CHAPTER LIII.
ON THE HOLY MOUNT On the ninth day since Hugh's departure, the day when fast riding might make his return possible before nightfall, Mora rose early.
At the hour when she had been wont to ring the Convent bell, she was walking swiftly over the moors and climbing the heather-clad hills.
She had remembered a little chapel, high up in the mountains, where dwelt a holy Hermit, held in high repute for his saintliness of life, his wisdom in the giving of spiritual counsel, and his skill in ministering to the sick.
It had come to Mora, as she prayed and pondered during the night, that if she could make full confession to this holy man, he might be able to throw some clear beam of light upon the dark tangle of her perplexity.
This hope was strongly with her as she walked.
"Lighten my darkness! Lead me in a plain path!" was the cry of her bewildered soul.
It seemed to her that she had two issues to consider.

First: the question as to whether Hugh, guided by the Bishop, would keep silence; thus making himself a party to her deception.

Secondly: the position in which she was placed by the fact that she had left the Convent, owing to that deception.

But, for the moment the first issue was so infinitely the greater, that she found herself thrusting the second into the background, allowing herself to be conscious of it merely as a question to be faced later on, when the all-important point of Hugh's attitude in the matter should be settled.
She walked forward swiftly, one idea alone possessing her: that she hastened toward possible help.
She did not slacken speed until the chapel came into view, its grey walls glistening in the morning light, a clump of feathery rowan trees beside it; at its back a mighty rock, flung down in bygone centuries from the mountain which towered behind it.

From a deep cleft in this rock sprang a young oak, dipping its fresh green to the roof of the chapel; all around it, in every crack and cranny, parsley fern, hare-bells on delicate, swaying stalks, foxgloves tall and straight, and glorious bunches of purpling heather.
Nearby was the humble dwelling of the Hermit.