Here was to be the longed-for rest, for which she had thirsted all the more through those days of hurry and of religious spectacles, as she felt that, be they what they might to their regular attendants, to her, as an outsider, they could be but sights, into whose spirit her sick and wearied soul could not enter.
Here was no outward disturbance, no claim from the world, no importunate chatter, only religious services in their quietest, most unobtrusive form; and Dr. Easterby’s low tender tones, leading his silent listeners to deep heart-searchings, earnest thoughts, and steadfast resolutions.
Ah! so no doubt it was with many; but Lena, with book and pen, was dismayed to find that the one thing she recollected was the question, “Friend, how camest thou in hither?” After that, she had only heard her own thoughts. Her mind had lapsed into one vague apprehension of the effects of having cut off all communication with home, imaginings of Frank’s despair, relentings of pity, all broken by dismay at her own involuntary hypocrisy in bringing such thoughts into the Retreat. Had she any right to be there at all? Was not a thing that should have been for her peace become to her an occasion of falling?
It was Thursday evening, and on the morrow there would be the opportunity of private interviews with Dr. Easterby. She longed for the moment, chiefly to free herself from the sense of deception that had all this time seemed to vitiate her religious exercises, deafen her ears, and blow aside her prayers. There was a touch on her shoulder, and one of the Sisters who had received the ladies said, interrogatively, “Miss Vivian? The Mother would be obliged if you would come to her room.”
The general hush prevented Lenore from manifesting her extreme agitation, and she moved with as quiet a step as she could command, though trembling from head to foot. In the room to which she came stood the Superior and Dr. Easterby, and a yellow telegram-paper lay on the table.
“My father?” she asked.
“No,” said the Superior, kindly, “it is your sister, who is ill. Here is the telegram—”
“Sister Margaret to the Mother Superior, St. Faith’s, Dearport. Lady Tyrrell has the fever. Miss Vivian much needed.
“Wils’bro, Sept. 26th, 5.30.”
“The fever!” She looked up bewildered, and the Superior added—
“You did not know of a fever at Wil’sbro’? Some of our nursing Sisters were telegraphed for, and went down yesterday. I was sorry to send Sister Margaret away just when her mother and you are here; but she was the only available head, and the need seemed great.”