"While we are gone." But they would not now be long. Mary Antony could tell by the shadows on the grass, and the slant of the sunshine through a certain arch, that the hour of return drew near.
She would kneel beside the topmost step, and see the Reverend Mother pass; she would look up at that serene face which had melted into tenderness; would see the firm line of those beautiful lips——
Suddenly Mary Antony knew that she would not be able to look. Not just yet could she bear to see the Reverend Mother's countenance, without that expression of wonderful tenderness. And even as she realised this, the key grated in the lock below.
Taking up her position at the top of the steps, the five-and-twenty peas in her right hand, Mary Antony quickly made up her mind. She could not lift her eyes to the Reverend Mother's face. She would count the passing feet.
The young lay-sister who carried the light, stumped up the steps, and set down the lantern with a clatter. She plumped on to her knees opposite to Mary Antony.
"Sister Mary Rebecca leads to-day," she chanted in a low voice, "and all the way hath stepped upon my heels."
But Mary Antony took no notice of this information, which, at any other time, would have delighted her.
Head bowed, eyes on the ground, she awaited the passing feet.
They came, moving slow and sedate.
They passed—stepping two by two, out of her range of vision; moving along the cloister, dying away in the distance.