The White Ladies of Worcester. Florence L. Barclay

once more cheerful.

      "Beans in her broth to-night," she said. "One for 'woman'; another for the hen-yard; a third for 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

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      "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

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      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 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