And Evelyn followed the Prioress into a fragrance of lavender and
orris-root; she was shown the vestments laid out on shelves, with
tissue-paper between them. The most expensive were the white satin
vestments, and these dated from prosperous times; and she was told
how once poverty had become so severe in the convent that the
question had arisen whether these vestments should be sold, but the
nuns had declared that they preferred bread and water, or even
starvation, to parting with their vestments.
"These are for the priest," the Prioress said, "these are for the
deacon and subdeacon, and they are used on Easter Sundays, the
professed days of the Sisters, and the visits of the Bishop; and
these vestments with the figure of Our Lady, with a blue medallion in
the centre of the cross, are used for all feasts of the Virgin."
On another shelf were the great copes, in satin and brocade, gold and
white, with embroidered hoods and orphries, and veils to match; and
the processional banners were stored in tall presses, and with them,
hanging on wire hooks, were the altar-curtains, thick with gold
thread; for the high altar there were curtains and embroidered
frontals, and tabernacle hangings, and these, the Prioress explained,
had to harmonise with the vestments; and the day before Mass for the
Dead the whole altar would have to be stripped after Benediction and
black hangings put up.
"Cecilia will tell you about the candles. They have all to be of
equal length, Teresa, and it should be your ambition to be
economical, with as splendid a show as possible. No candle should
ever be allowed to burn into its socket, leaving less than the twelve
ordained by the Church for Exposition."
As soon as the Prioress left them, Sister Cecilia told Evelyn that
she would have to work very hard indeed, for it was the Prioress's
whim not to use the ordinary altar cloths with an embroidered hem,
but always cloths on which lace frontals were lightly tacked; and
Evelyn was warned that the sewing on of the lace, without creasing
the white linen, required great care; and the spilling of a little
wax could not be passed over, the cloth would have to go to the wash.
It was as she said; they had to work hard, and they were always
behindhand with their work. She learned from Cecilia that, apart from
the canonical directions for Divine Service, there existed an
unwritten code for pious observances--some saints were honoured by
having their banner exhibited during the octave of the feast, while
others were allowed little temporary altars on which some relic could
be exposed. The Sisters themselves were often mistaken regarding what
had been done on previous anniversaries; but the Prioress's memory
was unfailing, and one of the strictest rules of the house was that
the sacristan took orders from none but the Prioress. And when a
discussion arose between Cecilia and Evelyn, one of them went to the
Prioress to ask her to say which was right.
Sister Cecilia was stupid and slow, and very soon Evelyn had absorbed
most of the work of the sacristy doing it as she pleased, until one
day, the Prioress coming in to see what progress had been made, found
St. Joseph's altar stripped, save for a single pair of candlesticks
and two flower vases filled with artificial flowers. Evelyn was
admonished, but she dared to answer that she was not interested in
St. Joseph, though, of course, he was a worthy man.
"My dear Teresa, I cannot allow you to speak in this way of St.
Joseph; he is one of the patrons of the convent. Nor can I allow his
altar to be robbed in this fashion. Have you not thought that we are
looking forward to the time when you should be one of us?"
Behind them stood Sister Cecilia, overcome with astonishment that a
mere novice should dare to speak to the Prioress on terms of
equality. When the Prioress left the room she said:
"You didn't answer the Prioress just now when she asked if you had
forgotten that you were soon to become one of us."
"How could I answer... I don't know."
This answer seemed to exhaust Sister Cecilia's interest in the
question, and, handing Evelyn two more candles, she asked, "Do you
want me any more?"
On Evelyn saying she did not, she said:
"Well, then, I may go and meditate in the chapel."
