You trampled on no flower-beds of mine.

My shattered idol is the image of one whom I, with deepest reverence, loved, as a nun might love her Guardian Angel.

To learn that he loved me as a man loves a woman, and that he had to flee before that love, lest it should harm me and himself, changes the hallowed memory of years.

This morning, three names stood to me for all that is highest, noblest, best: Father Gervaise, Symon of Worcester, and Hugh d'Argent.
Now, the Bishop and yourself alone are left.

Fail me not, Hugh, or I shall be bereft indeed." The Knight laughed, joyously.