PART THREE, CHAPTER 3.
ANNORA FINDS IT OUT.
"Peace, peace, poor heart! Go back and thrill not thus! Are not the vows of the Lord God upon me?"
It would really be a convenience if one could buy common sense. Peopleseem to have so little. And I am sure I have not more than otherpeople.
That story of Margaret's puzzles me sorely. I sit and think, and think,and I never seem to come any nearer the end of my thinking. And somenever seem to have any trouble with their thoughts. I suppose theyeither have more of them, and more sense altogether, so that they cansee things where I cannot; or else--Well, I do not know what else.
But Margaret's thoughts are something so entirely new. It is as if Iwere looking out of the window at one end of the corridor, which lookstowards Grantham, and she were looking from the window at the other end,which faces towards Spalding. Of course we should not see the samethings: how could we? And if the glass in one window were blue, and theother red, it would make the difference still greater. I think thatmust be rather the distinction; for it does not seem to lie in thethings themselves, but in the eyes with which Margaret looks on them.
Dear Mother Alianora yet lives, but she is sinking peacefully. NeitherMargaret nor I have been called to watch by her again. I begged ofMother Gaillarde that I might see her once more, and say farewell; andall I got for it was "Mind your broidery, Sister!"
I should not wonder if she let me go. I do not know why it is, but forall her rough manner and sharp words, I can ask a favour of MotherGaillarde easier than of Mother Ada. There seems to be nothing inMother Ada to get hold of; it is like trying to grip a lump of ice.Mother Gaillarde is like a nut with a rough outside burr; there isplenty to lay hold of, though as likely as not you get pricked when youtry. And if she is rough when you ask her anything, yet she often givesit, after all.
I have not exchanged a word with Margaret since that night when wewatched together. She sits on the other side of the work-room, and evenin the recreation-room she rather avoids coming near me, or I fancy so.
Whatever I begin with, I always get back to Margaret. Such strangeideas she has! I keep thinking of things that I wish I had said to heror asked her, and now I have lost the opportunity. I thought of it thismorning, when the two Mothers were conversing with Sister Ismania aboutthe Christmas decorations in our own little oratory. Sister Ismania isthe eldest of all our Sisters.
"I thought," said she, "if it were approved, I could mould a littlewaxen image of our Lord for the altar, and wreathe it round withevergreens."
"As an infant?" asked Mother Gaillarde.
"Well--yes," said Sister Ismania; but I could see that had not been heridea.
"Oh, of course!" answered Mother Ada. "It would be most highlyindecorous for _us_ to see Him as a man."
Was it my fancy, or did I see a little curl of Margaret's lips?
"He will be a man at the second advent, I suppose," observed MotherGaillarde.
Mother Ada did not answer: but she looked rather scandalised.
"And must we not have some angels?" said Sister Ismania.
"There are the angels we had for Easter, Sister," suggested SisterRoberga.
"Sister Roberga, oblige me by speaking when you are spoken to," saidMother Ada, in her icicle manner.
"There is only one will do again," answered Mother Gaillarde. "SaintRaphael is tolerable; he might serve. But I know the Archangel Michaelhad one of his wings broken; and the Apostle Saint Peter lost a leg."
"We had a lovely Satan among those Easter figures," said Sister Ismania;"and Saint John was so charming, I never saw his equal."
"Satan may do again if he gets a new tail," said Mother Gaillarde. "ButPontius Pilate won't; that careless Sister Jacoba let him drop, and hewas mashed all to pieces."
"Your pardon, Mother, but that was Judas Iscariot."
"It wasn't: it was Pontius Pilate."
"I am sure it was Judas."
"I tell you it wasn't."
"But, Mother, I--"
"Hold your tongue!" said Mother Gaillarde, curtly.
And being bidden by her superior, of course Sister Ismania had to obey.I looked across at Margaret, and met her eyes. And, as Margaret's eyesalways do, they spoke.
"These are holy women, and this is spiritual love!" said Margaret'seyes, ironically. "We might have spoken thus to our own brethren,without going into a convent to do it."
I wonder if Margaret be not right, and we bring the world in with us:that it is something inside ourselves. But then, I suppose, outsidethere are more temptations. Yet do we not, each of us, make a world forherself? Is it not _ourselves_ that we ought to renounce--theearthliness and covetousness of our own desires, rather than the mereoutside things? Oh, I do get so tired when I keep thinking!
