Even across the Convent lawn there moved to meet him the lovely woman with jewelled girdle, white robe, and coronet of golden hair--the bride of Hugh.
Perhaps this was the hardest moment to Symon of Worcester, in the whole of that hard day.
It was the one time when he thought of himself.
"I have lost her!" he said.

"Holy Jesu--Thou Whose heart did break after three hours of darkness and of God-forsaken loneliness--have pity! The light of my life is gone from me, yet must I live." Overwhelmed by this sudden realisation of loss, worn out in mind and exhausted in body, the Bishop sank upon the seat.
Mora was safe with Hugh.

That much had been accomplished.
For the rest, things must take their own course.

He could do no more--go no further.
Then he heard again her voice in the arbour of golden roses, saying, in those low sweet tones which thrilled his very soul: "He stood to me for all that was vital and alive, in life and in religion; strong to act; able to endure." During five minutes the Bishop sat, eyes closed, hands firmly clasped.
So still he sat, that the little Knight of the Bloody Vest, watching, with bright eyes, from the tree overhead, almost made up his mind to drop to the other end of the seat.

He was missing Sister Mary Antony, who had not appeared at all that morning.