She leaned across the table.
By reaching out his arms he could have caught her lovely face between his hands.
Her eyes were merry.

Her lips smiled.
Greatly tempted was the Knight to agree that, saving himself, and Humphry of Camforth, of whom the less said the better, none save Court popinjays had loved her.

Yet in his heart he knew that ever between them would be this fact of his knowledge of the love of Father Gervaise for her, and of the noble renunciation inspired by that love.

He had no intention of betraying the Bishop; but Mora's own explanation, making it quite clear that she would not be likely to suspect the identity of the Bishop with his supposed cousin, Father Gervaise, seemed to the Knight to remove the one possible reason for concealment.
He was willing to risk present loss, rather than imperil future peace.
With an effort which made his voice almost stern: "The tale was a true one," he said.
She drew back, regarding him with grave eyes, her hands folded before her.
"Tell me the tale," she said, "and I will pronounce upon its truth." "Years ago, Mora, when you were a young maiden at the Court, attending on the Queen, you were most deeply loved by one who knew he could never ask you in marriage.

That being so, so noble was his nature and so unselfish his love, that he would not give himself the delight of seeing you, nor the enjoyment of your friendship, lest, being so strong a thing, his love--even though unexpressed--should reach and stir your heart to a response which, might hinder you from feeling free to give yourself, when a man who could offer all sought to win you.