Yesterday, when Erneburg and Damia were playing at see-saw in thegarden, with a long plank balanced on the saddling-stone, I could nothelp wondering how it is that one's thoughts play in that way. Each endseems sometimes up, and then the other end comes up, and that goes down.I wish I were wiser, and understood more. Perchance it was better forme that I was sent here. For I never should have been wise orbrilliant. And suppose _he_ were, and that he had looked down upon meand disliked me for it! That would have been harder to bear than this.
_Ha, chetife_! have all religious women such stories as we two? DidMother Ada ever feel a heart in her? Mother Gaillarde does at times, Ibelieve. As to my Lady, I doubt any such thing of her. She seems tolive but to eat and sleep, and if Mother Gaillarde had not more care togovern the house than she, I do--Mother of Mercy, but this is evilspeaking, and of my superiors too! _Miserere me, Domine_!
As we filed out of the oratory last night as usual, Mother Gaillardestayed me at the door.
"Sister Annora, thou art appointed to the Infirmary to-night." And in alower tone she added--"It will be the last time."
I knew well what last time she meant: never again in life should I seeour dear Mother Alianora. I looked up thankfully.
"Well?" said Mother Gaillarde, in her curt way. "Are you a stone image,or do you think I'm one?"
I kissed her hand, made the holy sign, and passed on. No, dear Mother:thou art not a stone.
In the Infirmary I found Sister Philippa on duty.
"O Sister Annora, I am so glad thou art come! I hate this sort of work,and Mother Gaillarde will keep me at it. I believe it is because sheknows I detest it."
"Thou art not just to Mother Gaillarde, Sister," I said, and went on tothe bed by the window.
"Annora, dear child!" said the feeble voice. Ay, she was weaker farthan when I last beheld her, "Thank God I have seen thee yet once more."
I could do little for her--only now and then give her to drink, or raiseher a little. And she could not speak much. A few words occasionallyappeared to be all she had strength for. Towards morning I thought sheseemed to wander and grow light-headed. She called once "Isabel!" andonce "Aveline!" We have at present no Sister in the house namedAveline, and when I asked if I should seek permission to call SisterIsabel if she wished for her, she said, "No: she will be gone toMarlborough," and what she meant I know not. [Note 1.] Then, after shehad lain still a while, she said, "Guendolen--is it thou?"
"No, dearest Mother; it is Sister Annora," said I.
"Guendolen was here," saith she: "where is she?"
"Perhaps she will come again," I answered, for I saw that she scarcelyhad her wits clear.
"She will come again," she saith, softly. "Ay, He will come again--withclouds--and His saints with Him. And Guendolen will be there--my SisterGuendolen, the Princess [Note 2], whom men cast forth,--Christ shallcrown her in His kingdom. The last of the royal line! There are noPrinces of Wales any more."
Then I think she dropped asleep for a time, and when she woke she knewme at first; though she soon grew confused again.
"Christ's blessing and mine be on thee, mine own Annora!" saith she,tenderly. "Margaret, too--poor
Magot! Tell her--tell her--" but hervoice died away in indistinct murmurs. "They will soon be here."
"Who, dearest Mother?"
"Joan and Guendolen. Gladys, perchance. I don't know about Gladys.White--all in white: no black in that habit. And they sing--No, shenever sang on earth. I should like to hear Guendolen sing in Heaven."
The soft toll of the bell for prime came to her dulled ear.
"Are they ringing in Heaven?" she said. "Is it Guendolen that rings?The bells never rang for her below. They have fairer music up there."
The door opened, and Mother Ada looked in.
"Sister Annora, you are released. Come to prime."
Oh, to have tarried only a minute! For a light which never was from sunor moon had broken over the dying face, and she vainly tried to stretchher hands forth with a rapturous cry of--"Guendolen! Did the Mastersend thee for me?"
"Sister! You forget yourself," said Mother Ada, when I lingered."Remember the rule of holy obedience!"
I suppose it was very wicked of me--I am always doing wicked things--butI did wish that holy obedience had been at the bottom of the Red Sea, Ikissed the trembling hand of the dear old Mother, and signed the holycross upon her brow to protect her when she was left alone, and then Ifollowed Mother Ada. After prime I was ordered to the work-room. Ilooked round, and saw that Sister Roberga and Margaret were missing. Idid hope Margaret, and not Sister Roberga, had been sent up to theInfirmary. Of course I could not ask.
For two hours I sewed with my heart in the Infirmary. If the rule ofholy obedience had been at the bottom of the Red Sea, I am sure I shouldnot have tarried in that work-room another minute. And then I heard thepassing bell. It struck so cold to my heart that I had hard work tokeep my broidering in a straight line.
