of the
younger ones carried high on the stronger tones of the elder Sisters,
while the three old nuns droned on in a sort of patient, nasal,
half-mannish counter-tenor, scarcely pronouncing the words they sang,
but making an accompaniment that was not wholly unpleasing.

Two versicles of responsory next, and then the Mother Superior began to
intone the Magnificat, and Sister Giovanna took up the grand plain-chant
with the others. In spite of her deep trouble, the words had never meant
to her what they meant now, and she felt her world lifted up from earth
to the gates of Peace.

But she was not to reach the end of the wonderful song that day.

'And His mercy is on them that fear Him, from generation to
generation,' the nuns sang.

With a crash, as if a thunderbolt had fallen at their feet in the
choir, the Great Unforeseen once more flashed from its hiding-place
and hurled itself into their midst.

The chapel rocked to and fro twice with a horrible noise of loosened
masonry grinding on itself, and the panes of the high windows fell in
three separate showers and were smashed to thousands of splinters on
the stone floor, the lights went out, the sacred ornaments on the
altar toppled and fell upon each other, the twilight that glimmered
through the broken windows alone overcame the darkness in the wrecked
church. The destruction was sudden, violent, and quick. In less than
fifteen seconds after the shock, perfect stillness reigned again.

The Sisters, in their first terror, caught at each other
instinctively, or grasped the woodwork with convulsed hands. One or
two novices had screamed outright, but the most of them uttered an
ejaculatory prayer, more than half unconscious. The Mother Superior
was standing upright and motionless in her place.

'Is any one hurt?' she asked steadily, and looking round the
semicircle in the gloom.

No answer came to her question.

'If any one of you was struck by anything,' she said again, 'let her
speak.'

No one had been hurt, for the small choir was under the apse of the
chapel and there were no windows there.

'Let us go to the hospital at once,' she said. 'The patients will need
us.'

Her calm imposed itself upon the young novices and one or two of the
more nervous Sisters; the others were brave women and had only been
badly startled and shaken, for which no one could blame them. They
filed out, two and two, by the side door of the choir, Mother Veronica
coming last. Fro