Our services went on as usual during the day—the last day, perhaps, they would ever be performed in those walls which had heard prayers and chants for so many hundred years. It was touching to see how punctiliously almost all the sisters performed every duty, even the smallest.
There were exceptions, however. As I said, we had two or three who had no vocation whatever, and they tried to take liberties, and were not ashamed to exchange mocking glances and whispers, even in the hour of meditation. Nobody took any notice of them, however, except to draw away when they came near as if they had the pestilence. I remember Sister Regina took hold of the sleeve of Sister Anne's habit to draw her attention to something, she being a little deaf, whereupon the old lady, having her scissors in her hand, deliberately cut out the place Regina had touched and trampled it under her feet. It was not a very Christian act, perhaps, but we were all glad of it. Sister Regina did have the grace to look abashed for a moment, the more that she had always been rather a favorite with Sister Anne.
That evening, just before bed-time, Sister Sacristine met me in the gallery and drew me aside into the sacristy, and then into a little inner vaulted room where our most valuable relics were stored, when not exposed to the adoration of the faithful. The precious shrines which were used at these times were kept in another place, whereof the key was already in the hands of the commissioners. Shutting the door, and opening a dark lantern which she carried, she whispered in my ear:
"Loveday, you are a brave girl. I remember how you faced the bull that day he got out. Will you help me to save our most precious relic from profanation?"
"If I can!" said I, doubtfully. "But what is it you want to do?"
She glanced round, and then whispered in my ear:
"I want to let out the Virgin's smoke. But the stopper is too stiff for my fingers, and I want you to open it and let the smoke out. Then we can leave the bottle as we found it!"
Now this bottle of smoke from the Blessed Mother's hearth at Bethlehem was, indeed, our most precious relic, and was looked upon with awful reverence. I fully sympathized with Sister Sacristine's desire to save it from profanation, but I was rather scared at the idea of touching it, not knowing exactly what it might do if it got out.
"Do you think it would be safe?" I asked. "You know how when the over-curious priest opened the vial to smell of it, a huge volume of black smoke issued from it and blasted him as by lightning."
"Yes, but that was different. His was a profane motive, and ours is a devout one. Oh, Loveday, do help me. I can't endure to think of the blessed smoke in that wretch's hands, and, besides, who can tell what it might do."