IT is a long time since I have touched this book, and many things have happened. Ours is now a sad household. Out of the twenty-three professed Sisters and novices who used to meet in the choir, but fifteen remain. The rest lie under the turf in our cemetery. Mother Gabrielle is gone, and poor Sister Bridget, and of the novices, Sisters Mary Frances and Agatha. Mother Gertrude had the disease, but was spared. Three others recovered. The rest were not attacked. The disease was the dreadful Sweating sickness. It began first in the village, in the household of that same Roger Smith, but broke out in three or four other cottages the same day. The news was brought to the convent gates the next morning by some who came for alms, as they use to do on Wednesdays and Fridays, and produced great consternation.
"What are we to do now?" said Sister Catherine, while the elders were in conference by themselves.
"We shall do as we are told, I suppose," answered Sister Bridget, with her wonted simplicity.
"But don't you suppose Mother Superior will order the gates to be shut, and no communication held with the villagers?" said Sister Mary Paula.
"I should certainly suppose not;" answered Sister Placida. "Think what you are saying, dear Sister! Would you deprive the poor souls of their alms, just when they are most wanted? Methinks it would ill become religious women to show such cowardly fears."
"Beside that I don't believe it would make any difference," said I. "Master Ellenwood, who has studied medicine, told my father the disease was not so much infectious, as in the air. I wish we might go out among the poor folk, to see what they need, and help to nurse the sick, as my mother and her women used to do."
"Rosamond is always ready for any chance to break her enclosure," said Sister Catherine, charitable as usual. "She would even welcome the pestilence, if it gave her a pretext to get outside her convent walls."
"Sister Catherine," said Sister Placida, reprovingly, "you are wrong to speak so to the child. Why should you be so ready to put a wrong construction on her words? I am sure the wish is natural enough. I had thought of the same thing myself."
"O yes, I dare say," retorted Sister Catherine. And then, with one of her sudden changes, "but I am wrong to answer you so, Sister. It is my part to accept even undeserved reproof with humility, and be thankful that I am despised."
"Nonsense," returned Sister Placida, who is by no means so placid as her name, "I think you would show more humility by considering whether the reproof was not deserved. As to being thankful for being despised, that is to my mind a little too much like being thankful for another's sin."