Once upon a time the woman kneeling there in her black draperies had been a little child, living at home with a father and mother, and no doubt other children—the children who had played together—shared the countless associations of a common childhood. Did the one who was a nun remember still, or had it all become unreal to her? Was the only reality her tranquil community life, with its loyalty to the Superior to the Order, its forgetfulness of the things outside?
She had forgotten, perhaps. The children who had played together at home, the mother who had perhaps gathered them round her in the long summer evenings and called them home from their outdoor play when the afternoons grew short and dark, were all part of another life, to the nun. Now if she were dying, her mother would not be allowed to go to her....
Nearer—nearer still to that bottomless gulf.
If they came to see her, it would be “un parloir” for our sister—the Superior would send her down as to a duty, the time of her stay would be regulated. There is work to be done—work for the community, for the glory of God. Our sister cannot be spared for very long. But the Superior—the Superior herself will come down to the waiting mother and sister. They shall see the building—the Chapel—the Superior will arrange that tea should be brought to them in the parlour. And our sister is grateful—that the Superior, with so much to do, so much to think of, should yet spare some of her time and of her thought for the anxious visitors waiting in the grim little parlour.
Why—ah, why?
The edge of the precipice is very near now.
The nun has made her sacrifice—she has given it all up—the life in the world, the love in the world, the homely affections and joys in the world. They say that she has given it all to God. He wanted it then? He gave her all those things only that she might give them back to Him—and in return He gives her Himself.
They say so.
They told Francie that.
Francie has given everything: her innocent youth, the old happy days with Rosamund, the days when they had been little children together in the Wye Valley, the small troubles and small enjoyments that had made up her life—all merged now into one vast reality, one supreme sacrifice.