Was this then what he seemed to Mora?
He, who had forced her to yield to the insistence of his love?
.

.

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In her chaste Convent cell, she could have remained true to this Ideal love of her girlhood: and, now that she knew it to have been called forth by love, could have received, mentally, its full fruition.

Also, in time she might have discovered the identity of the Bishop with Father Gervaise, and long years of perfect friendship might have proved a solace to their sundered hearts, had not he--the trampler upon flower-beds--rudely intervened.
And yet--Mora had been betrothed to him, her love had been his, long after Father Gervaise had left the land.
How could he win her back to be once more as she was when they parted on the castle battlements eight years before?
How could he free himself, and her, from these intangible, ecclesiastical entanglements?
He was reminded of his difficulties when he tried to walk disguised in the dress of the White Ladies, and found his stride impeded by those trailing garments.