obin will build his
nest, and carol his happy song.

"Mark you this, dear Mary Antony: all things made by man hold within
them the elements of change and of decay. But nature is at one with
God, and therefore immutable. Earthly kingdoms may rise and wane;
mighty cities may spring up, then fall into ruin. Nations may conquer
and, in their turn, be conquered. Man may slay man and, in his turn,
be slain. But, through it all, the mountains stand, the rivers flow,
the forests wave, and the redbreast builds his nest in the hawthorn,
and warbles a love-song to his mate."

The Prioress rose and stretched wide her arms to the sunlit garden, to
the bough where the robin sang.

"Oh, to be one with God and with Nature!" she cried. "Oh, to know the
essential mysteries of Life and Light and Love! This is Life Eternal!"

She had forgotten the old lay-sister; aye, for the moment she had
forgotten the Convent and the cloister, the mile-long walk in darkness,
the chant of the unseen monks. She trod again the springy heather of
her youth; she heard the rush of the mountain stream; the sigh of the
great forest; the rustle of the sunlit glades, alive with, life. These
all were in the robin's song. Then----

Within the Convent, the Refectory bell clanged loudly.

The Prioress let fall her arms.

She picked up the nosegay of weeds.

"Come, Antony," she said, "let us go and discover whether Sister Mary
Augustine hath contrived to make the pasties light and savoury, even
without the aid of the advice she might have had from thee."

Old Mary Antony, gleeful and marvelling, followed the stately figure of
the Prioress. Never was shriven soul more blissfully at peace. She
had kept back nothing; yet the Reverend Mother had imposed no
punishment, had merely asked a promise which, in the fulness of her
gratitude, Mary Antony had found it easy to give.

Truly the broth of Mother Sub-Prioress should, for the future, contain
naught but what was grateful and soothing.

But, as she entered the Refectory behind the Reverend Mother and saw
all the waiting nuns arise, old Mary Antony laid her finger to her nose.

"That 'little bird' shall have the castor beans," she said, "That
'little bird' shall have them. Not my pretty robin, but the other!"

And, sad to say, poor Sister Seraphine was sorely griped that night,
and suffered many pangs.

CHAPTER VII

THE MADONNA IN THE CLOISTER

The Prioress knelt, in prayer and meditat