"On what is she going to meditate?" Evelyn wondered; and from time to
time her eyes went towards the nun, who sat crouched on her haunches,
now and again beating her ears with both hands--a little trick of
hers to scatter casual thoughts, for even sacred things sometimes
suggested thoughts of evil to Sister Cecilia, and her plan to reduce
her thoughts to order was to slap her ears. Evelyn watched her,
wondering what her thoughts might be. Whatever they were, they led
poor Cecilia into disgrace, for that evening she forgot to fill the
lamp which burnt always before the tabernacle, it being the rule that
the Easter light struck on Holy Saturday should be preserved through
the year, each new wick being lighted upon the dying one. And Sister
Cecilia's carelessness had broken the continuity. She was severely
reprimanded, ate her meals that day kneeling on the refectory floor,
and for many a day the shameful occurrence was remembered. And her
place was taken by Veronica, who, delighted at her promotion, wore a
quaint air of importance, hurrying away with a bundle of keys hanging
from her belt by a long chain, amusing Evelyn, who was now under
Veronica's orders.
"Yes, it is rather strange, isn't it, Sister? But I can't help it. Of
course you ought to be in my place, and I can't think why dear Mother
has arranged it like this."
Nuns employed in the sacristy might talk, and in a few days
Veronica's nature revealed itself in many little questions.
"It is strange you should wish to be a nun."
"But why is it strange, Veronica?"
"For you are not like any of us, nor has the convent been the same
since you came."
"Are you sorry that I wish to be a nun?"
"Sorry, Sister Teresa? No, indeed. God has chosen you from the
beginning as the means He would employ to save us; only I can't see
you as a nun, always satisfied with the life here."
"Every one doesn't know from childhood what she is going to do. But
you always knew your vocation, Veronica."
"I cannot imagine myself anything but a nun, and yet I am not always
satisfied. Sometimes I am filled with longings for something which I
cannot live without, yet I do not know what I want. It is an
extraordinary feeling. Do you know what I mean, Sister?"
"Yes, dear, I think I do."
"It makes me feel quite faint, and it seizes me so suddenly. I have
wanted to tell you for a long time, only I have not liked to. There
are days when it makes me so restless that I cannot say my prayers,
so I know the feeling must be wrong. Something in the quality of your
voice stirs this feeling in me; your trill brings on this feeling
worse than anything. You don't know what I mean?"
"Perhaps I do. But why do you ask?"
"Because your singing seems to affect no one as it does me.... I
thought it might affect you in the same way--what is it?"
"I wouldn't worry, Veronica, you will get over it; it will pass."
"I hope it will." Evelyn felt that Veronica had not spoken all her
mind, and that the incident was not closed. The novice's eyes were
full of reverie, and behind her the open press exhaled a fragrance of
lavender. "You see," she said, turning, "Father Ambrose is coming
to-morrow. I wonder what he will think of you? He'll know if you have
a vocation."
Father Ambrose, an old Carmelite monk and the spiritual adviser of
the Prioress, was known to be a great friend of Veronica's, and
whenever he came to the convent Veronica's excitement started many
little pleasantries among the novices. Next day Evelyn waited for one
of these to arise. She had not long to wait; all the novices and
postulants with Mother Hilda were sitting under the great tree. The
air was warm, and Mother Hilda guided the conversation occasionally.
Every one was anxious to talk, but every one was anxious to think
too, for every one knew she would be questioned by the aged monk, and
that the chance of being accepted as a nun depended, in no small
measure, on his opinion of her vocation.
"Have you noticed, Sister Teresa, how beaming Sister Veronica has
looked for the last day or two? I can't think what has come to her."
"Can't you, indeed? You must be very slow. Hasn't she been put into
the sacristy just before Father Ambrose's visit; now she will be able
to put out his vestments herself. You may be sure we shall have the
best vestments out every day, and she will be able to have any amount
of private interviews behind our backs."
"Now, children, that will do," said Mother Hilda, noticing Veronica's
crimson cheeks as she bent over her work.
Evelyn wondered, and that evening in the sacristy Veronica broke into
expostulations with an excitement that took Evelyn by surprise.
