“Now do listen to me, my dear child, and be reasonable. You can’t break in upon the enclosure, you know, because, apart from the fact that it would be a most wrong and sacrilegious thing to do, nothing could possibly distress your sister more. She’s joined the Order heart and soul, you know, and it would be terrible to her to see its holy rules broken on her behalf.”
“She wants me.”
“Naturally speaking, she wants you, perhaps, but grace is stronger than nature, and she is living wholly and solely by grace now, you must remember. Indeed,” said Mrs. Mulholland, hoarsely and earnestly, “it would grieve her beyond words to have a scene in the enclosure, and with Mère Pauline ill as she is—it’s to be thought of, dear Miss Grantham.”
“But is she dying—is Frances dying?”
“That’s as God wills. Perhaps He will accept this sacrifice of yours and spare her life, if He judges best, and if not—the goal of the religious life is death.”
Rosamund looked at her wildly.
“Yes, my dear child. What is the life of a religious on earth but the seeking of a closer union with God? And how can the consummation of that union be reached but through death? A religious lives only to die.”
“Frances! Frances!”
“Now do cry as much as ever you like,” said Mrs. Mulholland in practical tones that contrasted oddly with the fervour that still illuminated her coarse, plain old face. “It will do you good. God knows very well that you can’t help feeling your sacrifice, even though you make it with your will. And He won’t give you more than you can bear. Now, supposing we were to ask Him together to spare your dear sister’s life, if that is best for her?”
Rosamund’s eyes dilated slowly.