The White Ladies of Worcester | Page 6

threatening penance when I did but chant a
melodious 'Amen.' I'll give her beans--castor beans!"

Down the steps she went, pushed the heavy door to, locked it, and drew
forth the key; then turned her steps toward the cell of the Reverend
Mother.
On her way thither, she paused at a certain door and listened, her ear
against the oaken panel. Then she hurried onward, knocked upon the
door of the Reverend Mother's cell and, being bidden to enter, passed
within, closed the door behind her, and dropped upon her knees.
The Prioress stood beside the casement, gazing at the golden glory of
the sunset. She was, for the moment, unconscious of her surroundings.
Her mind was away behind those crimson battlements.
Presently she turned and saw the old woman, kneeling at the door.
"How now, dear Antony?" she said, kindly. "Get up! Hang the key in
its appointed place, and make me thy report. Have all returned? As
always, is all well?"
The old lay-sister rose, hung the massive key upon a nail; then came to
the feet of the Prioress, and knelt again.
"Reverend Mother," she said, "all who went forth have returned. But all
is not well. Sister Mary Seraphine is uttering wild cries in her cell; and
much I fear me, Mother Sub-Prioress may pass by, and hear her."
The face of the Prioress grew stern and sad; yet, withal, tender. She
raised the lay-sister, and gently patted the old hands which trembled.
"Go thy ways, dear Antony," she said. "I myself will visit the little
Sister in her cell. None will attempt to enter while I am there."
CHAPTER IV
"GIVE ME TENDERNESS," SHE SAID
The Prioress knelt before a marble group of the Virgin and Child,
placed where the rays of evening sunshine, entering through the

western casement, played over its white beauty, shedding a radiance on
the pure face of the Madonna, and a halo of golden glory around the
Infant Christ.
"Mother of God," prayed the Prioress, with folded hands, "give me
patience in dealing with wilfulness; grant me wisdom to cope with
unreason; may it be given me to share the pain of this heart in torment,
even as--when thou didst witness the sufferings of thy dear Son, our
Lord, on Calvary--a sword pierced through thine own soul also.
"Give me this gift of sympathy with suffering, though the cross be not
mine own, but another's.
"But give me firmness and authority: even as when thou didst say to the
servants at Cana: 'Whatsoever He saith unto you, do it.'"
The Prioress waited, with bowed head.
Then, of a sudden she put forth her hand, and touched the marble foot
of the Babe.
"Give me tenderness," she said.
CHAPTER V
THE WAYWARD NUN
Sister Mary Seraphine lay prone upon the floor of her cell.
Tightly clenched in her hands were fragments of her torn veil.
She beat her knuckles upon the stones with rhythmic regularity; then,
when her arms would lift no longer, took up the measure with her toes,
in wild imitation of a galloping horse.
As she lay, she repeated with monotonous reiteration: "Trappings of
crimson, and silver bells: mane and tail, like foam of the waves; a
palfrey as white as snow!"

The Prioress entered, closed the door behind her, and looked
searchingly at the prostrate figure; then, lifting the master-key which
hung from her girdle, locked the door on the inside.
Sister Mary Seraphine had been silent long enough to hear the closing
and locking of the door.
Now she started afresh.
"Trappings of crimson, and silver bells----"
The Prioress walked over to the narrow casement, and stood looking
out at the rosy clouds wreathing a pale green sky.
"Oh! . . . Oh! . . . Oh! . . ." wailed Sister Mary Seraphine, writhing upon
the floor; "mane and tail, like foam of the waves; a palfrey as white as
snow!"
The Prioress watched the swallows on swift wing, chasing flies in the
evening light.
So complete was the silence, that Sister Mary
Seraphine--notwithstanding that turning of the key in the lock--fancied
she must be alone.
"Trappings of crimson, and silver bells!" she declaimed with
vehemence; then lifted her face to peep, and saw the tall figure of the
Prioress standing at the casement.
Instantly, Sister Mary Seraphine dropped her head.
"Mane and tail," she began--then her courage failed; the "foam of the
waves" quavered into indecision; and indecision, in such a case, is fatal.
For a while she lay quite still, moaning plaintively, then, of a sudden,
quivered from head to foot, starting up alert, as if to listen.
"Wilfred!" she shrieked; "Wilfred! Are you coming to save me?"

Then she opened her eyes, and peeped again.
The Prioress, wholly unmoved by the impending advent of "Wilfred,"
stood