Tales of the Cloister
of perfect union. Sister Cuthbert looked up at the altar; in her eyes burned their habitual look of exaltation. The suffering of the hour had left few traces on her serene face. It was over. She had struggled; she had conquered; she could endure. She leaned her head against the low railing with a parting prayer of resignation and faith.
"Into Thy dear hands, O Lord, I place myself utterly; and there, too, I place the dear mother whom I love more than anything save Thee. Be Thou the more with her, now that Thy will keeps me from her."
Her eyes were wide open, but she no longer saw the altar and the familiar surroundings of the chapel. Instead there came before her vividly an old Colonial house, towards the entrance of which she seemed to be walking up a garden path. The door opened. She entered the house, passed through the wide hall, and up the broad steps that led to the second floor. At the head of them she turned to the right and entered a large, square room. She moved with accustomed steps, for she knew every inch of the way, and all the objects on which her eyes rested were the familiar surroundings of her early years. It was her home.
The room she entered was full, but no one heeded her. She walked its length to the bed
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