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 she
knows I detest it."

"Thou art not just to Mother Gaillarde, Sister," I said, and went on to
the bed by the window.

"Annora, dear child!" said the feeble voice. Ay, she was weaker far
than 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 raise
her a little. And she could not speak much. A few words occasionally
appeared to be all she had strength for. Towards morning I thought she
seemed to wander and grow light-headed. She called once "Isabel!" and
once "Aveline!" We have at present no Sister in the house named
Aveline, and when I asked if I should seek permission to call Sister
Isabel if she wished for her, she said, "No: she will be gone to
Marlborough," and what she meant I know not. [Note 1.] Then, after she
had 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 scarcely
had her wits clear.

"She will come again," she saith, softly. "Ay, He will come again--with
clouds--and His saints with Him. And Guendolen will be there--my Sister
Guendolen, the Princess [Note 2], whom men cast forth,--Christ shall
crown her in His kingdom. The last of the royal line! There are no
Princes of Wales any more."

Then I think she dropped asleep for a time, and when she woke she knew
me 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 her
voice 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, she
never 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.