A few minutes later, Margaret appeared at the door. She knelt down inthe doorway, and made the sign of the cross, saying, "Peace eternalgrant to us, O Lord!"
And we all responded, led by Mother Ada,--"Lord, grant to Thy servantour Sister everlasting peace!"
So then I knew that Mother Alianora had been sent for by the Master ofus all.
"Sister Margaret!" said Mother Ada.
Margaret rose, went up to Mother Ada, and knelt again.
"How comes it thou art the messenger? I sent Sister Roberga to theInfirmary this morning."
"Mother Gaillarde bade me go to the Infirmary," said Margaret in a lowvoice, "and sent Sister Roberga down to the laundry."
"Art thou speaking truth?" asked Mother Ada.
Margaret's head went up proudly. "King Alfred the Truth-Teller was myforefather," she said.
"Well! perhaps thou dost," answered Mother Ada, as if unwilling to admitit. "But it is very strange. I shall speak to Sister Gaillarde."
"What about?" said Mother Gaillarde, appearing suddenly from the passageto my Lady's rooms.
"Sister Gaillarde, this is very strange conduct of you!" said MotherAda. "I ordered Sister Roberga to the Infirmary."
"You did, Sister, and I altered your order. I am your superior, Ibelieve?"
Mother Ada, who is usually very pale, went red, and murmured somethingwhich I could not hear.
"Nonsense!" said Mother Gaillarde.
To my unspeakable astonishment, Mother Ada burst into tears. She has somany times told the children, and not seldom the Sisters, that tearswere a sign of weakness, and unworthy of reasonable, not to sayreligious, women--that they ought to be shed in penitence alone, or ingrief at a slight offered to holy Church, that I could only supposeMother Gaillarde had been guilty of some profanity.
"It is very hard!" sobbed Mother Ada. "That you should set yourself upin that way, when I was professed on the very same day as you--"
"What has that to do with it?" asked Mother Gaillarde.
"And my Lady shows you much more favour than she does me: only to-dayyou have been in her rooms twice!"
"I wish she would send for you," said Mother Gaillarde, "for it iscommonly to waste time over some sort of fiddle-faddle that I despise.You are heartily welcome to it, I can tell you! Now, come, Sister Ada,don't be silly and set a bad example. It is all nonsense, and you knowit."
Off marched Mother Gaillarde with a firm step. Mother Ada continued tosob.
"Nobody could bear such treatment!" said she. "The blessed Virginherself would not have stood it. I am sure Sister Gaillarde is not abit better than I am--of course I do not speak on my own account, butfor the honour of the Order: that is what I am anxious about. It doesnot matter in the least how people tread _me_ down--I am thehumblest-minded Sister in the house; but I am a Mother of the Order, andI feel Sister Gaillarde's words exceedingly. Pride is one of the sevendeadly sins, and I do marvel where Sister Gaillarde thinks she is going.I shall offer my next communion for her, that she may be morehumble-minded. I am sure she needs it."
Mother Ada bit off her thread, as she said this, with a determined snap,as if it had cruelly provoked her. I was lost in amazement, for MotherAda has always seemed so calm and icy that I thought nothing could moveher, and here she was making a fuss about nothing, like one of thechildren. She had not finished when Mother Gaillarde came back.
"What, not over it yet?" said she, in her usual style. "Dear me, what astorm in a porringer!"
Mother Ada gave a bursting sob and a long wail to end it; but MotherGaillarde took no more notice of her, only telling us all that MotherAlianora would be buried to-morrow, and that after the funeral we wereto assemble in conclave to elect a new Mother. It will be SisterIsmania, I doubt not; for she is eldest of the Sisters, and the one mostgenerally held in respect.
In the evening, at recreation-time, Sister Philippa came up to me.
"So we are to meet to elect a new Mother!" said she, with muchsatisfaction in her tone. "I always like meeting in conclave. There issomething grand about it. For whom will you vote, Sister Annora?"
"I have not thought much about it," said I, "except that I suppose everybody will vote for Sister Ismania."
"I shall not," said Mother Joan.
I see so little of Mother Joan that I think I have rarely mentioned her.She is Mistress of the Novices, and seldom comes where I am.
"You will not, Mother? For whom, then?" said Sister Philippa.
"If you should be appointed to collect the votes, Sister, you willknow," was Mother Joan's reply.
