in
the fact that her idea had alienated her from the world; she had come
here in quest of herself, and had found something, not exactly
herself, perhaps, but at all events a refuge from one side of
herself, and many other things--a group of women who thought as she
did. But would the convent always be as necessary to her as it was
to-day? And what a grief it would be to the nuns when the term of her
noviceship ended. Would she find courage to tell them that she did
not wish to take final vows? But she must listen to Mother Hilda who
was instructing her in the virtue of obedience. After obedience came
the rule of silence.

"But I don't know how the work in the garden will be done if one
isn't allowed to speak."

"The work in the garden must wait until your retreat is over. Now go,
my dear; I am waiting for Sisters Winifred and Veronica, who are
coming to me for their Latin lesson."

"May I go into the garden?"

It amused Evelyn to ask the question, so strange did it seem that she
should ask, like a little child, permission to go into the garden;
and as she went along the passages she began to fear that the old
Evelyn was on her way back, the woman who had disappeared for so many
months. Be that as it may, she was not altogether Sister Teresa on
the day of her clothing, though she tried to imitate the infantile
glee of the novices, and of the nuns too; for they were nearly as
childish as the novices. In spite of herself she wearied of the
babble and the laughter over orange-blossoms and wedding-cake,
especially of Sister Jerome's babble. She was particularly noisy that
afternoon; her unceasing humour had begun to jar, and Evelyn had
begun to feel that she must get away from it all, and she asked leave
to go into the garden.

Ah, the deep breath she drew! How refreshing it was after the long
time spent in church in the smell of burning wax and incense. "The
incense of the earth is sweeter," she said; and the sound of the wind
in the boughs reminded her of the voice of the priest intoning the
"Veni Creator." "Nature is more musical," and her eyes strayed over
the great park to its rim miles away, indistinct, though the sky was
white as white linen above it, only here and there a weaving of some
faint cream tones amid clouds rising very slowly; a delicious warmth
fell out of the noonday sky, enfolding the earth; and, discomforted
by her habit--a voluminous trailing habit with wide hanging sleeves--
she stood on the