Tales of the Cloister
could not see it, but she knew it was there. She had seen it often when Sister Cecilia sang. There had been a reflection of it to-day on the faces of her sister novices. They were happy. Their breasts had swelled over their entrance to the cloister—over this sure refuge in His Heart.
Sister Patience looked down the long gray avenue of future years. On the right and left lay cold duty, untempered by the spiritual love which makes such duty sweet, and at its end the convent cemetery, with rows of board-marked graves. After that, what? What for the lie—the impostor?
The young nun's soul contracted at the loneliness and heart-hunger of the years gone by and of the years to come. In her heart rose the most spontaneous prayer of her whole life.
"God forgive me," she whispered. "God—forgive me! And let me give You what I have."
"George," said the Honorable Edward Carrington, with patient calmness, "do you mind letting up a little on those billiard-balls? This knocking them around is getting on my nerves."
His younger brother brought his cue to rest and faced about.
"Your nerves are getting pretty troublesome of late," he said, rather irritably. "You haven't
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