"Now, is that not too bad?" said Sister Philippa, when Mother Joan hadpassed on. "Of course the Mothers will collect the votes."
"I fancy Mother Joan meant we Sisters ought not to ask," I said.
"O Sister! did you not enjoy that quarrel between the Mothers thismorning?" cried she.
"Certainly not," I answered. "I could not enjoy seeing any one eitherdistressed or angry."
"Oh; but it was so delightful to see Mother Ada let herself down!" criedPhilippa. "So proud and stuck-up and like an icicle as she always is!_Ha jolife_! and she calls herself the humblest Sister in the house!"
Margaret had come up, and stood listening to us.
"Who think you is the humblest, Sister Philippa?"
"I don't know," said Sister Philippa. "If you asked me who was theproudest, maybe I could tell--only that I should have to name so many."
"Well, I should need to name but one," said I. "I would fain be thehumblest; but that surely am I not: and I find so many wicked motions ofpride in mine heart that I cannot believe any of us can be worse thanmyself."
"I think I know who is the lowliest of us, and the holiest," saidMargaret as she turned away; "and I shall vote for her."
"Who can she mean?" asked Sister Philippa.
"I do not know at all," said I; and indeed I do not.
Dear Mother Alianora was buried this afternoon. The mass for the deadwas very, very solemn. We laid her down in the Sisters' graveyard, tillthe resurrection morn shall come, when we shall all meet without spot ofsin in the presence-chamber of Heaven. Till then, O holy and mercifulSaviour, suffer us not, now and at our last hour, for an
y pains ofdeath, to fall from Thee!
We passed directly from the funeral into conclave. My Lady sent word tothe Master that we were about to elect a Mother, and he sent us hisbenediction on our labour. We all filed into our oratory, and sat downin our various stalls. Then, after singing the Litany of the HolyGhost, Mother Gaillarde passed down the choir on the Gospel side, andMother Ada on the Epistle side, collecting the votes. When all werecollected, the two Mothers went up to my Lady, and she then came out ofher stall, and headed them to the altar steps, where they all threeknelt for a short space. Then my Lady, turning round to us, and comingforward, announced the numbers.
"Thirty-four votes: for Sister Roberga, one; for Sister Isabel, two; forSister Ismania, eleven; for Sister Annora, twenty. Our Sister Annora ischosen."
It was a minute before I was able to understand that such anunintelligible and astounding thing had happened, as that our communityhad actually chosen me--me, of all people!--to execute the highestoffice in the house, next to my Lady Prioress herself. Mother Gaillardeand Mother Ada came up to me, to lead me up to the altar.
"But it cannot be," said I. I felt completely confused.
"Thou art our Sister Annora, I believe," saith Mother Gaillarde, lookingrather amused; "and I marvel the less at the choice since I helped tomake it."
"I!" I said again, feeling more amazed than ever at what she said; "butI'm not a bit fit for such a place as that! Oh, do choose again, andfix on somebody more worthy than I am!"
"The choice of the community, guided by the Holy Spirit, has fallen onyou, Sister," said Mother Ada, in a cold, hollow voice.
"Come along, and don't be silly!" whispered Mother Gaillarde, taking myright arm.
I really think Mother Gaillarde's words helped to rouse me from mystupor of astonishment, better than any thing else. Of course, if Godcalled me to a certain work, He could put grace and wisdom into me aseasily as into any one else; and I had only to bow to His will. But Idid so wish it had been another who was chosen. Sister Ismania wouldhave made a far better officer than I. And to think of such a poor,stupid, confused thing as I am, being put over her head! But, if itwere God's will--that settled the matter.
It all felt so dreamy that I can scarcely tell what happened afterwards.I remember that I knelt before my Lady, and before the altar--but Ifelt too confused for prayer, and could only say, "_Domine, miserereme_!" for no other words would come: and then the Master came andblessed me, and made a short address to me (of which I believe I hardlytook in a word), and appointed the next day for the service ofordination.
I am an ordained Mother of the Order of Saint Gilbert. And I do notfeel any difference. I thought I should have done. The Master himselfsang the holy mass, and we sang _Veni Creator Spiritus_, and he said inhis address afterwards, that when his hands were laid on my head, theHoly Ghost came down and filled me with His presence--and I did not feelthat He did. Of course it was all very solemn, and I did most earnestlydesire the influences of the blessed Spirit, for I shall never be ableto do any thing without them: but really I felt our Lord nearer me inthe evening, when I knelt by my bed for a minute, and asked Him, in myown poor words, to keep me in the right way, and teach me to do Hiswill. I think I shall try that again. Now that I have a cell tomyself, I can do it. And I sleep in dear Mother Alianora's cell, whereI am sure the blessed Lord has been wont to come. Oh, I hope He willnot tarry away because I am come into it--I, who am so worthless, and soweak, and need His gracious aid so much more than she did!
