.

.

Go in peace." The two men who loved the Prioress, looked steadily at one another.
The men-at-arms moved forward with their burden.
The Knight smiled as he walked on beside the stretcher.
The Bishop hastened to the Palace.
It was the Knight who had smiled, and there was glory in his eyes, and triumph in the squaring of his broad shoulders, the swing of his stride, and the proud poise of his head.
The Bishop was white to the lips.

His hands trembled as he walked.
He feared--he feared sorely--this that they had accomplished.
It was one thing to theorize, to speculate, to advise, when the Prioress was safe in her Nunnery.

It was quite another, to know that she was being carried through the streets of Worcester, helpless, upon a stretcher; that when that blue pall was lifted, she would find herself in a hostel, alone with her lover, surrounded by men, not a woman within call.
The heart of a nun was a thing well known to the Bishop, and he trembled at thought of this, which he had helped to bring about.
Also he marvelled greatly that the Prioress should have changed her mind; and he sought in vain to conjecture the cause of that change.
Arrived in the courtyard of the Palace, he called for Brother Philip.
"Saddle me Shulamite," he said.