"Of course, Sister Evelyn, of course." And the portress hurried away, feeling that things had happened in a life which was beyond her life, beyond its scope. Perhaps Sister Evelyn had come to tell the Prioress the Pope himself was dead, or had gone mad; something certainly had happened into which it was no business of hers to inquire. And this vague feeling sent her running down the passage and up the stairs, and returning breathless to Evelyn, whom she found in a chair nearly unconscious, for when she called to her Evelyn awoke as from sleep, asking where she was.
"Sister Evelyn, why do you ask? You are in Wimbledon Convent, with
Sister Agnes; what is the matter?"
"Matter? Nothing and everything." She seemed to recover herself a little. "I had forgotten, Sister Agnes, I had forgotten. But the Prioress, where is she?"
"In her room, and she will see you. But you asked me to go to the
Prioress saying she must see you—have you forgotten, Sister Evelyn?
You know the way to her room?"
Evelyn did not answer; and feeling perhaps that she might lose her
way in the convent, Sister Agnes said she would conduct her to the
Prioress, and opened the door for her, saying, "Reverend Mother,
Sister Evelyn."
There was a large fire burning in the room, and Evelyn was conscious of the warmth, of bodily comfort, and was glad to sit down.
"You are very cold, my child, you are very cold. Don't trouble to speak, take your time and get warm first." And Evelyn sat looking into the fire for a long time. At last she said:
"It is warm here, Mother, I am so glad to be here. But perhaps you will turn me away and won't have me. I know you won't, I know you won't, so why did I come all this long way?"
"My dear child, why shouldn't we be glad to have you back? We were sorry to part with you."
"That was different, that was different."