all could have
imagined that such irresistible grief could take possession of a woman
who, as they all said among themselves, was made of steel and ice,
merely because one more of them wished to go to the Far East where so
many had gone already.

But they did not know anything about the Mother Superior. Indeed, when
all was said, they knew next to nothing of her past, and as it was
against all rules to discuss such matters, it was not likely that they
should ever hear more, even if a new Sister joined them who chanced to
have some information. They were aware, of course, that her name, in
religion, was Mother Veronica, though they did not speak of her except
as the Mother Superior. It was true that they had never heard of a nun
of their order taking the name of Veronica, but that was not a matter
to criticise either. She spoke exceedingly pure Italian, with the
accent and intonation of a Roman lady, but it was no secret that when
she had come to take the place of her predecessor, who had died
suddenly, she had arrived from Austria; and she also spoke German
fluently, which argued that she had been in that country some time.
There was certainly nothing in these few facts to account for what she
suffered when Sister Giovanna spoke of going to Rangoon, and it would
have been hard to believe that her burning tears overflowed in spite
of her, not only that first time but often afterwards, at the mere
thought of parting with the best nurse in the hospital, even if she
felt some special sympathy for her.

Whatever the cause of her trouble was, no one knew of it; and that she
found no cause for self-accusation in what she felt is clear, since
she made no mention of it in her next confession. Indeed, she more
often found fault with herself for being harsh in her judgments and
too peremptory and tyrannical in the government of her community, than
for giving way easily to the impulses of human sympathy. She was not
nervous either, in the sense of her nerves being unsteady or
overwrought in consequence of a long-continued strain; there was
nothing in her weeping that could have suggested a neurotic breakdown
even to the most sceptical of physicians. It was genuine,
irresistible, overwhelming grief, and she knew that its cause was not
even in part imaginary, but was altogether real, and terrible beyond
any expression.

Nevertheless, she found strength to speak to Monsignor Saracinesca of
Sister Giovanna's intention, one day whe