Part 3—- Chapter 3.
Annora finds it out.
“Peace, peace, poor heart!
Go back and thrill not thus!
Are not the vows of the Lord God upon me?”
It would really be a convenience if one could buy common sense. People seem to have so little. And I am sure I have not more than other people.
That story of Margaret’s puzzles me sorely. I sit and think, and think, and I never seem to come any nearer the end of my thinking. And some never seem to have any trouble with their thoughts. I suppose they either have more of them, and more sense altogether, so that they can see things where I cannot; or else—Well, I do not know what else.
But Margaret’s thoughts are something so entirely new. It is as if I were looking out of the window at one end of the corridor, which looks towards Grantham, and she were looking from the window at the other end, which faces towards Spalding. Of course we should not see the same things: how could we? And if the glass in one window were blue, and the other red, it would make the difference still greater. I think that must be rather the distinction; for it does not seem to lie in the things themselves, but in the eyes with which Margaret looks on them.
Dear Mother Alianora yet lives, but she is sinking peacefully. Neither Margaret nor I have been called to watch by her again. I begged of Mother Gaillarde that I might see her once more, and say farewell; and all I got for it was “Mind your broidery, Sister!”
I should not wonder if she let me go. I do not know why it is, but for all her rough manner and sharp words, I can ask a favour of Mother Gaillarde easier than of Mother Ada. There seems to be nothing in Mother Ada to get hold of; it is like trying to grip a lump of ice. Mother Gaillarde is like a nut with a rough outside burr; there is plenty to lay hold of, though as likely as not you get pricked when you try. And if she is rough when you ask her anything, yet she often gives it, after all.
I have not exchanged a word with Margaret since that night when we watched together. She sits on the other side of the work-room, and even in the recreation-room she rather avoids coming near me, or I fancy so.
Whatever I begin with, I always get back to Margaret. Such strange ideas she has! I keep thinking of things that I wish I had said to her or asked her, and now I have lost the opportunity. I thought of it this morning, when the two Mothers were conversing with Sister Ismania about the Christmas decorations in our own little oratory. Sister Ismania is the eldest of all our Sisters.