My son!"-- the Bishop stretched out his hands; a passion of appeal was in his voice--"God and Holy Church have given you your wife.

If you tell her this thing, you will lose her." "I must take with me the dress she left behind," said the Knight, "so that, should she decide to go, she may ride back fully robed." The Bishop went again to the chest, raised the heavy lid, and lifted out the white garments rolled together.

At sight of them both men fell silent, as in presence of the dead; and the Knight felt his heart grow cold with apprehension, as he received them from the Bishop's hand.
They passed together through the doorway leading to the river terrace, and so down the lawn, under the arch, and into the courtyard.
There Brother Philip waited, mounted, while another lay-brother held the Knight's horse.
As they came in sight of the horses: "Philip will see you a few miles on your way," said the Bishop.
"I thank you, Father," replied the Knight, "but it is not needful.

The good Brother has had many long days in the saddle." "It is most needful," said the Bishop.

"Let Philip ride beside you until you have passed through the Monk's Wood, and are well on to the open ground beyond.