re is little need," said the monk, with a meaning look, "to fritter
away the time in gewgaws which shall raise up the pale ghosts of hopes
of early years. Bury them, heap penance and mortification on their
heads, keep them down, and let the convent be their grave!"

'The sisters asked for three days to deliberate; and felt, that night,
as though the veil were indeed the fitting shroud for their dead joys.
But, morning came again, and though the boughs of the orchard trees
drooped and ran wild upon the ground, it was the same orchard still. The
grass was coarse and high, but there was yet the spot on which they had
so often sat together, when change and sorrow were but names. There was
every walk and nook which Alice had made glad; and in the minster nave
was one flat stone beneath which she slept in peace.

'And could they, remembering how her young heart had sickened at the
thought of cloistered walls, look upon her grave, in garbs which would
chill the very ashes within it? Could they bow down in prayer, and when
all Heaven turned to hear them, bring the dark shade of sadness on one
angel's face? No.

'They sent abroad, to artists of great celebrity in those times, and
having obtained the church's sanction to their work of piety, caused
to be executed, in five large compartments of richly stained glass, a
faithful copy of their old embroidery work. These were fitted into a
large window until that time bare of ornament; and when the sun shone
brightly, as she had so well loved to see it, the familiar patterns were
reflected in their original colours, and throwing a stream of brilliant
light upon the pavement, fell warmly on the name of Alice.

'For many hours in every day, the sisters paced slowly up and down the
nave, or knelt by the side of the flat broad stone. Only three were seen
in the customary place, after many years; then but two, and, for a long
time afterwards, but one solitary female bent with age. At length she
came no more, and the stone bore five plain Christian names.

'That stone has worn away and been replaced by others, and many
generations have come and gone since then. Time has softened down the
colours, but the same stream of light still falls upon the forgotten
tomb, of which no trace remains; and, to this day, the stranger is shown
in York Cathedral, an old window called the Five Sisters.'

'That's a melancholy tale,' said the merry-faced gentleman, emptying his
glass.

'It is a tale of