He had maintained its quiet tones, yet perforce had had to rise to something of the dignity of this final pronouncement of the Prioress, and he spoke the last words with deep emotion.
Hugh d'Argent leaned forward, his elbows on his knees; then dropped his head upon his hands, and so stayed motionless.
The portcullis had fallen.

Its iron spikes transfixed his very soul.
She was his, yet lost to him.
This final word of her authority, this speaking, through the Bishop's mouth, yet with the dignity of her own high office, all seemed of set intent, to beat out the last ray of hope within him.
As he sat silent, with bowed head, wild thoughts chased through his brain.

He was back with her in the subterranean way.

He knelt at her feet in the yellow circle of the lantern's light.

Her tender hands, her woman's hands, her firm yet gentle hands, fell on his head; the fingers moved, with soothing touch, in and out of his hair.