She stretched her clasped hands across the table and laid her head upon her arms.
Despair seized the Knight as he stood helpless, looking down upon that proud head laid low.
He longed to lay his hand upon the golden softness of her hair.
But her shoulders shook with a hard, tearless sob, and the Knight fled from the arbour.
As he paced the lawn, on which the Bishop had promenaded the evening before, Hugh cursed his rashness in speaking; yet knew, in the heart of his heart, that he could not have done otherwise.

Mora's words concerning truth, gave him a background of comfort.

Even so had he ever himself felt.

But would it prove that his honesty had indeed shattered his chances of happiness, and hers?
A new name?
.

.