lda Evelyn's thoughts went to Sister Mary John, and it
seemed to her she never realised before the irreparable loss the
convent had sustained. But what was the good in reminding the
Prioress of Sister Mary John? No doubt, lying back there in her
chair, the old mind was thinking of the nun she had lost, and who
would have proved of such extraordinary service in the present
circumstances. While looking at the Prioress, thinking with her (for
it is true the Prioress was thinking of Sister Mary John), Evelyn
understood suddenly, in a single second, that if Sister Mary John had
not left Sister Winifred would not have come forward with the project
of a school, nor would there have been any schism. But in spite of
all her wisdom, the Prioress had not known, until this day, how
dependent they were on Sister Mary John. A great mistake had been
made, but there was no use going into that now.

A bell rang, and Evelyn said:

"Now, Mother, will you take my arm and we'll go down to chapel
together?"

"And after Benediction I will take a turn in the garden with you,"
the Prioress said.

She was so weary of singing Gounod's "Ave Maria" that she accentuated
the vulgarity of the melody, and wondered if the caricature would be
noticed. "The more vulgarly it is sung the more money it draws." And
smiling at the theatrical phrase, which had arisen unexpectedly to
her lips, she went into the garden to join the Prioress.

"Come this way, dear; I want to talk to you." And the Prioress and
the novice wandered away from the other nuns towards the fish-pond,
and stood listening to the gurgle of the stream and to the whisper of
the woods. An inspiring calm seemed to fall out of the sky, filling
the heart with sympathy, turning all things to one thing, drawing the
earth and sky and thoughts of men and women together.

"Teresa, dear, when you leave us what do you intend to do? You have
never told me. Do you intend to return to the stage?"

"Mother, I cannot bear to think of leaving you." The old nun raised
her eyes for a moment, and there was a great sadness in them, for she
felt that without Evelyn her death would be lonely.

"We came here for the same reason, or very nearly. I stayed, and you
are going."

"And which do you think is the better part, Mother?"

The nun did not answer for a long time, and Evelyn's heart seemed to
beat more quickly as she waited for the answer.

"These are things we shall never know, whether it is better t