“Annora!” she said, hesitating timidly.
I knew what that meant.
“Come to me, little Sister,” I said.
She came forward at once, closing the door behind her, and knelt down at my feet. Then she buried her face in her hands, and laid face and hands upon my knee.
“Let me weep!” she sobbed. “Oh, let me weep for a few moments in silence, and do not speak to me!”
I kept silence, and she wept till her heart was relieved. When at last her sobs grew quiet, she brushed her tears away, and looked up.
“Bless thee, Annora! That has done me good. It is something to have somebody who will say, ‘Little Sister,’ and give one leave to weep in peace. Dost thou know what troubles me?”
“Not in the least, dear Margaret. That something was troubling thee I had seen, but I cannot guess what it was.”
“I shall get over it now,” she said. “It is only the reopening of the old wound. Thou hast not guessed, then, who Father Mortimer is?”
“Margaret!”