I must to my duties above.

Will you undertake, Sir Knight, that your men go not nigh where the White Ladies pass, nor in any way molest them ?" "None shall stir hand or foot, as they pass, nor in any way molest them," said the Knight.
Hugh d'Argent was kneeling before the altar, his folded hands resting upon the cross on the hilt of his sword, when the faint sound of a key turning in a distant lock, caught his ear.
Then up the steps and across the crypt passed, in silent procession, the White Ladies of Worcester.
There was something ghostly and awe-inspiring about those veiled figures, moving noiselessly among the pillars in the dimly-lighted crypt; then vanishing, one by one, up the winding stairway in the wall.
The Knight did not stir.

He stayed upon his knees, his hands clasped upon his sword-hilt; but he followed each silent figure with his eyes.
The last had barely disappeared from view when, from above, came the solemn chanting of monks and choristers.
This harmony, descending from above, seemed to uplift the soul all the more readily, because the sacred words and noble sounds reached the listener, unhampered by association with the personalities, either youthful or ponderous, of the singers.

All that was of the earth remained unseen; while that which was so near akin to heaven, entered the listening ear.
Kneeling in lowly reverence with bowed head, the Knight found himself wondering whether the ascending sounds reached that distant gallery in the clerestory where the White Ladies knelt, as greatly softened, sweetened, and enriched, as they now came stealing down into the crypt.
Were the hearts of those veiled worshippers also lifted heavenward; or--being already above the music--did the ascending voices rather tend to draw them down to earth?
Upon which the Knight fell to meditating as to whether that which is higher always uplifts; whereas that which is lower tends to debase.
Certainly the upward look betokens hope and joy; while the downward casting of the eye, is sign of sorrow and despondency.
"_Levavi oculos meos in montes_"-- chanted the monks, in the choir above.
He certainly looked high when he lifted the eyes of his insistent desire to the Prioress of the White Ladies.

So high did he lift them, and so unattainable was she, that most men would say he might as well ask the silvery moon, sailing across the firmament, to come down and be his bride! He had held her high, in her maiden loveliness and purity.