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Updated: May 28, 2025
"Could I go against my father's orders, and him in prison, in the danger of his life?" "But perhaps we go too fast," said I. "This may be a lie too. He may have no right orders; all may be contrived by Symon, and your father knowing nothing." She burst out weeping between the pair of us; and my heart smote me hard, for I thought this girl was in a dreadful situation.
"There does seem a bit of a mystery to be cleared up," observed the gentleman so addressed. "It will never be cleared up," said the pale Symon. "If anybody could clear it up, you could. But nobody could." "I rather think I could," said another voice from outside the group, and they turned in surprise to realize that the man in the black robe had spoken again. "You!" said the colonel, sharply.
His steed is flecked with foam, and stands with spreading nostrils, panting. . . . The rider has passed within. . . . Your men, my lord, are leading away the steed." The Knight returned to his place. "Brave beast! Methinks they would do well to mix his warm mash with ale." Symon of Worcester made no reply.
Prestongrange shut his book with a snap. "I told you so, Symon," said he; "you have played your hand for all it was worth, and you have lost. Mr. David," he went on, "I wish you to believe it was by no choice of mine you were subjected to this proof. I wish you could understand how glad I am you should come forth from it with so much credit.
"Absolution!" she cried, a little further on. And at last, reading rapidly, in tones of uncontrollable anger and indignation: "'Empowers Symon, Lord Bishop of Worcester, or any priest he may appoint, to unite in the holy sacrament of marriage the Knight-Crusader, Hugh d'Argent, and Mora de Norelle, sometime Prioress of the White Ladies of Worcester. Sometime Prioress?
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.
Father Symon was cast into prison, where he died, after having confessed that his protege was Lambert Simnel, the son of a joiner at Oxford. Nothing shows the strength of the Kildare party, and the weakness of the English interest, more than that the deputy and his partizans were still continued in office.
A false premise becomes the starting-point; and the goal, if it stop short of perdition, is, at best, folly and failure." The Bishop paused. The eyes of the woman before him were dark with sorrow, regret, and the dawning of a great fear. Presently she spoke. "To say these things here, my lord, is to say them too late." "It is never too late," replied Symon of Worcester.
I had done better to have instantly refused, but in truth I was beside the power of reasoning; did as I was bid; took my leave I know not how; and when I was forth again in the close, and the door had shut behind me, was glad to lean on a house wall and wipe my face. Symon rang in my memory, as a sudden noise rings after it is over on the ear.
My eyes besides were still troubled, and my knees loose under me, with the distress of the late ordeal; and I could do no more than stammer the same form of words: "I put my life and credit in your hands." "Well, well," says he, "we must try to save them. And in the meanwhile let us return to gentler methods. You must not bear any grudge upon my friend, Mr. Symon, who did but speak by his brief.
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