Produced by Al Haines
The White Ladies of Worcester
A Romance of the Twelfth Century
by
Florence L. Barclay
Author of "The Rosary," "The Mistress of Shenstone," etc.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1917
COPYRIGHT, 1917
BY
FLORENCE L. BARCLAY
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
TO
FAITHFUL HEARTS
ALL THE WORLD OVER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE SUBTERRANEAN WAY
II. SISTER MARY ANTONY DISCOURSES
III. THE PRIORESS PASSES
IV. "GIVE ME TENDERNESS," SHE SAID
V. THE WAYWARD NUN
VI. THE KNIGHT OF THE BLOODY VEST
VII. THE MADONNA IN THE CLOISTER
VIII. ON THE WINGS OF THE STORM
IX. THE PRIORESS SHUTS THE DOOR
X. "I KNOW YOU FOR A MAN"
XI. THE YEARS ROLL BACK
XII. ALAS, THE PITY OF IT!
XIII. "SEND HER TO ME!"
XIV. FAREWELL HERE, AND NOW
XV. "SHARPEN THE WITS OF MARY ANTONY"
XVI. THE ECHO OF WILD VOICES
XVII. THE DIMNESS OF MARY ANTONY
XVIII. IN THE CATHEDRAL CRYPT
XIX. THE BISHOP PUTS ON HIS BIRETTA
XX. HOLLY AND MISTLETOE
XXI. SO MUCH FOR SERAPHINE
XXII. WHAT BROTHER PHILIP HAD TO TELL
XXIII. THE MIDNIGHT ARRIVAL
XXIV. THE POPE'S MANDATE
XXV. MARY ANTONY RECEIVES THE BISHOP
XXVI. LOVE NEVER FAILETH
XXVII. THE WOMAN AND HER CONSCIENCE
XXVIII. THE WHITE STONE
XXIX. THE VISION OF MARY ANTONY
XXX. THE HARDER PART
XXXI. THE CALL OF THE CURLEW
XXXII. A GREAT RECOVERY AND RESTORATION
XXXIII. MARY ANTONY HOLDS THE PORT
XXXIV. MORA DE NORELLE
XXXV. IN THE ARBOUR OF GOLDEN ROSES
XXXVI. STRONG TO ACT; ABLE TO ENDURE
XXXVII. WHAT MOTHER SUB-PRIORESS KNEW
XXXVIII. THE BISHOP KEEPS VIGIL
XXXIX. THE "SPLENDID KNIGHT"
XL. THE HEART OF A NUN
XLI. WHAT THE BISHOP REMEMBERED
XLII. THE WARNING
XLIII. MORA MOUNTS TO THE BATTLEMENTS
XLIV. "I LOVE THEE"
XLV. THE SONG OF THE THRUSH
XLVI. "HOW SHALL I LET THEE GO?"
XLVII. THE BISHOP is TAKEN UNAWARES
XLVIII. A STRANGE CHANCE
XLIX. TWICE DECEIVED
L. THE SILVER SHIELD
LI. TWO NOBLE HEARTS GO DIFFERENT WAYS
LII. THE ANGEL-CHILD
LIII. ON THE HOLY MOUNT
LIV. THE UNSEEN PRESENCE
LV. THE HEART OF A WOMAN
LVI. THE TRUE VISION
LVII. "I CHOOSE TO RIDE ALONE"
LVIII. THE WARRIOR HEART
LIX. THE MADONNA IN THE HOME
LX. THE CONVENT BELL
The White Ladies of Worcester
CHAPTER I
THE SUBTERRANEAN WAY
The slanting rays of afternoon sunshine, pouring through stone arches,
lay in broad, golden bands, upon the flags of the Convent cloister.
The old lay-sister, Mary Antony, stepped from the cool shade of the
cell passage and, blinking at the sunshine, shuffled slowly to her
appointed post at the top of the crypt steps, up which would shortly
pass the silent procession of nuns returning from Vespers.
Daily they went, and daily they returned, by the underground way, a
passage over a mile in length, leading from the Nunnery of the White
Ladies at Whytstone in Claines, to the Church of St. Mary and St.
Peter, the noble Cathedral within the walls of the city of Worcester.
Entering this passage from the crypt in their own cloisters, they
walked in darkness below the sunny meadows, passed beneath the
Fore-gate, moving in silent procession under the busy streets, until
they reached the crypt of the Cathedral.
From the crypt, a winding stairway in the wall led up to a chamber
above the choir, whence, unseeing and unseen, the White Ladies of
Worcester daily heard the holy monks below chant Vespers.
To Sister Mary Antony fell the task of counting the five-and-twenty
veiled figures, as they passed down the steps and disappeared beneath
the ground, and of again counting them as they reappeared, and moved in
stately silence along the cloister, each entering her own cell, to
spend, in prayer and adoration, the hours until the Refectory bell
should call them to the evening meal.
