ly voices
chanted the twenty-third Psalm:

"_Quis ascendit in montem Domini?_"--"Who shall ascend to the Mount of
the Lord, and who shall dwell in His holy Sanctuary? Those who do no ill
and are pure.... Who do not give their heart to vain desires, or deceive
their neighbour with false oaths."

Or deceive ... with false oaths. To marry a man, letting him think you ...
something you were not ... did not that amount to deceiving by a false
oath?

Lynette lay very still. The last "Hail, Mary!" over, the Sisters returned
silently to bed. Wire mattresses creaked under superimposed weight. Long
breaths of wakefulness changed into the even breathing of slumber. The
only one who snored was Sister Tobias, a confirmed nasal soloist, whose
customary cornet-solo was strangely missing. Was Sister Tobias lying awake
and remembering too?

Sister Tobias was the only other person in the Convent besides the Mother,
who knew. She had helped her faithfully and tenderly to nurse Lynette
through the long illness that had followed the finding of that lost lamb
upon the veld. She was a homely creature of saintly virtues, the Mother's
staff and right hand. And it was she who had asked Lynette if she was
happy?

Somebody was moving. The grey light of dawn was filtering down the
drain-pipe ventilators and through the chinks in the tarpaulins overhead.
A formless pale figure came swiftly to Lynette's bedside. She guessed who
it must be. She sat up wide awake, and with her heart beating wildly in
her throat.

"Dearie!" The whisper was Sister Tobias's. She could make out the glimmer
of the white, plain nightcap framing the narrow face with the long,
sagacious nose and wise, kindly, patient eyes. "Are you awake, dearie?"

"Yes," Lynette whispered back, shuddering. The dry, warm, hard hand felt
about for her cold one, and found and took it. Lips came close to her ear,
and breathed:

"Dearie, this grand young gentleman you're engaged to be married to ..."

"Yes?"

"_Has he been told? Does he know?_"

The long, plain face was close to Lynette's. In the greying light she
could see it clearly. Her heart beat in heavy, sickening thuds. Her teeth
chattered, and whole body shook as if with ague, as she faltered:

"The Mother says--he is not to be told."

There was a dead silence. It was as if an iron shutter had suddenly been
pulled down and clamped home between them. Then Sister Tobias said in a
tone devoid of all expression:

"The Mother