thin
hearing at these precious moments.

The world certainly possessed no charms for one of Maud's temperament:
it never did possess any for her. She was as out of place in it as a
mourning dove in a city mob. Her spirit sought tranquillity, and she
found it in the serene and changless convent life. You and I might
seek in vain for anything like peace of spirit in such a place: we
might find it a stale and profitless imprisonment; and perhaps it
speaks badly for both of us that it is so. The violet finds its silent
cell in the earth-crevice by the hidden spring a sufficient refuge,
and rejoices in it, but the sea-grass that has all its life tossed in
the surges would think that a very dull sort of existence. There are
human violets in the world, and human sunflowers and poppies, and
doves also, and apes and alligators; and some of them come within one
of being inhuman; and sometimes that _one_ drops out, and the inhuman
swallows up the human.

Maud was the mourning dove seeking its bower of shade: she used to
fancy herself a nun, and followed the prescribed duties of the house
as faithfully as Sister Grace herself. She knelt in the little chapel
of the convent till her back ached and her knees were lame, but it was
a never-failing joy in time of trouble, and her time of tremble had
come. Maud said many prayers before an altar of exceeding loveliness,
where fresh flowers seemed to breathe forth an unusual fragrance.
There was a statue of the Virgin, said to possess some miraculous
qualities: tradition whispered that on two or three occasions the
expression on the face of the statue had been seen to change visibly.
Maud heard of this, and was very eager to witness the miracle, for it
was thought to be nothing less than miraculous by the good Sisters.
She bowed before the altar for hours, and dreamed of the marble face
till she seemed to see its features smiling upon her and its small,
slim hand beckoning her back to prayer. She grew nervous and pale and
almost ill with watching and waiting, and at last was found prostrate
and insensible at the foot of the statue, overcome with excitement
and exhaustion. When she grew better she vowed she had seen the head
bowing to her, and the hands spread over her in benediction: no one
could deny it, for she was alone in the chapel. After that there was
a feast of lilies at the convent, and Maud became Sister Somebody or
other, and never again set foot beyond the great gates of the c