I do wish, if so great a favour could possibly be vouchsafed to me, thatI might speak to our Lord just once. He has ere this held converse withthe holy saints. Of course I am not holy, nor a saint, nor in the leastmerit any such grace from Him: but I need it more than those who meritit. Oh, if I could know,--once, certainly, and for ever--whether it isearthly, and carnal, and wicked, as people say it is, for me to grieveover that lost love of mine! Sister Ismania says it is all folly andimagination on my part, because, having been parted when we were onlysix years old, I cannot possibly (she says) feel any real, womanly lovefor him. But I do not see why it must be grown-up to be real. And Inever knew any thing better or more real. It may not be like whatothers have, but it was all I had. I wish sometimes that I knew if hestill lives, and whether that other wife lives to whom I supposesomebody must have married him after I was thrust in here. I cannotfeel as if he did not still, somehow, belong to me. If I only knewwhether it was wrong!
I have been appointed mistress of the work-room, and I ought to keep itin order. How I can ever do it, I cannot think. I shall never be ableto chide the Sisters like the other Mothers: and to have them coming upto me, when they are chidden, and kissing the floor at my feet--I do notknow how I can stand it. I am sure it will give me a dreadful feeling.However, I hope nothing will ever happen of that kind, for a long, longwhile.
What is the good of hoping any thing? Mother Gaillarde says that hopes,promises, and pie-crust are made to be broken. Certainly hopes seem tobe. After all my wishes, if something did not happen the very firstday!
When I got down to the work-room, what should I find but Sisters Robergaand Philippa having a violent quarrel. They were not only breaking therule of silence, which in itself was bad enough, but they were callingeach other all manner of names.
I was astonished those two should quarrel, for they have always beensuch friends that they had to be constantly reminded of the prohibitionof particular friendships among the religious: but when they did, itreminded me of the adage that vernage makes the best vinegar.
Sister Isabel cast an imploring look at me, as I entered, which seemedto say, "Do stop them!" and I had not a notion how to set about it,except by saying--
"My dear Sisters, our rule enjoins silence."
On my saying this (which I did with much reluctance and some trembling)both of them turned round and appealed to me.
"She promised to vote for me, and she did not!" cried Sister Roberga.
"I did!" said Sister Philippa. "I kept my word."
"There was only one vote for me," answered Sister Roberga.
"Well, and I gave it," replied Sister Philippa.
"You couldn't have done! There must have been more than one."
"Why should there?"
"I know there was."
"How do you know?"
"I do know."
"You must have voted for yourself, then: you can't know otherwise," saidSister Philippa, scornfully.
Sister Roberga fairly screamed, "I didn't, you vile wretch!" and wentexceedingly red in the face.
"Sister Roberga," said I--
"Don't you interfere!" shrieked Sister Roberga, turning fiercely on me."You want a chance to show your power, of course. You poor,white-faced, sanctimonious creature, only just promoted, and thatbecause every body voted for you, thinking you would be easily managed--just like a bit of putty in any body's fingers! And making such a fuss,as if you were so humble and holy, professing not to wish for it!Faugh! how I hate a hypocrite!"
I stood silent, feeling as if my breath were taken away.
"Yes, isn't she?" cried Sister Philippa. "Wanting Sister Ismania to bepreferred, instead of her, after all her plotting with Mother Gaillardeand Sister Margaret! I can't bear folks who look one way and walkanother, as she does. _I_ shouldn't wonder if the election werevitiated,--not a bit!--and then where will you be, _Mother_ Annora?"
"Where you will be, Sister Philippa, until compline," said a voicebehind me, "is prostrate on the chapel floor: and after compline, youwill kiss the floor at Mother Annora's feet, and ask her to forgive you.Sister Roberta, go to the laundry--there is nobody there--and do notcome forth till I fetch you. You also, after compline, will ask theMother's forgiveness."
Oh, how thankful I felt to Mother Gaillarde for coming in just then!She said no more at that time; but at night she came to my cell.
"Sister Annora," said she, "you must not let those saucy girls riderough-shod over you. Y
ou should let them see you mean it."
"But," said I, "I am afraid I don't mean it."
