Her heart is now wedded to the Cloister.'" The Bishop looked up.
"Therefore, my son, we must conclude that your secret interview, whenever or wherever it took place, had no effect--will bear no lasting fruit." The Bishop could not resist this allusion to the pomegranates of Seraphine.
But Hugh d'Argent, face to face with the suspended portcullis of his fate, trampled all such gossamer beneath impatient feet.
He moistened his dry lips.
"The message," he said.
The Bishop lifted the letter.
"'But,'" he read, "'if you still believe your noble Knight to be the lover of Seraphine, then I pray you to tell him this from me.

No nun worthy of a brave man's love, would consent to break her vows.

A nun who could renounce her vows to go to him, would wrong herself and him, bringing no blessing to his home.

Better an empty hearth, than a hearth where broods a curse.

I ask you, my lord, to give this as a message to that noble Knight from me--the Prioress of this House--and to bid him go in peace, praying for a heart submissive to the will of God.'" The Bishop's voice fell silent.