmistakable hunger.
Symon of Worcester turned, walked slowly across the courtyard, made his way to the parapet above the river, and stood long, with bent head, watching the rapid flow of the Severn. His eyes rested upon the very place where the Knight had cleft the water in his impulsive dive after the white stone, made, by the Bishop's own words, to stand to him for his chances of winning the Prioress.
The truth is, they were three at the one table Prestongrange, Symon Fraser, and Mr. Erskine, Sheriff of Perth; and as they were met in consultation on the very business of the Appin murder, they were a little disturbed at my appearance, but decided to receive me. "Well, well, Mr. Balfour, and what brings you here again? and who is this you bring with you?" says Prestongrange.
I had sat down on the wayside, where she took a place beside me, and I told her all that matter much as I have written it, my thoughts about her father's dealing being alone omitted. "Well," she said, when I had finished, "you are a hero, surely, and I never would have thought that same! And I think you are in peril, too. O, Symon Fraser! to think upon that man!
"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.
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