not be kept waiting! . . . Even now the great doors
were rolling back.

Mary Antony mounted the six steps; then turned in the doorway.

The Lord Bishop must be received. There was nobody else to do it. She
would receive the Lord Bishop!

As she saw him riding in upon Icon, blessing the porteress as he
passed, she remembered how she had ridden round the river meadow as the
Bishop. Now she must play her part as the Prioress.

So it came to pass that, as he rode up to the door and dismounted,
flinging his rein to Brother Philip, the Bishop found himself
confronted by the queer little figure of the aged lay-sister, drawn up
to its full height and obviously upheld by a sense of importance and
dignity.

As the Bishop reached the entrance, she knelt and kissed his ring; then
tried to rise quickly, failed, and clutching at his hand, exclaimed:
"Devil take my old knee-joints!"

Never before had the Bishop been received with such a formula! Never
had his ring been kissed by a lay-sister! But remembering the scene
when old Antony rode round the field upon Icon, he understood that she
now was playing the part of Prioress.

"Good-day, worthy Mother," he said, as he raised her. "The spirit is
willing I know, but, in your case, the knee-joints are weak. But no
wonder, for they have done you long service. Why, I get up slowly from
kneeling, yet my knees are thirty years younger than yours. . . . Nay
I will not mount to the Reverend Mother's chamber until you acquaint
her of my arrival. Take me round to the garden, and there let me wait
in the shade, while you seek her."

Greatly elated at the success of her effort, and emboldened by his
charming condescension, Mary Antony led the Bishop through the
rose-arch; and, casting a furtive glance at his face from behind the
curtain of her veil, ventured to hope there was naught afoot which
could bring trouble or care to the Reverend Mother.

Mary Antony was trotting beside the Bishop, down the long walk between
the yew hedges, when she gave vent to this anxious question.

At once the Bishop slackened speed.

"Not so fast, Sister Antony," he said. "I pray you to remember mine
age, and to moderate your pace. Why should you expect trouble or
anxiety for the Reverend Mother?"

"Nay," said Mary Antony, "I expect naught; I saw naught; I heard
naught! 'Twas all mine own mistake, counting with my peas. I told the
Reverend Mother so, and set her mind at rest by carrying u