Mother Gaillarde laughed. "Then make haste and do," said she. "You'llhave a bear-garden in the work-room if you don't pull your curb a littletighter. You may always rely on Sister Ismania, Sister Isabel, andSister Margaret to uphold your authority. It is those silly youngthings that have to be kept in order. I wish you joy of your new post:it is not all flowers and music, I can tell you."
"Oh dear, I feel so unfit for it!" I sighed.
Mother Gaillarde smiled. "Sister, I am a bad hand at payingcompliments," she said. "But one thing I will say--you are the fittestof us all for the office, if you will only stand firm. Give your orderspromptly, and stick to them. _Pax tibi_!"
I have put Mother Gaillarde's advice into action--or rather, I havetried to put it--and have brought a storm on my head. Oh dear, whycannot folks do right without all this trouble?
Sisters Amie and Catherine began to cast black looks at one anotheryesterday evening in the work-room, and when recreation-time came thelooks blossomed into words. I told them both to be silent at once.This morning I was sent for by my Lady, who said that she had notexpected me to prove a tyrant. I do not think tyrants feel their heartsgo pitter-patter, as mine did, both last night and this morning. Ofcourse I knelt and kissed her hand, and said how sorry I was to havedispleased her.
"But, indeed, my Lady," said I, "I spoke as I did because I was afraid Ihad not been sufficiently firm before."
"Oh, I dare say it was all right," said my Lady, closing her eyes, as ifshe felt worried with the whole affair. "Only Sister Ada thought--Ithink somebody spoke to her--do as you think best, Sister. I dare sayit will all come right."
I wish things would all come right, but it seems rather as if they allwent wrong. And I do not _quite_ see what business it is of MotherAda's. But I ought not to be censorious.
Just as I was leaving the room, my Lady called me back. It does feel sonew and strange to me, to have to go to my Lady herself about things,instead of to one of the Mothers! And it is not nearly so satisfactory;for where Mother Gaillarde used to say, "Do _so_, of course"--my Ladysays, "Do as you like." I cannot even get accustomed to calling themSister Gaillarde and Sister Ada, as, being a Mother myself, I ought todo now. Oh, how I miss our dear Mother Alianora! It frightens me tothink of being in her place. Well, my Lady called me back to tell methat the Lady Joan de Greystoke desired to make retreat with us, andthat we must prepare to receive her next Saturday. She is to have thelittle chamber next to the linen-wardrobe. My Lady says she is of goodlineage, but she did not say of what family she came. She commanded meto tell the Mothers.
"_Miserere_!" said Mother--no, Sister Ada. "What an annoyance it is, tobe sure, when externs come for retreat! She will unsettle half theyoung Sisters, and turn the heads of half the others. I know what aworry they are!"
"Humph!" said Sister Gaillarde. "Of good lineage, is she? That means,I suppose, that she'll think herself a princess, and look on all of usas her maid-servants. She may clean her own shoes so far as I'mconcerned. Do her good. I'll be bound she never touched a brushbefore."
"Some idle young baggage, I've no doubt," said Sister Ada.
"Marry, she may be a grandmother," said Mo--Sister Gaillarde. "If she'seighty, she'll think she has a right to lecture us; and if she's onlyeighteen, she'll think so ten times more. You may depend upon it, shewill reckon we know nought of the world, and that all the wisdom in ithas got into her brains. These externs do amuse me."
"It is all very well for you to make fun of it, Sister Gaillarde," saidSister Ada, peevishly, "but I can tell you, it will be any thing but funfor you and me, if she set half the young Sisters, not to speak of thenovices and pupils, coveting all manner of worldly pomps and dainties.And she will, as sure as my name is Ada."
"Thanks for your warning," said Mother Gaillarde. "I'll put a rod ortwo in pickle."
The Lady Joan's chamber is ready at last: and I am dad. Such a businessI have had of it! I had no idea Sister Philippa was so difficult tomanage: and as to Sister Roberga, I pity any one who tries to do it.
"You see, Sister Annora," said Sister Gaillarde, smiling rather grimly,"official life is not all flowers and sunshine. I don't pity my Lady,just because she shirks her duties: she merely reigns, and leaves us togovern; but I can tell you, no Prioress of this convent would have aneasy life, if she _did_ her duty. I remember once, when I was in theworld, I saw a mountebank driving ten horses at once. I dare say hehadn't an easy time of it. But, lack-a-day! we have to drive thirty:and skittish fillies some of them are. I don't know what Sister Robergahas done with her vocation: but I never saw the corner of it since shecame."
