"I consider that Ragna's lie is a good lie, ma Mère. A generous lie is better than a mean truth. I make a pretence of punishing her so that she may not know I understand; vicarious punishment, if suffered voluntarily, is good for the soul. As for Astrid, she is weak and foolish, she has been thoroughly frightened, and is not likely to fall again in the same direction—for the present at least. The sight of Ragna, bearing the blame that should be hers, will do more for her than any punishment you or I might inflict."
Mère Perpétua gazed at her Superior in amazement; though still disapproving, she had a dim perception of the other's greatness of soul, and the insight into human nature, that had made her, while still young in years, the Head of the Community.
"You may go, ma Mère, and after Benediction you will bring our two black sheep here."
So dismissed, Mère Perpétua took her departure, shaking her head.
The Superior remained alone, leaning her head on her hand. She thought of the many young lives under her care, of the many girls she had seen come and go. She thought of the many natures hopelessly warped by a mistaken or untimely severity, shut in upon themselves, black-frosted, as it were, in the very hour when they most need drawing out, training and guiding by a sympathetic hand. She loved Ragna, her whole heart was drawn to the girl in admiration for her generous assumption of the other's fault. "She is too ready to take up others' burdens," she thought; "God send that her own be not too heavy for her shoulders!"
The bell for Benediction interrupted her meditation. As she walked along the passages to the Chapel the same thought pursued her, and when from her carved stall she recognized Ragna's fair head, bowed among her fellows, she seemed to see the halo of future suffering about it.
Ragna bending over her prayer-book, was wondering what the punishment would be; and half defiantly she squared her shoulders to meet it. She thought of Astrid, divided between contemptuous pity, and real sympathy for the agonized fear displayed by the butterfly creature.
Astrid was sobbing her heart out, her face hid between her hands. She despised herself for her weakness, and reproached herself for letting Ragna take the blame. Later she would resent her friend's generosity, but just now she fairly grovelled in self-abasement; she took a morbid delight in mortifying herself in her own eyes, as formerly she had exulted in the thought of her sentimental superiority over her comrades.
The level rays of sunlight tinged with the glory of Saints, touched the rows of young heads, passing over some, distinguishing others, colouring with purple and crimson the tresses, dark and fair, of the kneeling girls, and the Chaplain holding aloft the Ostensory with its symbol of the Great Sacrifice, glowed in a mystic radiance. Then the light went, and the tapers on the altar twinkled like stars in the sudden twilight.
After the concluding hymns, Ragna and Astrid were again conducted to the Superior's sitting-room, to hear her decision. The Reverend Mother had chosen a good moment, for the service of Benediction had had its effect on the impressionable girlish natures. Ragna was softened, and Astrid had found moral courage enough to overcome her selfish fear.