I marvel what Margaret’s history has been!
Last evening, as we were putting the orphans to bed—two of the Sisters do it by turns, every week—little Damia saith to me—
“Sister Annora, what is the matter with our new Sister?”
“Who dost thou mean, my child?” I asked. “Sister Marian?”
For Sister Marian was our last professed.
“No,” said the child; “I mean Sister Margaret, who has such curious eyes—eyes that say every thing and don’t tell any thing—it is so funny! (So other folks than I had seen those eyes.) But what was the matter with her yesterday morning, at the holy Sacrament?”
“I know not, Damia, for I saw nothing. A religious, as thou knowest, should not lift her eyes, save for adoration.”
“O Sister Annora, how many nice things she must lose! But I will tell you about Sister Margaret. It was just when the holy mass began. Father Hamon had said ‘Judica me’ and then, you know, the people had to reply, ‘Quia Tu es.’ And when they began the response, Sister Margaret’s head went up, and her eyes ran up the aisle to the altar.”
“Damia, my child!” I said.
“Indeed, Sister, I am not talking nonsense! It looked exactly like that. Then, in another minute, they came back, looking so sorry, and so, so tired! If you will look at her, you will see how tired she looks, and has done ever since. I thought her soul had been to look for something which it could not find, and that made her so sorry.”