Heard you of that, my lord ?" "I heard it," said the Bishop.
"All believed it, and mourned him; for by all he was beloved.

But never could I feel that he was dead.

Always for me it seemed that he still lived.

And last night--when I entered--across the great hall chamber, it seemed as if, once more, the eyes of Father Gervaise looked upon me, with that glowing fire in them, which called me to an altar." The Bishop smiled again, and there was in his look a gentle merriment.
"You were over-strained, my daughter.

When you drew near, you found--instead of a ghostly priest with eyes of fire, drowned many years ago, off the coast of Spain--your old friend, Symon of Worcester, who had stolen a march on you, by reason of the swift paces of his good mare, Shulamite." Mora leaned forward, and laid her hand on his.
"Mock not, my friend," she said.