"Well!" I said with a sigh, "I suppose I never had one."
"Stuff and nonsense!" said Sister Gaillarde. "If you mean you never hada liking for the life, that may be true--you know more about that thanI; but if you mean you do not fill your place well, and do your duty aswell as you know how, and a deal better than most folks--why, again Isay, stuff and nonsense! You are not perfect, I suppose. If you eversee any body who is, I should like to know her name. It won't beGaillarde--that I know!"
I wonder whose daughter the Lady Joan is! Something in her eyes puzzlesme so, as if she reminded me of somebody whom I had known, long, longago--some Sister when I was novice, or perchance even some one whom Iknew in my early childhood, before I was professed at all. They aredark eyes, but not at all like Margaret's. Margaret's are brown, butthese are dark grey, with long black lashes; and they do not talk--theyonly look as if they could, if one knew how to make them. The Lady Joanis very quiet and attentive to her religious duties; I think SisterAda's fears may sleep. She is not at all likely to unsettle any body.She talks very little, except when necessary. Two months, I hear, shewill remain; and I do not think she will be any trouble to one of us.Even Sister Gaillarde says, "She is a decent woman: she'll do." Andthat means a good deal--from Sister Gaillarde.
I have the chance to speak to Margaret now. Of course a Mother can callany Sister to her cell if needful; and no one may ask why except anotherMother. I must be careful not to seem to prefer Margaret above therest, and all the more because she is my own sister. But last night Ireally had some directions to give her, and I summoned her to my cell.When I had told her what I wanted, I was about to dismiss her with "_Paxtibi_!" as usual, but Margaret's talking eyes told me she had somethingto say.
I said,--"Well! what is it, Margaret?"
"May I speak to my sister Annora for a moment, and not to the Mother?"she asked, with a look half amused and half sad.
"Thou mayest always do that, dear heart," said I.
(I hope it was not wicked.)
"Then--Annora, for whom is the Lady Joan looking?"
"Looking! I understand thee not, Margaret."
"I think it is either thou or I," she replied. "Sister Anne told methat she asked her if there were not some Sisters of the Despenserfamily here, and wished to have them pointed out to her: and she said toSister Anne, `She whom I seek was professed as a very little child.'That must be either thou or I, Annora. What can she want with us?"
"Verily, Margaret, I cannot tell."
"I wondered if she might be a niece of ours."
"She may," said I. "I never thought of that. There is something abouther eyes that reminds me of some one, but who it is I know not."
"Thou couldst ask her," suggested Margaret.
"I scarcely like to do that," said I. "But I will think about it,Margaret."
I was wicked enough to kiss her, when I let her go.
This morning Sister Ada told me that the Lady Joan had asked leave tolearn illuminating, so she would spend her mornings henceforth in theillumination chamber. That will bring her with Margaret, who is muchthere. Perchance she may tell her something.
It would be strange to see a niece or cousin of one's very own! Imarvel if she be akin to us. Somehow, since I
had that night watch withMargaret, my heart does not feel exactly the dry, dead thing it used todo in times past. I fancy I could love a kinswoman, if I had one.
Sister Gaillarde said such a strange thing to me to-day. I wasremarking that the talk in the recreation-room was so often vapid andfoolish--all about such little matters: we never seemed to take aninterest in any great or serious subject.
"Sister Annora," said she, with one of her grim smiles, "I always lookedto see you turn out a reformer."
"Me!" cried I.
"You," said she.
"But a reformer is a great, grand man, with a hard head, and a keen wit,and a ready tongue!" said I.
"Why should it not be a woman with a soft heart?" quoth SisterGaillarde.
"_Ha, jolife_!" cried I. "Sister Gaillarde, you may be cut out for areformer, but I am sure I am not."
I looked up as I spoke, and saw the Lady Joan's dark grey eyes upon me.
"What is to be reformed. Mother?" said she.
"Why, if each of us would reform herself, I suppose the whole housewould be reformed," I answered.
"Capital!" said Sister Gaillarde. "Let's set to work."
"Who will begin?" said Sister Ismania.
"Every body will be the second," replied Sister Gaillarde, "except thosewho have begun already: that's very plain!"
"I expect every body will be the last," said Margaret.
Sister Gaillarde nodded, as if she meant Amen.
"Well, thank goodness, I want no reforms," said Sister Ada.
"Nor any reforming?" said Sister Gaillarde.
