They sat side by side, their eyes averted, knowing well that they had reached a point beyond which words could not carry them.
"We are always anxious to be understood, every one wants to be understood. But why? Of what use?"
"Mother, we must never speak on this subject again, for I love you very dearly, and it is a great pain to me to think that your death will set me free."
"It seems wrong, Teresa, but I wouldn't have you remain in the convent after me; you are not suited to it. I knew it all the while, only I tried to keep you. One is never free from temptation. Now you know everything…. We have been here long enough."
"We have only been here a few minutes," Evelyn answered; "at least it has only seemed a few minutes to me. The evening is so beautiful, the sky is so calm, the sound of the water so extraordinary in the stillness! Listen to those birds, the chaffinch shrieking in that aspen, and the thrush singing all his little songs somewhere at the end of the garden."
"And there is your bullfinch, dear. He will remain in the convent to remind them of you when you have left."
The bird whistled a stave of the Bird Music from "Siegfried," and then came to their feet to pick. Evelyn threw him some bread, and they wandered back to the novices, who had forgotten their differences, and were sitting under their tree with Mother Hilda discussing a subject of great interest to them.
"We haven't seen them united before for a long time."
"That odious Sister Winifred waiting for your death, thinking only of her school."
"That is the way of the world, and we find the world everywhere, even in a convent. Her idea comes before everything else. Only you, Teresa, are good; you are sacrificing yourself to me; I hope it will not be for long."