So devoted was he to sacred vigils that not only would he keep himself awake during the night, but day and night also; and when the urgency of nature at last compelled him to sleep, he did not pamper his limbs by resting on a bed or coverings, but would lie down for a short time on one of the benches of the Church, resting his head on the book which he had used for praying or reading." The Prioress chanced to have read this passage aloud, in the Refectory, two days before.
As she stood in the dawn light, overcome with sleep, yet unwilling to leave her vigil at the shrine, she remembered the example of this greatly revered Bishop of Worcester, "a man of great piety and dovelike simplicity, one beloved of God, and of the people whom he ruled in all things," dead just over a hundred years, yet ever living in the memory of all.
So, remembering his example, the Prioress went to her table, and shutting the clasps of her treasured Gregorian Sacramentary, placed it on the floor before the shrine of the Virgin.
Then, flinging her cloak upon the ground, and a silk covering over the book, she sank down, stretched her weary limbs upon the cloak and laid her head on the Sacramentary, trusting that some of the many sacred prayers therein contained would pass into her mind while she slept.
Yet still her spirit cried: "A sign, a sign! However slight, however small; a sign mine own heart can understand." Whether she slept a few moments only or an hour, she could not tell.
Yet she felt strangely rested, when she was awakened by the sound of a most heavenly song outpoured.

It flooded her cell with liquid trills, as of little silver bells.
The Prioress opened her eyes, without stirring.
Sunlight streamed in through the open window; and lo, upon the marble hand of the Madonna, that very hand which, in the vision, had taken hers and placed it within Hugh's, stood Mary Antony's robin, that gay little Knight of the Bloody Vest, pouring forth so wonderful a song of praise, and love, and fulness of joy, that it seemed as if his little ruffling throat must burst with the rush of joyous melody.
The robin sang.

Our Lady smiled.

The Babe on her knees looked merry.
The Prioress lay watching, not daring to move; her head resting on the Sacramentary.
Then into her mind there came the suggestion of a test--a sign.
"If he fly around the chamber," she whispered, "my place is here.

But if he fly straight out into the open, then doth our blessed Lady bid me also to arise and go." And, scarce had she so thought, when, with a last triumphant trill of joy, straight from our Lady's hand, like an arrow from the bow, the robin shot through the open casement, and out into the sunny, newly-awakened world beyond.
The Prioress rose, folded her cloak, placed the book back upon the table; then kneeled before the shrine, took off her cross of office, and laid it upon our Lady's hand, from whence the little bird had flown.
Then with bowed head, pale face, hands meekly crossed upon her breast, the Prioress knelt long in prayer.
The breeze of an early summer morn, blew in at the open window, and fanned her cheek.
In the garden without, the robin sang to his mate.
At length the Prioress rose, moving as one who walked in a strange dream, passed into the inner cell, and sought her couch.
The Bishop's prayer had been answered.
The Prioress had been given grace and strength to choose the harder part, believing the harder part to be, in very deed, God's will for her.
And, as she laid her head at last upon the pillow, a prayer from the Gregorian Sacramentary slipped into her mind, calming her to sleep, with its message of overruling power and eternal peace.
_Almighty and everlasting God, Who dost govern all things in heaven and earth; Mercifully bear the supplications of Thy people, and grant us Thy peace, all the days of our life; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen._.