Chapter 16 - THE HERMIT IN THE TOWER

Thy pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,

Thy mildness hath allayed their swelling griefs,

Thy mercy dried their ever flowing tears.

-SHAKESPEARE.

Early in the morning, while the wintry sun was struggling with mists, and grass and leaves were dark with frost, the Prioress was in her saddle. Perhaps the weather might have constrained