The White Ladies of Worcester | Page 7

at the casement, calmly watching the swallows.
Sister Mary Seraphine began to weep.
At last the passionate sobbing ceased.
Unbroken silence reigned in the cell.
From without, the latch of the door was lifted; but the lock held.
Presently Sister Mary Seraphine dragged herself to the feet of the
Prioress, seized the hem of her robe, and kissed it.
Then the Prioress turned. She firmly withdrew her robe from those
clinging hands; yet looked, with eyes of tender compassion, upon the
kneeling figure at her feet.
"Sister Seraphine," she said, "--for you must shew true penitence e'er I
can permit you to be called by our Lady's name--you will now come to
my cell, where I will presently speak with you."
Sister Seraphine instantly fell prone.
"I cannot walk," she said.
"You will not walk," replied the Prioress, sternly. "You will travel upon
your hands and knees."
She crossed to the door, unlocked and set it wide.
"Moreover," she added, from the doorway, "if you do not appear in my
presence in reasonable time, I shall be constrained to send for Mother
Sub-Prioress."
The cell of the Prioress was situated at the opposite end of the long,
stone passage; but in less than reasonable time, Sister Seraphine

crawled in.
The unwonted exercise had had a most salutary effect upon her frame
of mind.
Her straight habit, of heavy cloth, had rendered progress upon her
knees awkward and difficult. Her hands had become entangled in her
torn veil. Each moment she had feared lest cell doors, on either side,
should open; old Antony might appear from the cloisters, or--greatest
disaster of all--Mother Sub-Prioress might advance toward her from the
Refectory stairs! In order to attain a greater rate of speed, she had tried
lifting her knees, as elephants lift their feet. This mode of progress,
though ungainly, had proved efficacious; but would have been
distinctly mirth-provoking to beholders. The stones had hurt her hands
and knees far more than she hurt them when she beat upon the floor of
her own cell.
She arrived at the Reverend Mother's footstool, heated in mind and
body, ashamed of herself, vexed with her garments, in fact in an
altogether saner frame of mind than when she had called upon
"Wilfred," and made reiterated mention of trappings of crimson and
silver bells.
Perhaps the Prioress had foreseen this result, when she imposed the
penance. Leniency or sympathy, at that moment, would have been fatal
and foolish; and had not the Prioress made special petition for wisdom?
She was seated at her table, when Sister Seraphine bumped and
shuffled into view. She did not raise her eyes from the illuminated
missal she was studying. One hand lay on the massive clasp, the other
rested in readiness to turn the page. Her noble form seemed stately
calm personified.
When she heard Sister Seraphine panting close to her foot, she spoke;
still without lifting her eyes.
"You may rise to your feet," she said, "and shut to the door."

Then the waiting hand turned the page, and silence fell.
"You may arrange the disorder of your dress," said the Prioress, and
turned another page.
When at length she looked up, Sister Seraphine, clothed and apparently
in her right mind, stood humbly near the door.
The Prioress closed the book, and shut the heavy clasps.
Then she pointed to an oaken stool, signing to the nun to draw it
forward.
"Be seated, my child," she said, in tones of infinite tenderness. "There
is much which must now be said, and your mind will pay better heed, if
your body be at rest."
With her steadfast eyes the Prioress searched the pretty, flushed face,
swollen with weeping, and now gathering a look of petulant defiance,
thinly veiled beneath surface humility.
"What was the cause of this outburst, my child?" asked the Prioress,
very gently.
"While in the Cathedral, Reverend Mother, up in our gallery, I, being
placed not far from a window, heard, in a moment of silence, the
neighing of a horse in the street without. It was like to the neighing of
mine own lovely palfrey, waiting in the castle court at home, until I
should come down and mount him. Each time that steed neighed, I
could see Snowflake more clearly, in trappings of gay crimson, with
silver bells, amid many others prancing impatiently, champing their
bits as they waited; for it pleased me to come out last, when all were
mounted. Then the riders lifted their plumed caps when I appeared,
while Wilfred, pushing my page aside, did swing me into the saddle.
Thus, with shouting and laughter and winding of horn, we would all
ride out to the hunt or the tourney; I first, on Snowflake; Wilfred, close
behind."

Very quietly the Prioress sat listening. She did not