“You need not fear,” Beatrice answered, with a scornful smile. “I am not in the least afraid. Only tell me how I am to find him. He lives here, you say—is there no directory in the convent?”
“I believe the portress keeps such a book,” said Sister Paul still shaking her head uneasily. “But you must wait until the morning, my dear child, if you will do this thing. Of the two, I should say that you would do better to write to the lady. Come, we must be going. It is very late.”
She had taken the lamp again and was moving slowly towards the door. Beatrice had no choice but to submit. It was evident that nothing more could be done at present. The two women went back into the church, and going round the high altar began to examine everything carefully. The only trace of disorder they could discover was the fallen candlestick, so massive and strong that it was not even bent or injured. They climbed the short wooden steps, and uniting their strength, set it up again, carefully and in its place, restoring the thick candle to the socket. Though broken in the middle by the fall, the heavy wax supported itself easily enough. Then they got down again and Sister Paul took away the steps. For a few moments both women knelt down before the altar.
They left the church by the nuns’ staircase, bolting the door behind them, and ascended to the corridors and reached Beatrice’s room. Unorna’s door was open, as the nun had left it, and the yellow light streamed upon the pavement. She went in and extinguished the lamp, and then came back to Beatrice.
“Are you not afraid to be alone after what has happened?” she asked.
“Afraid? Of what? No, indeed.” Then she thanked her companion again and kissed Sister Paul’s waxen cheek.
“Say a prayer, my daughter—and may all be well with you, now and ever!” said the good sister as she went away through the darkness. She needed no light in the familiar way to her cell.
Beatrice searched among her numerous belongings and at last brought out a writing-case. Then she sat down to her table by the light of the lamp that had illuminated so many strange sights that night.
She wrote the name of the convent clearly upon the paper, and then wrote a plain message in the fewest possible words. Something of her strong, devoted nature showed itself in her handwriting.
“Beatrice Varanger begs that Keyork Arabian will meet her in the parlour of the convent as soon after receiving this as possible. The matter is very important.”