THE POPE'S MANDATE The Bishop and Hugh d'Argent were once more alone.

It was characteristic of both that they sat for some minutes in unbroken silence.
Then the Bishop put out his hand, took up the packet from Rome, and looked at the Knight.
Hugh d'Argent rose, walked over to the casement, and leaned out into the still, summer night.
He could hear the Bishop breaking the seals of the Pope's letter.
Below in the courtyard, all was quiet.

The great gates were barred.
He wondered whether the steaming horse had been well rubbed down, clothed, and given a warm mash mixed with ale.
He could hear the Bishop unfolding the parchment, which crackled.
The moon, in her first quarter, rode high in the heavens.

The towers of St.Mary's church looked black against the sky.
The Palace stood on the same side of the Cathedral as the main street of the city, in the direct route to the Foregate, the Tithing, and the White Ladies' Nunnery at Whytstone.

How strange to remember, that beneath him lay that mile-long walk in darkness; that just under the Palace, so near the Cathedral, she and he, pacing together, had known the end of their strange pilgrimage to be at hand.