"Certainly not," she answered. "I always do my duty--always. Nobodycan lay any thing else to my charge." And she looked round with an airthat seemed to say, "Deny it if you can!"
"It is manifest," observed Sister Gaillarde gravely, "that our SisterAda is the only perfect being among us. I am not perfect, by any means:and really, I feel oppressed by the company of a seraph. I'm not nearlygood enough. Perchance, Sister Ada, you would not mind my sitting alittle further off."
And actually, she rose and went over to the other side of the room.Sister Ada tossed her head,--not as I should expect a seraph to do: thenshe too rose, and walked out of the room. Sister Ismania had laughinglyfollowed Sister Gaillarde: so that the Lady Joan, Margaret, and I, werealone in that corner.
"My mother had a Book of Evangels," said the Lady Joan, "in which I havesometimes read: and I remember, it said, `be ye perfect,' The priestssay only religious persons can be perfect: yet our Lord, when He saidit, was not speaking to them, but just to the common people who were Hisdisciples, on the hill-side. Is it the case, that we could all beperfect, if only we tried, and entreated the grace of our Lord to enableus to be so?"
"Did your Ladyship ever know any who was?" asked Margaret.
The Lady Joan shook her head. "Never--not perfect. My mother was agood woman enough; but there were flaws in her. She was cleverer thanmy father, and she let him feel it. He was nearer perfection than she,for he was humbler and gentler--God rest his sweet soul! Yet she was agood woman, for all that: but--no, not perfect!"
Suddenly she ceased, and a light came in her eyes.
"You two," she said, looking on us, "are the Despenser ladies, Ibelieve?"
We assented.
"Do you mind telling me--pardon me if I should not ask--which of you wasaffianced, long years ago, to the Lord Lawrence de Hastings, sometimeEarl of Pembroke?"
"Sometime!" ah me, then my lost love is no more!
I felt as though my tongue refused to speak. Something was coming--what, I did not know.
Margaret answered for me, and the Lady Joan's hand fell softly on mine.
"Did you love each other," she said, "when you were little children? Ifso, we ought to love each other, for he was very dear to me. MotherAnnora, he was my father."
"You!" I just managed to say.
"Ah, you did, I think," she said, quietly. "He died a young man, in thefirst great visitation of the Black Death, over twenty years ago: and mymother survived him twenty years. She married again, and died threeyears since."
Margaret asked what I wanted to hear. I was very glad, for I felt as ifI could ask nothing. It was strange how Margaret seemed to know justwhat I wished.
"Who was your mother, my Lady?"
The Lady Joan coloured, and did not answer for a moment. Then shesaid,--"I fear you will not like to know it: yet it was not her fault,nor his. Queen Isabel arranged it all: and she hath answered for herown sins at the Judgment Bar. My mother was Agnes de Mortimer, daughterof the Earl of March."
"Why not?" said Margaret.
"Ah, then you know not. I scarce expected a Despenser to hear his namewith patience. But I suppose you were so young--Sisters, he was thegreat enemy of your father."
So they wedded my lost love to the daughter of my enemy! Almost beforethe indignation rose up within me, there came to counteract it a visionof the cross of Calvary, and of Him who said, "Father, forgive them!"The momentary feeling of anger died away. Another feeling took itsplace: the thought that the after-bond was dissolved now, and death hadmade him mine again.
"Mother Annora," said the Lady Joan's soft voice, "will you reject me,and look coldly on me, if I ask whether you can love me a little? Heused to love to talk to me of you, whom he remembered tenderly, as hemight have remembered a little sister that God had taken. He oftenwondered where you were, and whether you were happy. And when I was alittle child, I always wanted to hear of that other child--you lived,eternal, a little child, for me. Many a time I have fancied that Iwould make retreat here, and try to find you out, if you were stillalive. Do you think it sinful to love any thing?--some nuns do. But ifnot, I should like you to love the favourite child of your lost love."
"Methinks," said Margaret, quietly, "it is true in earthly as inheavenly things, and to carnal no less than spiritual persons, `_Majorhorum est caritas_.'" [First Corinthians 13, verse 13.]
I hardly know what I said. But I think Joan was satisfied.
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Note 1. Her thoughts wandered to her married sister, Isabel LadyHastings and Monthermer, who lived at Marlborough Castle.
Note 2. The last native Princess of Wales, being the only (certainlyproved) child of the last Prince Llywelyn, and Alianora de Montfort.She was thrust into the convent at Sempringham with her cousin Gladys.
In Convent Walls Page 11