"Yes, Mother; I stopped on the way back to look at the sunset. The clouds looked like cathedrals. And then old Martha kept me. You know it is difficult to get away from old Martha."
The Mother Superior laughed slightly, as though her anxiety had been removed. She was a woman of commanding presence, with a face full of dignity and sweetness, but furrowed by lines of difficult resignation.
"Yes; I know," she answered. "Old Martha's tongue is like a terrestrial globe; the whole world is mapped out on it, and a little movement of it will show you a continent. How is her rheumatism?"
"She said it was no worse," replied Sister Dolorosa absently.
The Mother Superior laughed again. "Then it must be better. Rheumatism is always either better or worse."
"Yes, Mother."
This time the tone caught the Mother Superior's ear. "You seem tired. Was the walk too long?"
"I enjoyed the walk, Mother. I do not feel tired."
They had been sitting on opposite sides of the room. The Mother Superior now crossed, and, laying her hand softly on Sister Dolorosa's head, pressed it backward and looked fondly down into the upturned eyes.
"Something troubles you. What has happened?"