CHAPTER XLIII.
MORA MOUNTS TO THE BATTLEMENTS The moonlight, shining in at the open casement, illumined, with its clear radiance, the chamber which had been, during the years of her maidenhood, Mora de Norelle's sleeping apartment.
It held many treasures of childhood.

Every familiar thing within it, whispered of the love and care of those long passed into the realm of silence and of mystery; a noble father, slain in battle; a gentle mother, unable to survive him, the call to her of the spirit of her Warrior, being more compelling than the need of the beautiful young daughter, to whom both had been devoted.
The chamber seemed to Mora full of tender and poignant memories.
How many girlish dreams had been dreamed while her healthy young body rested upon that couch, after wild gallops over the moors, or a long day's climbing among the rocky hills, searching for rare ferns and flowers to transplant into her garden.
In this room she had mourned her father, with her strong young arms wrapped around her weeping mother.
In this room she had wept for her mother, with none to comfort her, saving the faithful nurse, Deborah.
To this room she had fled in wrath, after the scene with, her half-sister, Eleanor, who had tried to despoil her of her heritage--the noble Castle and lands left to her by her father, and confirmed to her, with succession to her father's title, by the King.

These Eleanor desired for her son; but neither bribes nor cajolery, threats, nor cruel insinuations, had availed to induce Mora to give up her rightful possession--the home of her childhood.
Before the effects of this storm had passed, Hugh d'Argent had made his first appearance upon the scene, riding into the courtyard as a King's messenger, but also making himself known to the young Countess as a near neighbour, heir to a castle and lands, not far distant, among the Cumberland hills.
With both it had been love at first sight.

His short and ardent courtship had, unbeknown to him, required not so much to win her heart, as to overcome her maidenly resistance, rendered stubborn by the consciousness that her heart had already ranged itself on the side of her lover.
When at last, vanquished by his eager determination, she had yielded and become betrothed to him, it had seemed to her that life could hold no sweeter joy.
But he, hard to content, ever headstrong and eager, already having taken the cross, and being now called at once to join the King in Palestine, begged for immediate marriage that he might take her with him to the Court of the new Queen, to which his cousin Alfrida had already been summoned; or, if he must leave her behind, at least leave her, not affianced maid, but wedded wife.
Here Eleanor and her husband had interposed; and, assuming the position of natural guardians, had refused to allow the marriage to take place.
This necessitated the consent of the King, which could not be obtained, he being in the Holy Land; and Hugh had no wish to make application to the Queen-mother, then acting regent during the absence of the King; or to allow his betrothed to be brought again into association with the Court at Windsor.
Mora--secretly glad to keep yet a little longer the sweet bliss of betrothal, with its promise of unknown yet deeper joys to come--resisted Hugh's attempts to induce her to defy Eleanor, flout her wrongful claim to authority, and wed him without obtaining the Royal sanction.

Steeped in the bliss of having taken one step into an unimagined state of happiness, she felt no necessity or inclination hurriedly to take another.
Yet when, upheld by the ecstasy of those final moments together, she had let him go, as she watched him ride away, a strange foreboding of coming ill had seized her, and a restless yearning, which she could not understand, yet which she knew would never be stilled until she could clasp his head again to her breast, feel his crisp hair in her fingers, and know him safe, and her own.
This chamber then had witnessed long hours of prayer and vigil, as she knelt at the shrine in the nook between the casements, beseeching our Lady and Saint Joseph for the safe return of her lover.
Then came the news of Hugh's supposed perfidy; and from this chamber she had gone forth to hide her broken heart in the sacred refuge of the Cloister; to offer to God and the service of Holy Church, the life which had been robbed of all natural joys by the faithlessness of a man.
And this had happened eight years ago, as men count time.