Moreover she still had the noble carriage, the rich womanly beauty, the look of vital, physical vigour, which marked her out as meant by Nature to be the mother of brave sons and fair daughters.

Yet he must leave her--to this! He looked round the room, noted the low archway leading to the sleeping chamber, took a step toward it, then fell back as from a sanctuary; marked the great table, covered with missals, parchments, and vellum.
It might well have been the cell of a learned monk, rather than the chamber of the woman he loved.

His eye, travelling round, fell upon the Madonna and Child.
In the pure evening light there was a strangely arresting quality about the marble group; something infinitely human in the brooding tenderness of the Mother, as she bent over the smiling Babe.

It spoke of home, rather than of the cloister.

It struck a chord in the heart of the Knight, a chord which rang clear and true, above the jangle of disputation and bitterness.
He put out his hand and touched the little foot of the Holy Babe.
"Mother of God," he said aloud, "send her to me! Take pity on a hungry heart, a lonely home, a desolate hearth.