to him the history of her difficulties
with that wayward little nun, Sister Mary Seraphine.

"But the point which I chiefly desire to lay before you, Reverend
Father," concluded the Prioress, "is this: If the neighing of a palfrey
calls more loudly to her than the voice of God; if her mind is still
set upon the things of the world; if she professed without a true
vocation, merely because she wished to be the central figure of a great
ceremony, yet was all the while expecting a man to intervene and carry
her off; if all this bespeaks her true state of heart, then to my mind
there comes the question: Is she doing good, either to herself or to
others, by belonging to our Order? Would she not be better away?

"My lord, I fear I greatly shock you by naming such a possibility. But
truly I am pursued by the remembrance of that young thing, beating the
floor with her hands, and singing a mournful dirge about the crimson
trappings of her palfrey. And, alas! when I reasoned with her and
exhorted, she broke out, as I have told you, Reverend Father, into
grievous blasphemy--for which she was severely dealt with by Mother
Sub-Prioress, and has since been outwardly amenable to rules and
discipline.

"But, though she may outwardly conform, how about her inward state?
Well I know that our vows are lifelong vows; all who belong to our
Order are wedded to Heaven; we are thankful to know that the calm of
the Cloister shall be exchanged only for the greater peace of Paradise.
But, supposing a young heart has mistaken its vocation; supposing the
voice of an earthly lover calls when it is too late; would it seem
right or possible to you, Reverend Father, to grant any sort of
absolution from the vows; tacitly to allow the opening of the cage
door, that the little foolish bird might, if it wished, escape into the
liberty for which it chafes and sighs?"

The Bishop sat in the Spanish chair, drawn up near the oriel window, so
that he could either gaze at the glories of the distant sunset, or, by
slightly turning his head, look on the beautiful but grave face of the
Prioress, seated before him.

While she was speaking he watched her keenly, with those bright
searching eyes, so much more youthful than aught else about him. But
now that he must make reply, he looked away to the sunset.

The light shone on the plain gold cross at his breast, and on the
violet silk of his cassock. His face, against the background of the
black Spanish wood