d; I continued writing in it ever since I first entered
religion in 1534; so you see the handwriting changes a little," and she
smiled to herself.

"Oh, but this is charming," cried Mary, intent on the book.

"Read it, my dear, aloud."

Mary read:

"Let me not rest, O Lord, nor have quiet,
But fill my soul with spiritual travail,
To sing and say, O mercy, Jesu sweet;
Thou my protection art in the battail.
Set thou aside all other apparail;
Let me in thee feel all my affiance.
Treasure of treasures, thou dost most avail.
Grant ere I die shrift, pardon, repentance."

Her voice trembled a little and ceased.

"That is from some verses of Dan John Lydgate, I think," said Mistress
Margaret.

"Here is another," said Mary in a moment or two.

"Jesu, at thy will, I pray that I may be,
All my heart fulfil with perfect love to thee:
That I have done ill, Jesu forgive thou me:
And suffer me never to spill, Jesu for thy pity."

"The nuns of Hampole gave me that," said Mistress Margaret. "It is by
Richard Rolle, the hermit."

"Tell me a little," said Mary Corbet, suddenly laying down the book,
"about the nunnery."

"Oh, my dear, that is too much to ask; but how happy we were. All was so
still; it used to seem sometimes as if earth were just a dream; and that
we walked in Paradise. Sometimes in the Greater Silence, when we had
spoken no word nor heard one except in God's praise, it used to seem that
if we could but be silent a little longer, and a little more deeply, in
our hearts as well, we should hear them talking in heaven, and the harps;
and the Saviour's soft footsteps. But it was not always like that."

"You mean," said Mary softly, "that, that--" and she stopped.

"Oh, it was hard sometimes; but not often. God is so good. But He used
to allow such trouble and darkness and noise to be in our hearts
sometimes--at least in mine. But then of course I was always very wicked.
But sitting in the nymph-hay sometimes on a day like this, as we were
allowed to do; with just tall thin trees like poplars and cypresses round
us: and the stream running through the long grass; and the birds, and the
soft sky and the little breeze; and then peace in our hearts; and the
love of the Saviour round us--it seemed, it seemed as if God had nothing
more to give; or, I should say, as if our hearts had no more space."

Mary was strangely subdued and quiet. Her little restl