We have a fine stock of beehives. Then we have plum and pear and apple trees, and a bed of strawberries. At the end of the garden are two most ancient elm trees, and under them a very small, and very, very old chapel of our Lady of Sorrows. Dear Mother says it is by far the oldest part of the convent. It is very small, as I said, built of huge stones, with low heavy arches. Over the altar stands the image of our Lady, rudely carved in some dark wood. It is a very holy image, and used to work miracles in old times. I wish it would again. I should dearly love to see a miracle.
At the back of this chapel, and joining it, so as to be under the same roof, is another building, very low and massive, with no windows, but one very narrow slit, close under the eaves. A heavy iron-studded door opens into it from the chapel itself. Mother Gertrude told me one day that it contained the staircase leading to a burial vault under the chapel, now never used, and that it had not been opened for years and years.
The Sisters are not fond of this shrine, holy as it is, and I think they are afraid of it. Indeed I know Sister Bridget told me that if an unfaithful nun were to watch there over night, she would be found dead on the floor in the morning—if indeed a ghost or demon did not arise from the vault and drag her down to a living death below.
"I should not think a ghost would dare to come into the sacred place!" said Amice.
"Evil spirits have power over the unfaithful, wherever they are—remember that, child!" said Sister Bridget, solemnly.
"And over the faithful too, sometimes," said Amice, who is as usual reading the lives of Saints. "I am sure St. Frances was dreadfully disturbed by them."
"Power to disturb, but not to destroy them, child. But prayers offered at that shrine have great efficacy for the deliverance of souls from purgatory," said old Mother Mary Monica, who is the oldest person in the house, and very fond of the company of us young ones. "If any one had a friend in purgatory, and should watch all night in prayer before that image, it would go far to deliver him."
"Do you really think so, Mother?" I asked.
"Think so, child! I know it for a truth. The blessed Saint Ethelburga herself tried it, and was assured by a vision and a miracle that her prayers were granted. Eh dear, I could tell you many stories of miracles, my daughters. They used to be plenty in my young days. Why, I was converted by a miracle myself."
"Tell us about it, dear Mother, will you?" said Amice and I both together; and Amice added, "See, here is a nice seat, and the warm sun is good for your pains, you know."