"Thou has done better than my swiftest expectations.

Didst thou give my letter thyself into the hands of Sir Hugh d'Argent, and hast thou brought me back an answer from that most noble Knight ?" Wherefore did Brother Philip make no reply?
Wherefore did his breath come sharp and short--not like a stout lay-brother who has hurried; but, rather, like a desperate man who has clenched his teeth to keep control of his tongue?
The Bishop wheeled in his chair, and found himself looking full into the face of Hugh d'Argent--Hugh, haggard, dusty, travel-stained, with eyes, long strangers to sleep, regarding him with a sombre intensity.
"You!" exclaimed the Bishop, surprised out of his usual gentle calm.
"You?
Here!" "Yes, I," said the Knight, "I! Does it surprise you, my Lord Bishop, that I should be here?
Would it not rather surprise you, in view of that which you saw fit to communicate to me by letter, that I should fail to be here--and here as fast as horse could bring me ?" "Naught surprises me," said the Bishop, testily.

"I have lived so long in the world, and had to do with so many crazy fools, that human vagaries no longer have power to surprise me.

And, by our Lady, Sir Knight, I care not where you are, so that you have left safe and well, her peace of mind undisturbed, the woman whom I--acting as mouthpiece of the Pope and Holy Church--gave, not two weeks ago, into your care and keeping." The Knight's frown was thunderous.
"It might be well, my Lord Bishop, to leave our blessed Lady's name out of this conversation.

It hath too much been put to shameful and treacherous use.