"How could I answer… I don't know."
This answer seemed to exhaust Sister Cecilia's interest in the question, and, handing Evelyn two more candles, she asked, "Do you want me any more?"
On Evelyn saying she did not, she said:
"Well, then, I may go and meditate in the chapel."
"On what is she going to meditate?" Evelyn wondered; and from time to time her eyes went towards the nun, who sat crouched on her haunches, now and again beating her ears with both hands—a little trick of hers to scatter casual thoughts, for even sacred things sometimes suggested thoughts of evil to Sister Cecilia, and her plan to reduce her thoughts to order was to slap her ears. Evelyn watched her, wondering what her thoughts might be. Whatever they were, they led poor Cecilia into disgrace, for that evening she forgot to fill the lamp which burnt always before the tabernacle, it being the rule that the Easter light struck on Holy Saturday should be preserved through the year, each new wick being lighted upon the dying one. And Sister Cecilia's carelessness had broken the continuity. She was severely reprimanded, ate her meals that day kneeling on the refectory floor, and for many a day the shameful occurrence was remembered. And her place was taken by Veronica, who, delighted at her promotion, wore a quaint air of importance, hurrying away with a bundle of keys hanging from her belt by a long chain, amusing Evelyn, who was now under Veronica's orders.
"Yes, it is rather strange, isn't it, Sister? But I can't help it. Of course you ought to be in my place, and I can't think why dear Mother has arranged it like this."
Nuns employed in the sacristy might talk, and in a few days
Veronica's nature revealed itself in many little questions.
"It is strange you should wish to be a nun."
"But why is it strange, Veronica?"
"For you are not like any of us, nor has the convent been the same since you came."