This was what his love had ever brought him.
Yet he felt rich to-day, finding himself in possession of the certain knowledge that he had been right in judging necessary, that first departure into exile long years ago.
For had not Mora told him--little dreaming to whom she spoke--that there was a time when he had stood to her for all her heart held dearest; yet that she had loved him, not as a girl loves a man, but rather as a nun loves her Lord.
But surely a man would need to be divine to be so loved, and to hold such love aright.

And, even then, when that other man arrived who would fain woo her to love him as a girl loves a man, would her heart be free to respond to the call of nature?
Nay.

To all intents and purposes, her heart would be a cloistered thing; yet would she be neither bride of Christ nor bride of man.

The fire in his eyes would indeed have called her to an altar, and the sacrifice laid thereon would be the full completion of her womanhood.
"I did well to pass into exile," said the Bishop, reviewing the past, as he rode.

Yet deep in his heart was the comfort of those words she had said: that once he had stood to her for all her heart held dearest.
Mora, the girl, had felt thus; Mora, the woman, remembered it; and the Bishop, as he thought of both, offered up a thanksgiving that neither he nor Father Gervaise had done aught which was unworthy of the ideal of her girlhood's dream.
Gathering up the reins, he urged Shulamite to a rapid trot.