A pleasant place it was, long and narrow, redolent of the cleanly smell of beeswax. The floor, very polished, bespoke good work with that material on the part of the lay sisters. Three windows looked on to the garden. Roses climbing round them nodded crimson and yellow heads towards the room, their scent mingling with the smell of the beeswax. At one end was an open hearth, above which, on the wall, hung a white Figure on an ebony cross. A couple of pictures, some half-dozen chairs, and a deal table much scrubbed, made up the furniture. Bare enough truly, yet breathing an atmosphere of homeliness and peace. Brigid found in it a very haven of rest. Her tensioned nerves began to relax.
The lay sister appearing with a tray the Abbess roused herself to briskness. “Come, child, you must eat. Your face is as white as a kerchief. I would fain see a little colour in your cheeks.”
While Brigid plied her knife and fork, she fell to studying her breviary, judging, and rightly, the girl would fare better deeming herself unwatched. Nevertheless her eyes were not wholly occupied with the book. What she saw in Brigid’s face caused her some perplexity, though her manner gave no inkling of it. It was seldom the Lady Abbess’s way to speak of what she saw; never on the instant. This gave time for seeing further, for weighing and for judging accurately. Thoughts surprised by another before they have come to full purpose have a way of taking sudden flight. Fearful of capture they fly on approach, and thereby good may be lost. The meal ended she laid the book aside.
“Now,” she said, speaking cheerfully, “canst tell me thy story? Thy face is somewhat less like a washed-out dish-cloth.”
“The Lady Isabel desires my services no longer,” replied Brigid briefly.
“Indeed!” The Abbess’s tone was somewhat grim. “And for what reason doth she no longer require them?”
“I have displeased her.”
“Ah!” The old Abbess bent eagle eyes upon the girl. “And is her displeasure just?”
“I trow not,” said Brigid very low.
“Tell me,” said the Abbess briefly.