ratified in Heaven."

"Then," said I, after a minute's thought, "I am not bidden to hate
myself, any more than my relations?"

"Why should we hate one whom God loveth?" she answered. "To hate our
selfishness is not to hate ourselves."

I sat a while silent, setting red eyes and golden claws to my green
wyvern, and Joan ran the white dots along her griffin's tail. When she
came to the fork of the tail, she laid down her brush.

"Mother," she saith--the dear grey eyes looking up into my face--"shall
we read together the holy Scripture, and beseech God to lead us into all
truth?"

"Dear child, we will do so," said I. "Joan, didst thou ever read in
holy Scripture that it was wicked to kiss folks?"

She smiled. "I have read there of one," saith she, "who stole up behind
the holiest of all men that ever breathed, and kissed His feet: and the
rebuke she won from Him was no more than this: `Her many sins are
forgiven her, and she loved much.' So, if a full sinful woman might
kiss Christ without rebuke, methinks, if it please you, Mother dear, you
might kiss me."

Well, I knew all my life of that woman, but I never thought of it that
way before, and it is marvellous comforting unto me.

My Lady sent this morning for all the Mothers together. Mine heart went
pitter-patter, as it always doth when I am summoned to her chamber. It
is only because of her office: for if she were no more than a common
Sister, I am sorely afraid I should reckon her a selfish, lazy woman:
but being Lady Prioress, I cannot presume to sit in judgment on my
superiors thus far. We found that she had sent for us to introduce us
to the new confessor, whose name is Father Mortimer, he is tall, and
good-looking (so far as I, a Sister, can understand what is thought to
be so in the world), and has dark, flashing eyes, which remind me of
Margaret's, and I should say also of that priest that once confessed us,
did I not feel certain that this is the same priest himself. He will
begin his duties this evening at compline.

Sister Gaillarde said to me as we came forth from my Lady,--"Had I been
a heathen Greek, and lived at the right time, methinks I should have wed
Democritus."

"Democritus! who was he?" said I.

"He was named the Laughing Philosopher," said she, "because he was ever
laughing at men and things. And methinks he did well."

"What is there to laugh at, Sister Gaillarde?"

"Nothing you saw, Saint Annora."

"Now you are laughi