r, and bring her to
the Castle."

Book 6 Chapter 5

The beam of the declining sun, softened by the stained panes of a small
gothic window, suffused the chamber of the Lady Superior of the convent
of Mowbray. The vaulted room, of very moderate dimensions, was furnished
with great simplicity and opened into a small oratory. On a table were
several volumes, an ebon cross was fixed in a niche, and leaning in a
high-backed chair, sate Ursula Trafford. Her pale and refined complexion
that in her youth had been distinguished for its lustre, became her
spiritual office; and indeed her whole countenance, the delicate brow,
the serene glance, the small aquiline nose, and the well-shaped mouth,
firm and yet benignant, betokened the celestial soul that habited that
gracious frame.

The Lady Superior was not alone; on a low seat by her side, holding
her hand, and looking up into her face with a glance of reverential
sympathy, was a maiden over whose head five summers have revolved since
first her girlhood broke upon our sight amid the ruins of Marney Abbey,
five summers that have realized the matchless promise of her charms, and
while they have added something to her stature have robbed it of nothing
of its grace, and have rather steadied the blaze of her beauty than
diminished its radiance.

"Yes, I mourn over them," said Sybil, "the deep convictions that made
me look forward to the cloister as my home. Is it that the world has
assoiled my soul? Yet I have not tasted of worldly joys; all that I
have known of it has been suffering and tears. They will return, these
visions of my sacred youth, dear friend, tell me that they will return!"

"I too have had visions in my youth, Sybil, and not of the cloister, yet
am I here."

"And what should I infer?" said Sybil enquiringly.

"That my visions were of the world, and brought me to the cloister, and
that yours were of the cloister and have brought you to the world."

"My heart is sad," said Sybil, "and the sad should seek the shade."

"It is troubled, my child, rather than sorrowful."

Sybil shook her head.

"Yes, my child," said Ursula, "the world has taught you that there are
affections which the cloister can neither satisfy nor supply. Ah! Sybil,
I too have loved."

The blood rose to the cheek of Sybil, and then returned as quickly to
the heart; her trembling hand pressed that of Ursula as she sighed and
murmured, "No, no, no."

"Yes, it is his spirit that ho