or them, but I doubt if it would for me.

I wonder if Margaret ever knew that priest whose eyes looked like hers.
I should like to ask her. But Mother Ada always forbids us to ask each
other questions about our past lives. She says curiosity is a sin; it
was curiosity which led Eve to listen to the serpent. But I do not
think Mother Ada's soul has any wings, and I always feel as if mine
had--something that, if only I were at liberty, would spread itself and
carry me away, far, far from here, right up into the very stars, for
aught I know. Poor caged bird as I am! how can my wings unfold
themselves? I fancy Margaret has wings--very likely, stronger than
mine. She seems to have altogether a stronger nature.

Mother Alianora will let us ask questions: she sometimes asks them
herself. Well, so does Mother Gaillarde, more than any body; but in
such a different way! Mother Alianora asks as if she were comforting
and helping you: Mother Gaillarde as though you were a piece of
embroidery that had been done wrong, and she were looking to see where
the stitches had begun to go crooked. If I were a piece of lawn, I
should not at all like Mother Gaillarde to pull the crooked stitches out
of me. She pounces on them so eagerly, and pulls so savagely at them.

I marvel what Margaret's history has been!

Last evening, as we were putting the orphans to bed--two of the Sisters
do it by turns, every week--little Damia saith to me--

"Sister Annora, what is the matter with our new Sister?"

"Who dost thou mean, my child?" I asked. "Sister Marian?"

For Sister Marian was our last professed.

"No," said the child; "I mean Sister Margaret, who has such curious
eyes--eyes that say every thing and don't tell any thing--it is so
funny! (So other folks than I had seen those eyes.) But what was the
matter with her yesterday morning, at the holy Sacrament?"

"I know not, Damia, for I saw nothing. A religious, as thou knowest,
should not lift her eyes, save for adoration."

"O Sister Annora, how many nice things she must lose! But I will tell
you about Sister Margaret. It was just when the holy mass began.
Father Hamon had said `_Judica me_' and then, you know, the people had
to reply, `_Quia Tu es_.' And when they began the response, Sister
Margaret's head went up, and her eyes ran up the aisle to the altar."

"Damia, my child!" I said.

"Indeed, Sister, I am not talking nonsense! It looked exactly like
that. Then,