Startled, and vexed at being startled, the Sub-Prioress turned upon
Mary Antony.
"Peace, woman!" she said. "The Convent cloister is not a hen-yard. Such ill-timed devotion well-nigh merits penance. Rise from thy knees, and go at once about thy business."
The Sub-Prioress hastened on.
Scowling darkly, old Antony bent forward, looking, past Mother
Sub-Prioress, up the cloister to the distant passage.
Sister Mary Seraphine had reached her cell. The door was shut.
Old Antony's knees creaked as she arose, but her wizened face was once more cheerful.
"Beans in her broth to-night," she said. "One for 'woman'; another for the hen-yard; a third for threatening penance when I did but chant a melodious 'Amen.' I'll give her beans—castor beans!"
Down the steps she went, pushed the heavy door to, locked it, and drew forth the key; then turned her steps toward the cell of the Reverend Mother.
On her way thither, she paused at a certain door and listened, her ear against the oaken panel. Then she hurried onward, knocked upon the door of the Reverend Mother's cell and, being bidden to enter, passed within, closed the door behind her, and dropped upon her knees.
The Prioress stood beside the casement, gazing at the golden glory of the sunset. She was, for the moment, unconscious of her surroundings. Her mind was away behind those crimson battlements.