The robin sang. Our Lady smiled. The Babe on her knees looked merry.
The Prioress lay watching, not daring to move; her head resting on the
Sacramentary.
Then into her mind there came the suggestion of a test—a sign.
"If he fly around the chamber," she whispered, "my place is here. But if he fly straight out into the open, then doth our blessèd Lady bid me also to arise and go."
And, scarce had she so thought, when, with a last triumphant trill of joy, straight from our Lady's hand, like an arrow from the bow, the robin shot through the open casement, and out into the sunny, newly-awakened world beyond.
The Prioress rose, folded her cloak, placed the book back upon the table; then kneeled before the shrine, took off her cross of office, and laid it upon our Lady's hand, from whence the little bird had flown.
Then with bowed head, pale face, hands meekly crossed upon her breast, the Prioress knelt long in prayer.
The breeze of an early summer morn, blew in at the open window, and fanned her cheek.
In the garden without, the robin sang to his mate.
At length the Prioress rose, moving as one who walked in a strange dream, passed into the inner cell, and sought her couch.