"How could I not care for Father Ambrose! I have known him all my
life. Once I was very ill with pleurisy. I nearly died, and Father
Ambrose anointed me, and gave me the last Sacraments. I had not made
my first Communion then. I was only eleven, but they gave me the
Sacrament, for they thought I was dying, and I thought so too, and I
promised our Lord I would be a nun if I got well. I never told any
one except Father Ambrose, and he has helped me all through to keep
my vow, so you see he has been everything to me; I have never loved
any one as I love Father Ambrose. When he comes here I always ask him
for some rule or direction, so that I may have the happiness of
obeying him till his next visit; and it is so trying, is it not,
Sister Teresa, when the novices make their silly little jokes about
it? Of course, they don't understand, they can't; but to me Father
Ambrose means everything I care for; besides, he is really a saint. I
believe he would have been canonised if he had lived in the Middle
Ages. He has promised to profess me. It is wrong, I know, but really
I should hardly care to be professed if Father Ambrose could not be
by. We must have these vestments for him." Evelyn was about to take
them out. "No, allow me."
Veronica took the vestments out of her hand, a pretty colour coming
into her cheeks as she did so. And Evelyn understood her jealousy,
lest any other hands but hers should lay the vestments out that he
was to wear, and she turned her head so that Veronica might not think
she was being watched. And the little nun was happy in the corner of
the sacristy laying out the vestments, putting the gold chalice for
him to use, and the gold cruets, which Evelyn had never seen used
before."
"You see, being a monk, he has a larger amice than the ordinary
priest." And Veronica produced a strip of embroidery which she tacked
on the edge of the amice, so that it might give the desired
appearance when the monk drew it over his head on entering or leaving
the sacristy.
A few days after Evelyn came upon this amice with the embroidery edge
put away in a secret corner, so that it should not be used in the
ordinary way; and, as she stood wondering at the child's love for the
aged monk, Sister Agnes came to tell her she was wanted to bid Sister
Mary John goodbye.
"To bid Sister Mary John goodbye!"
"Yes, Sister Teresa, that is what the Prioress told me to tell you."
Evelyn hurried to the library. Sister Mary John was standing near the
window, and she wore a long black cloak over her habit, and had a
bird-cage in her hand. Evelyn saw the sly jackdaw, with his head on
one side, looking at her.
"What is the meaning of this, Sister? You don't tell me you are going
away? And for how long?"
"For ever, Sister; we shall never see each other again. I promised
the Prioress not to tell you before. It was a great hardship, but I
gave my promise, she allowing us to see each other for a few minutes
before I left."
"I can't take in what you're saying. Going away for ever? Oh, Sister,
this cannot be true!" And Evelyn stood looking at the nun, her eyes
dilated, her fingers crisped as if she would hold Sister Mary John
back. "But what is taking you away?"
"That is a long story, too long for telling now; besides, you know
it. You know I have been very fond of you, Teresa; too fond of you."
"So that's it. And how shall I live here without you?"
"You are going to enter the convent, and as a nun you will learn to
live without me; you will learn to love God better than you do now."
"One moment; tell me, it is only fair you should tell me, how our
love of each other has altered your love of God?"
"I can never tell you, Teresa, I can only say that I never
understood, perhaps, as I do now, that nothing must come between the
soul and God, and that there is no room for any other love in our
hearts. We must remember always we are the brides of Christ, you and
I, Sister."
"But I am not professed, and never shall be."
"I hope you will, Sister, and that all your love will go to our
crucified Lord."
They stood holding each other's hands.
"Won't you let me kiss you before you go?"
"Please let me go; it will be better not. The carriage is waiting; I
must go."
"But never, never to see you again!"
"Never is a long while; too long. We shall meet in heaven, and it
would be unwise to forfeit that meeting for a moment of time on this
earth."
"A moment of time on this earth," Evelyn answered. She stood looking
out of the window like one dazed; and taking advantage of her
abstraction Sister Mary John left the room. The Prioress came into
the library.
"Mother, what does this mean? Why did you let her go?"
The Prioress sat down slowly and looked at Evelyn without speaking.
"Mother, you might have let her stay, for my sake."
"I allowed her to see you before she left, and that was the most I
could do, under the circumstances."
"The most you could do under the circumstances? I don't understand.
Mother, you might have asked her to wait. She acted on impulse."
"No, Teresa, she came to me some weeks ago to tell me of her
scruples."
"Scruples! Her love of me, you mean?"
"I see she has told you. Yes."
The Prioress was about to ask her about her vows; but the present was
not the moment to do so, and she allowed Evelyn to go back to the
sacristy.