pe--"

"And I accepted you as a postulant in the hope that you would
persevere. All this seems very selfish, Evelyn. It looks as if we
were only thinking! of your money; but you know it isn't so."

"Indeed, I do, Mother. I know it isn't so."

"When are you going to leave us?"

"Well, nothing is decided. Every day I expect to hear from my father,
and if he wishes--"

"But if he doesn't require you? By remaining with us you may find you
have a vocation. Other women have persevered and discovered in the
end--" The Prioress's face changed expression, and Evelyn began to
think that perhaps the Prioress had discovered a vocation in
herself, after long waiting, and though she had become Prioress
discovered too late that perhaps she had been mistaken. "You have no
intention of joining the Order?"

"You mean to become a novice and then to become a nun and live here
with you?"

"You need say no more."

"But you don't think I have deceived you, Mother?"

"No, I don't blame anybody, only a hope has gone. Besides, I at
least, Evelyn, shall be very sorry to part with you, sorry for many
reasons which I may not tell you... in the convent we don't talk of
our past life." And Evelyn wondered what the Prioress alluded to.
"Has she a past like mine? What is her story?"

The canaries began singing, and they sang so loudly the women could
hardly hear themselves speak. Evelyn got up and waved her
handkerchief at the birds, silencing them.

* * * * *

Late that night a telegram came telling Evelyn that her father was
dangerously ill, and she was to start at once for Rome.

XIX

The wind had gathered the snow into the bushes and all the corners of
the common, and the whole earth seemed but a little brown patch, with
a dead grey sky sweeping by. For many weeks the sky had been grey,
and heavy clouds had passed slowly, like a funeral, above the low
horizon. The wind had torn the convent garden until nothing but a few
twigs remained; even the laurels seemed about to lose their leaves.
The nuns had retreated with blown skirts; Sister Mary John had had to
relinquish her digging, and her jackdaw had sought shelter in the
hen-house.

One night, when the nuns assembled for evening prayer, the north wind
seemed to lift the roof as with hands; the windows were shaken; the
nuns divined the wrath of God in the wind, and Miss Dingle, who had
learned through pious incantation that the Evil One would at