On Eastern battle-fields, in Holy War, I won a name known throughout all the camp, known also to the enemy: 'The Knight of the Silver Shield.' Our name is Argent, and we ever have the right to carry a pure silver shield.

But I won the name because my shield was always bright; because not once in battle did it fall in the dust; because it never was allowed to tarnish.

So bright it was, that as I rode, bearing it before me, reflecting the rays of the sun, it dazzled and blinded the enemy.

My lord, I cannot tarnish my silver shield by conniving at falsehood, or keeping silence when mine Honour bids me speak." Looking at the gallant figure before him, the Bishop's soul responded to the noble words, and he longed to praise them and applaud.

But he thought of Mora's peace of mind, Mora's awakened heart and dawning happiness.