“I!” I said again, feeling more amazed than ever at what she said; “but I’m not a bit fit for such a place as that! Oh, do choose again, and fix on somebody more worthy than I am!”
“The choice of the community, guided by the Holy Spirit, has fallen on you, Sister,” said Mother Ada, in a cold, hollow voice.
“Come along, and don’t be silly!” whispered Mother Gaillarde, taking my right arm.
I really think Mother Gaillarde’s words helped to rouse me from my stupor of astonishment, better than any thing else. Of course, if God called me to a certain work, He could put grace and wisdom into me as easily as into any one else; and I had only to bow to His will. But I did so wish it had been another who was chosen. Sister Ismania would have made a far better officer than I. And to think of such a poor, stupid, confused thing as I am, being put over her head! But, if it were God’s will—that settled the matter.
It all felt so dreamy that I can scarcely tell what happened afterwards. I remember that I knelt before my Lady, and before the altar—but I felt too confused for prayer, and could only say, “Domine, miserere me!” for no other words would come: and then the Master came and blessed me, and made a short address to me (of which I believe I hardly took in a word), and appointed the next day for the service of ordination.
I am an ordained Mother of the Order of Saint Gilbert. And I do not feel any difference. I thought I should have done. The Master himself sang the holy mass, and we sang Veni Creator Spiritus, and he said in his address afterwards, that when his hands were laid on my head, the Holy Ghost came down and filled me with His presence—and I did not feel that He did. Of course it was all very solemn, and I did most earnestly desire the influences of the blessed Spirit, for I shall never be able to do any thing without them: but really I felt our Lord nearer me in the evening, when I knelt by my bed for a minute, and asked Him, in my own poor words, to keep me in the right way, and teach me to do His will. I think I shall try that again. Now that I have a cell to myself, I can do it. And I sleep in dear Mother Alianora’s cell, where I am sure the blessed Lord has been wont to come. Oh, I hope He will not tarry away because I am come into it—I, who am so worthless, and so weak, and need His gracious aid so much more than she did!
I do wish, if so great a favour could possibly be vouchsafed to me, that I might speak to our Lord just once. He has ere this held converse with the holy saints. Of course I am not holy, nor a saint, nor in the least merit any such grace from Him: but I need it more than those who merit it. Oh, if I could know,—once, certainly, and for ever—whether it is earthly, and carnal, and wicked, as people say it is, for me to grieve over that lost love of mine! Sister Ismania says it is all folly and imagination on my part, because, having been parted when we were only six years old, I cannot possibly (she says) feel any real, womanly love for him. But I do not see why it must be grown-up to be real. And I never knew any thing better or more real. It may not be like what others have, but it was all I had. I wish sometimes that I knew if he still lives, and whether that other wife lives to whom I suppose somebody must have married him after I was thrust in here. I cannot feel as if he did not still, somehow, belong to me. If I only knew whether it was wrong!
I have been appointed mistress of the work-room, and I ought to keep it in order. How I can ever do it, I cannot think. I shall never be able to chide the Sisters like the other Mothers: and to have them coming up to me, when they are chidden, and kissing the floor at my feet—I do not know how I can stand it. I am sure it will give me a dreadful feeling. However, I hope nothing will ever happen of that kind, for a long, long while.
What is the good of hoping any thing? Mother Gaillarde says that hopes, promises, and pie-crust are made to be broken. Certainly hopes seem to be. After all my wishes, if something did not happen the very first day!
When I got down to the work-room, what should I find but Sisters Roberga and Philippa having a violent quarrel. They were not only breaking the rule of silence, which in itself was bad enough, but they were calling each other all manner of names.