This counting of the White Ladies dated from the day, now more than
half a century ago, when Sister Agatha, weakened by prolonged fasting,
and chancing to walk last in the procession, fainted and, falling
silently, remained behind, unnoticed, in the solitude and darkness.
It was the habit of this saintly lady to abide in her own cell after
Vespers, dispensing with the evening meal; thus her absence was not
discovered until the following morning when Mary Antony, finding the
cell empty, hastened to report that Sister Agatha having long, like
Enoch, walked with God, had, even, as Enoch, been translated!
The nuns who flocked to the cell, inclining to Mary Antony's view of
the strange happening, kneeled upon the floor before the empty couch,
and worshipped.
The Prioress of that time, however, being of a practical turn of mind,
ordered the immediate lighting of the lanterns, and herself descended
to search the underground way.
She did not need to go far.
The saintly spirit of Sister Agatha had indeed been translated.
They found her frail body lying prone against the door, the hands
broken and torn by much wild beating upon its studded panels.
She had run to and fro in the dank darkness, beating first upon the
door beneath the Convent cloisters, then upon the door, a mile away,
leading into the Cathedral crypt.
But the nuns were shut into their cells, beyond the cloister; the good
people of Worcester city slept peacefully, not dreaming of the
despairing figure running to and fro beneath them--tottering,
stumbling, falling, arising to fall again, yet hurrying blindly
onwards; and the Cathedral Sacristan, when questioned, confessed that,
hearing cries and rappings coming from the crypt at a late hour, he
speedily locked the outer gate, said an "Ave," and went home to supper;
well knowing that, at such a time, none save spirits of evil would be
wandering below, in so great torment.
Thus, through much tribulation, poor Sister Agatha entered into rest;
being held in deepest reverence ever after.
More than fifty years had gone by. The Prioress of that day, and most
of those who walked in that procession, had long lain beside Sister
Agatha in the Convent burying-ground. But Mary Antony, now oldest of
the lay-sisters, never failed to make careful count, as each veiled
figure passed, nor to impart the mournful reason for this necessity to
all new-comers. So that the nun whose turn it was to walk last in the
procession, prayed that she might not hear behind her the running feet
of Sister Agatha; while none went alone into the cloisters after dark,
lest they should hear the poor thin hands of Sister Agatha beating upon
the panels of the door.
Thus does the anguish of a tortured brain leave its imperishable
impress upon the surroundings in which the mind once suffered, though
the freed spirit may have long forgotten, in the peace of Paradise,
that slight affliction, which was but for a moment, through which it
passed to the eternal weight of glory.
Of late, the old lay-sister, Mary Antony, had grown fearful lest she
should make mistake in this solemn office of the counting. Therefore,
in the secret of her own heart, she devised a plan, which she carried
out under cover of her scapulary. Twenty-five dried peas she held
ready in her wallet; then, as each veiled figure, having mounted the
steps leading from the crypt doorway, moved slowly past her, she
dropped a pea with her right hand into her left. When all the holy
Ladies had passed, if all had returned, five-and-twenty peas lay in her
left hand, none remained in the wallet.
This secret dropping of peas became a kind of game to Mary Antony.
She kept the peas in a small linen bag, and often took them out and
played with them when alone in her cell, placing them all in a row, and
settling, to her own satisfaction, which peas should represent the
various holy Ladies.
A large white pea, of finer aspect than the rest, stood for the noble
Prioress herself; a somewhat shrivelled pea, hard, brown, and wizened,
did duty as Mother Sub-Prioress, an elderly nun, not loved by Mary
Antony because of her sharp tongue and strict fault-finding ways; while
a pale and speckled pea became Sister Mary Rebecca, held in high scorn
by the old lay-sister, as a traitress, sneak, and liar, for if ever
tale of wrong or shame was whispered in the Convent, it could be traced
for place of origin to the slanderous tongue and crooked mind of Sister
Mary Rebecca.
When all the peas in line upon the floor of her cell were named, old
Mary Antony marked out a distant flagstone, on which the sunlight fell,
as heaven; another, partially in shadow, purgatory; a third, in a far
corner of exceeding darkness, hell. She then proceeded, with
well-directed fillip of thumb and middle finger, to send the holy
Ladies there where, in her judgment, they belonged.
If the game went well, the noble Prioress landed safely in heaven,
without even the most transitory visit to purgatory; Mother
Sub-Prioress, rolling into purgatory, remained there; while the pale
and speckled pea went straight to hell!
When these were safely landed, Mary Antony rubbed her hands and,
chuckling gleefully, finished the game at gay hap-hazard, it being of
less importance where the rest of the holy Ladies chanced to go.