what we are talking about now."

But Sister Mary John was hardly at all abashed at this reproof. She was
clearly the only one who stood in no awe of the Reverend Mother.

They were sitting on the terrace, and a mauve sunset faded in the grey
sky. There was a strange wistfulness in the autumn air and in the dim
garden where the gentle nuns were taking their recreation. There was a
subtle harmony in the grey habits and floating veils; they blended and
mingled with the blue mist that was rising among the trees. And a pale
light fell across the faded lawns, and Evelyn looked into the light, and
felt the pang that the passing of things brings into the heart. This
spectacle of life seemed to her strangely pathetic, and it seemed to
mean something which eluded her, and which she would have given a great
deal to have been able to express. Music alone could express the
yearning that haunted her heart, the plaint of the Rhine Maidens was the
nearest to what she felt, and she began to sing their song. Sister Mary
John asked her eagerly what she was singing. She would have told her,
but the Reverend Mother grew impatient with Sister Mary John.

"You must be introduced to Mother Mary Hilda, our novice mistress, then
you will know all the mothers except our dear Mother Christina, who is
quite an invalid now, and rarely leaves her cell."

On St. Peter's path a little group of nuns were walking up and down,
pressing round a central figure. They were faint grey shadows, and their
meaning would not be distinguished in the violet dusk. It was like a
half-effaced picture in which the figures are nearly lost in the
background; their voices, however, sounded clear, and their laughter was
mysterious and far distant, yet distinct in the heart. Evelyn again
began to hum the plaint of the Rhine Maidens. But the voices of the
novices were more joyous, for they, Evelyn thought, have renounced both
love and gold. The Reverend Mother clapped her hands to attract
attention, and one of the novices, it was Sister Veronica, ran to them.

"Ask Mother Mary Hilda to come and speak to me, Veronica."

"Yes, Reverend Mother;" and Veronica ran with the message without once
looking at Evelyn. Mother Mary Hilda crossed the lawn toward them, and
Evelyn noticed her gliding, youthful walk. She was younger than the
prioress or even the sub-prioress. And she had that attractive
youthfulness of manner which often survives in the cloister after middle
age.

"Her