Loveday's history

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"Dear Sister Postulant, how clever you are," said the old lady, wiping her eyes; "I should not have thought of that? Oh, if you could only take the veil here, you would be Superior before you were thirty. But, ah me! Nobody will ever put on the blessed veil in this house again."

"Don't cry any more, dear sister," said I; "and do not let us stay any longer in this damp place; you will have the rheumatism again, and besides, the bell will ring in a minute and we ought to be in our cells."

With much ado, I got her away and helped her to bed, for she was very feeble. I could not help wondering what would become of her. She had come from a distant part of the country and had no living relations that she knew of, and she was growing infirm and rather childish.

It was our custom to assemble at six o'clock in the community room, to give the reverend mother an account of the work we had done and the books we had read the day before. When we were all together, the prioress told us the substance of our visitor's letter. It simply amounted to this, that there was no use in resistance, since it would only exasperate the king and his minister. The commissioners had orders to turn us all out of doors without ceremony in such a case; whereas, by giving way at once, we might be allowed to remain in our old home a few days, till we could provide ourselves with some other shelter. (He did not say how or where this provision was to be made.) If there was any sin in the case, which he did not think, he would give a full absolution. The whole might as well have been put into one sentence: "You will have to go, so you may as well go quietly."

"It seems we have no choice and nothing to do," said Mother Joanna. "Nothing to do but to submit to the hand of violence, committing our cause to Him who judgeth righteously. As to those who for their own ends have slandered and belied this house," she added, "let them beware. There was pardon for Peter, who denied his Lord, for Thomas who doubted, and for the rest who forsook him. It was only Judas, who sold him, of whom it was said: 'It were better for that man if he had never been born.'"

The lady said these solemn words in a tone of sorrow and reproach which might have moved a heart of stone, but I think that Perpetua had not so much as that. But Sister Regina, who was much younger and more foolish than wicked—I do think most of the mischief in the world is done by fools—burst into tears, and sobbing as if her heart would break, she fell on her knees at the mother's feet, kissed the floor and entreated for pardon.

"I forgive you, my poor child," said the prioress, sadly; "in my own name, and those of your mothers and sisters, I forgive you; but alas! Your penitence, inestimable as it is to yourself, cannot undo what you have done. My mothers and sisters, is it your will that I act according to the terms of this letter?"

The asking was only a form, for there was clearly nothing else to be done. Accordingly, when we were again assembled in the choir at nine o'clock, the prioress formally surrendered the keys, saying that she did so in obedience to the orders of our visitor, and praying only for a few days' grace, that the sisters might be able to make some provision for themselves.

"Surely," said Doctor Willard, the elder gentleman, "it were hard to refuse so small a boon as that."

"I thank you, sir," said the prioress; "may you also find grace in your time of utmost need. Here, then, are the keys; I put them into your hands. For the rest, I and my poor children commit ourselves and our cause to Heaven, since we have no hope in this world."