There must be no lingering by the way.
Hasten, Shulamite! Even now the sluice-gates may be opening.

Even now the crystal bowl may be slipping from its pedestal, presently to lie in a hundred fragments on the ground.
Nay, trotting will scarce do.

Gallop, gallop, brave black mare! The city walls are just in sight.
Well done! * * * * * * Not far from the Convent gate, the Bishop chanced, by great good fortune, upon Brother Philip, trying in the meadows the paces of a young horse, but lately purchased.
The Bishop bade the lay-brother ride with him to the Nunnery and, so soon as he should have dismounted, lead Shulamite to the Palace stables, carefully feed and tend her; then bring him out a fresh mount.
As they rode forward: "Hath any message arrived at the Palace from the Convent, Philip ?" inquired the Bishop.
"None, my lord." "Or at the Priory ?" "Nay, my lord.

But I did hear, at the Priory, a strange rumour"---- "Rumours are rarely worth regarding or repeating, Brother Philip." "True, my lord.

Yet having so lately aided her to ride upon Icon"---- "'Her'?
With whom then is rumour making free?
And what saith this Priory rumour concerning 'her' ?" "They say the old lay-sister, Mary Antony, hath fled the Convent." "Mary Antony!" exclaimed the Bishop, and his voice held the most extraordinary combination of amazement, relief, and incredulity.