e," answered the elder lady. "You disturb the
peace of the sisters with your singing. You know the rule, and you must
obey it, like the rest. If you must sing, then sing in church."

"I do."

"Very well, that ought to be enough. Must you sing all the time? Suppose
that the Cardinal had been visiting me, as was quite possible, what
impression would he have had of our discipline?"

"Oh, Uncle Cardinal has often heard me sing."

"You must not call him 'Uncle Cardinal.' It is like the common people
who say 'Uncle Priest.' I have told you that a hundred times at least.
And if the Cardinal has heard you singing, so much the worse."

"He once told me that I had a good voice," observed Maria, still
standing before her aunt.

"A good voice is a gift of God and to be used in church, but not in such
a way as to attract attention or admiration. The devil is everywhere, my
daughter, and makes use of our best gifts as a means of temptation. The
Cardinal certainly did not hear you singing that witch's love-song which
I heard just now. He would have rebuked you as I do."

"It was not a love-song. It is about death--and Saint John's eve."

"Well, then it is about witches. Do not argue with me. There is a rule,
and you must not break it."

Maria Addolorata said nothing, but moved a step and leaned against the
door-post, looking out into the evening light. The stout abbess sat
motionless in her straight chair, looking past her niece at the distant
hills. She had evidently said all she meant to say about the singing,
and it did not occur to her to talk of anything else. A long silence
followed. Maria was not timid, but she had been accustomed from her
childhood to look upon her aunt as an immensely superior person, moving
in a higher sphere, and five years spent in the convent as novice and
nun had rather increased than diminished the feeling of awe which the
abbess inspired in the young girl. There was, indeed, no other sister in
the community who would have dared to answer the abbess's rebuke at all,
and Maria's very humble protest really represented an extraordinary
degree of individuality and courage. Conventual institutions can only
exist on a basis of absolute submission.

The abbess was neither harsh nor unkind, and was certainly not a very
terrifying figure, but she possessed undeniable force of character,
strengthened by the inborn sense of hereditary right and power, and her
kindness was as imposing as her displeasure