he rain, or the sun.

XXII

A cold shower struck the windows of the novitiate.

"Was there ever such weather? Will it never cease raining and
blowing?" the novices cried, and they looked through the panes into
the windy garden. Next day the same dark clouds rolled overhead, with
gleams of sunshine now and then lighting up the garden and the
distant common, where sometimes a horseman was seen galloping at the
close of day, just as in a picture.

"How wet he will be when he gets home!" a novice would sometimes say,
and the conversation was not continued.

"I wonder if we shall ever have fine weather again?" broke in
another.

"One of these days it will cease raining," Mother Hilda said, for she
was an optimist; and very soon she began to be looked upon as a
prophetess, for the weather mended imperceptibly, and one afternoon
the sky was in gala toilette, in veils and laces: a great lady
stepping into her carriage going to a ball could not be more
beautifully attired. An immense sky brushed over with faint wreathing
clouds with blue colour showing through, a blue brilliant as any
enamel worn by a great lady on her bosom; and the likeness of the
clouds to plumes passed through Evelyn's mind, and her eyes wandering
westward, noticed how the sky down there was a rich, almost
sulphurous, yellow; it set off the white and blue aerial
extravagances of the zenith. The garden was still wet and cold, but a
warm air was coming in, and the voices of the nuns and novices
sounded so innocent and free that Evelyn was moved by a sudden
sympathy to join them.

Under yonder trees the three Mothers were walking, looking towards
Evelyn now and then; she was the subject of their conversation, the
Prioress maintaining it would be a great benefit to her to take the
veil.

"But, dear Mother, do you think she will ever recover her health
sufficiently for her to decide, and for us to decide, whether she has
a vocation?" Mother Hilda asked.

"It seems to me that Evelyn is recovering every day. Do you remember
at first whole days passed without her speaking? Now there are times
when she joins in the conversation."

Mother Mary Hilda did not answer, and a little aggressive glance shot
out of the Prioress's eyes.

"You don't like to have her in the novitiate. I remember when she
returned from Rome--"

"It seems to me that it would be just as well for her to live in the
convent as an oblate, occupying the guest-room as before."

"