“Sometimes,” Unorna answered. “There is an old man, for instance, whom I have kept alive for many years by making him sleep—a great deal.” Unorna smiled a little.
“But you have no words with it? Nothing?”
“Nothing. It is my will. That is all.”
“But if it is of good, and not of the Evil One, there should be a prayer with it. Could you not say a prayer with it, Unorna?”
“I daresay I could,” replied the other, trying not to laugh. “But that would be doing two things at once; my will would be weakened.”
“It cannot be of good,” said the nun. “It is not natural, and it is not true that the prayer can distract the will from the performance of a good deed.” She shook her head more energetically than usual. “And it is not good either that you should be called a witch, you who have lived here amongst us.”
“It is not my fault!” exclaimed Unorna, somewhat annoyed by her persistence. “And besides, Sister Paul, even if the devil is in it, it would be right all the same.”
The nun held up her hands in holy horror, and her jaw dropped.
“My child! My child! How can you say such things to me!”
“It is very true,” Unorna answered, quietly smiling at her amazement. “If people who are ill are made well, is it not a real good, even if the Evil One does it? Is it not good to make him do good, if one can, even against his will?”