"I can tell you no more, Cecilia's ill."
And she hurried away to avoid further questions, wondering what reason stupid Cecilia would give Mother Hilda for her absence from chapel and the row there would be if she were to tell that a counterpart had visited her! If she could only get a chance to tell Cecilia that she must say she was ill! If she didn't—Angela's thoughts turned to her little counterpart, from whom she might be separated for ever. No chance of speaking happened as the procession moved towards the refectory; and after breakfast the novices bent their heads over their work, when Mother Hilda said:
"I hear, Cecilia, that you were so ill this morning that you couldn't take your watch."
"It wasn't illness—not exactly."
"What, then?"
"A bad dream, Mother."
"It must have been a very bad dream to prevent you from getting up to take your watch. I'm afraid I don't believe in dreams." The novices breathed more freely, and their spirits rose when Mother Hilda said, "The cake was heavy; you must have eaten too much of it. Barbara, you must take notice of this indigestion, for you are fond of cake." The novices laughed again, and thought themselves safe. But after breakfast the Prioress sent for Cecilia, and they saw her leave the novitiate angry with them all—she had caught sight of their smiles and dreaded their mockery, and went to the Prioress wondering what plausible contradiction she could give to Angela's story of the ugly counterpart, so she was taken aback by the first question.
"Now, what is it that I hear about a refusal to get up to take your watch? Such a thing—"
"Not laziness, Mother. Mother, if you knew what my dream was, you would understand it was impossible for me to watch before the Sacrament."
"A dream!"