CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE WHITE STONE Old Mary Antony was at the gate, when the Bishop rode out from the courtyard.
Thrusting the porteress aside, she pressed forward, standing with anxious face uplifted, as the Bishop approached.
He reined in Icon, and, bending from the saddle, murmured: "Take care of her, Sister Antony.

I have left her in some distress." "Hath she decided aright ?" whispered the old lay-sister.
"She always decides aright," said the Bishop.

"But she is so made that she will thrust happiness from her with both hands unless our Lady should herself offer it, by vision or revelation.

I could wish thy gay little Knight of the Bloody Vest might indeed fly with her to his nest and teach her a few sweet lessons, in the green privacy of some leafy paradise.

But I tell thee too much, worthy Mother.