It had vanished instantly from view.
Then the Bishop spoke.

"Hugh, my dear lad, she thought it was the Pope's own deed and signature, yet she tore it across, and then again across; flung it upon the ground, and set her foot upon it.

I deem it now as impossible that the Prioress should change her mind upon this matter, as that we should ever see again that stone which now lies deep on the river-bed." It was a high dive from the parapet; and, to the Bishop, watching the spot where the Knight cleft the water, the moments seemed hours.
But when the Knight reappeared, the white stone was in his hand.
The Bishop went down to the water-gate.
"Bravely done, my son!" he called, as the Knight swam to the steps.
"You deserve to win." But to himself he said: "Fighting men and quick-witted women will be ever with us, gaining their ends by strenuous endeavour.

But the age of miracles is past." Hugh d'Argent mounted the steps.
"I _shall_ win," he said, and shook himself like a great shaggy dog.
The Bishop, over whom fell a shower, carefully wiped the glistening drops from his garments with a fine Italian handkerchief.
"Go in, boy," he said, "and get dry.

Send thy man for another suit, unless it would please thee better that Father Benedict should lend thee a cassock! Give me the stone.