The voice that was music said, “Live in memory and live in hoping! But now, Richard, farewell!” Darkness where had been light. The kneeling monk stretched his arms, strained his eyes, but there was darkness. He heard no movement, but she was not there! Empty cell, and a black cloud across the moon! CHAPTER XIII She came no more. Night after night of dark,--only the star Memory and the sapphire star of passionate hope that once again, once again he would wake, clear, still, and know her there. “Even after years, oh, heaven that holds her, oh, God that sustains her! Even after years beyond counting.” She came no more. The nights were slow dark raindrops, heavy, full, one after the other falling, slow falling, not to be counted. They made rosaries, they would make rosaries for aye. “Then I must go to her. Where is the eagle will show me the path?” March--April. The rose in reliquary, the cave stone lined, the well widened into a fair pool with steps for going down, for coming up, one in so many healed! April--May. Noise of Silver Cross like a waving of forest trees, like a humming of all the bees in the meadows. Folk coming, going; more folk and more folk coming! At the Abbey a greater guest house in planning; in shambling village taverns, booths, houses rising. Pilgrims on foot and pilgrims on horseback and in litter. A bishop stayed three days in the Abbot’s house, there was rumour that the cardinal might come. The bells of Silver Cross rang jubilee. Middle Forest relied now upon its own side of the river. Montjoy in his castle looked younger by ten years. He looked like some crusading Montjoy of long ago, long ago. The river murmured of both banks; the bridge seemed to have two loves. But the mount of Saint Leofric, though it said, “Praise for doubling!” seemed rather to wish to say, “Out upon division!” Prior Hugh, though he spoke gracious words, looked warped and wan and cogitative. Early May at the ruined farm and Somerville and the helping-woman Joan in the forest, under a beech tree pale green and silver grey, springing tall and stretching wide. “I will to go back to my house by the river! All the world is joyous and grown softened--Oh, I hear it with the ear inside of ear and I touch it with the touch inside of touch! Good was done for all of the evil, was it not, Rob?” He laughed. “Oh, woman--! You can’t go back. Father Edmund has three voices where he had one! Moreover--” “Moreover--?” “See you, Morgen, go up to London town.” “And why should I go to London town?” “Ask for that Westforest and Silver Cross.” Under the beech tree was carpet of last year’s leaves. She lifted and crumbled them in her hands. “When I said that I would be secret, I meant not telling! They have no call to fear me.” “Perhaps they tell themselves that. Or perhaps they see faint menace every time they look this way!”