te, wild voices had taken liberty of speech in the cell of
the Prioress, and had left their impious utterances echoing behind them.

CHAPTER XVII

THE DIMNESS OF MARY ANTONY

The Prioress had been back in her cell for nearly an hour, when a
gentle tap came on the door.

"Enter," commanded the Prioress, and Mary Antony appeared, bearing
broth and bread, fruit and a cup of wine.

The Prioress sat at her table, parchment and an open missal before her.
Her face was very white; also there were dark shadows beneath her eyes.
She did not smile at sight of old Antony, thus laden.

"How now, Antony?" she said, almost sternly. "I did not bid thee to
bring me food."

"Reverend Mother," said the old lay-sister, in a voice which strove to
be steady, yet quavered; "for long hours you have studied, not heeding
that the evening meal was over. Chide not old Antony for bringing you
some of that broth, which you like the best. You will not sleep unless
you eat."

The Prioress looked at her uncomprehendingly; as if, for the moment,
words conveyed no meaning to her mind. Then she saw those old hands
trembling, and a sudden flood of colour flushed the pallor of her face.

This sweet stirring of fresh life within her own heart gave her to see,
in the old woman's untiring devotion, a human element hitherto
unperceived. It brought a rush of comfort, in her sadness.

She closed the volume, and pushed aside the parchment. "How kind of
thee, dear Antony, to take so much thought for me. Place the bowls on
the table. . . . Now draw up that stool, and stay near me while I sup.
I am weary this night, and shall like thy company."

Had the golden gates of heaven opened before her, and Saint Peter
himself invited her to enter, Sister Mary Antony would not have been
more astonished and certainly could hardly have been more gratified.
It was a thing undreamed of, that she should be bidden to sit with the
Reverend Mother in her cell.

Drawing the carven stool two feet from the wall, Mary Antony took her
seat upon it.

"Nearer, Antony, nearer," said the Prioress. "Place the stool here,
close beside the corner of my table. I have much to say to thee, and
would wish to speak low."

Truly Sister Antony found herself in the seventh heaven!

Yet, quietly observing, the Prioress could not fail to note the drawn
weariness on the old face, the yellow pallor of the wizen skin, which
usually wore the bright tint of a russet apple.