I kept silence, and she wept till her heart was relieved. When at last
her sobs grew quiet, she brushed her tears away, and looked up.

"Bless thee, Annora! That has done me good. It is something to have
somebody who will say, `Little Sister,' and give one leave to weep in
peace. Dost thou know what troubles me?"

"Not in the least, dear Margaret. That something was troubling thee I
had seen, but I cannot guess what it was."

"I shall get over it now," she said. "It is only the reopening of the
old wound. Thou hast not guessed, then, who Father Mortimer is?"

"Margaret!"

"Ay, God has given my Roland back to me--yet has not given him. It is
twenty years since we parted, and we are no longer young--nor, I hope,
foolish. We can venture now to journey on, on opposite sides of the
way, without being afraid of loving each other more than God. There can
hardly be much of the road left now: and when it is over, the children
will meet in the safe fellowship of the Father's Home for ever. Dost
thou know, Annora dear, I am almost surprised to find myself quite so
childish? I thought I should have borne such a meeting as calmly as any
one else,--as calmly as he did." There was a little break in her voice.
"He always had more self-control than I. Only I dare not confess to
him, for his own sake. He would be tempted either to partiality, or to
too much severity in order to avoid it. I must content myself with
Father Benedict: and when I want Roland's teaching--those blessed words
which none ever gave to me but himself--wilt thou give me leave to tell
thee, so that thou mayest submit the matter to him in thine own
confession?"

I willingly agreed to this: but I am sorry for my poor child. Father
Benedict is terribly particular and severe. I think Father Mortimer
could scarcely be more so, however hard he was trying not to be partial.
And I cannot help a little doubt whether his love has lasted like hers.
Sweet Saint Mary! what am I saying? Do I not know that every sister,
every priest, in this house would be awfully shocked to know that such a
thing could be? It is better it should not. And yet--my poor child!

This house no longer holds a Sister or Mother Gaillarde. She is now
Lady Prioress, having been ordained and enthroned this afternoon. I
must say the ceremony of vowing obedience felt to me less, not more,
than that simple _Placet_ the other day, which seemed to come red-hot
from the hearts that s