The embroidery was exhibited, the pattern chosen, and they were nearly half-way at home, when they were overtaken by a sudden hailstorm, and took refuge in the lych-gate of a church. It was growing dusk, and they had not perceived the presence of a third person,--like themselves, a refugee from the storm. "This is heavy!" said Abraham, as the hailstones came pouring and dancing down. "I am afraid we shall not get home till late," was the response of his daughter. "No, not till late," said Abraham, absently. "Belasez!" came softly from behind her. She turned round quickly, her hands held out in greeting, her eyes sparkling, delight written on every feature of her face. "Father Bruno! I never knew you were in Norwich." "I have not been here long, my child. I wondered if we should ever meet." Ah, little idea had Belasez how that meeting had been imagined, longed for, prayed for, through all those weary weeks. She glanced at her father, suddenly remembering that her warm welcome to the Christian priest was not likely to be much approved by him. Bruno's eyes followed hers. "Abraham!" he said, in tones which sounded like a mixture of friendship and deprecation. Abraham had bent down as though he were cowering from an expected blow. Now he lifted himself up, and held out his hand. "Bruno de Malpas, thou art welcome, if God hath sent thee." "God sends all events," answered the priest, accepting the offered hand. "Ay, I am trying to learn that," replied Abraham, in a voice of great pain. "For at times He sends that which breaks the heart." "That He may heal it, my father." The title, from Bruno's lips, surprised and puzzled Belasez. "It may be so," said Abraham in a rather hopeless tone. "`It is Adonai; let Him do what seemeth Him good.' So thou hast made friends with--my Belasez." "I did not know she was thine when I made friends with her," said Bruno, with that quiet smile of his which had always seemed to Belasez at once so sweet and so sad. "`Did not know'? No, I suppose not. Ah, yes, yes! `Did not know'!" "Does this child know my history?" was Bruno's next question. "She knows," said Abraham in a troubled voice, "nearly as much as thou knowest." "Then she knows all?" "Nay, she knows nothing." "You speak in riddles, my father." "My son, I am about to do that which will break my heart. Nay,--God is about to do it. Let me put it thus, or I shall not know how to bear it."