The foster-sisters

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

She left us alone for a few minutes. Amabel fell on her knees before the crucifix. I did the same, and repeated the prayers after her, but my heart was not in them. I was decidedly elated at the prospect of our adventure. It was not long before the lady returned accompanied by Mother Prudentia. Each of the ladies carried a lantern, and Mother Prudentia had our cloaks on her arm.

The Superior led the way, not that we had gone before, but through the upper corridor and several disused apartments, where the shutters were all closed and the air smelt strongly of the wool, the oil, and cheese which were stored in the rooms below. At last we came into the older part of the house, descended the great stairs which Mother Bursar had so strictly forbidden us to go up, and found ourselves in the painted hall, from which we descended the stone stairs to the little vestibule. I observed by the way that a strong new lock had already been put upon this door.

Here we stopped while Mother Prudentia put on our cloaks and gave us each a taper to carry. She then took Amabel by the hand, and Mother Superior did the same by me, and we moved forward without speaking.

I had my wits about me this time, and I saw in what a network of passages and alleys we had been involved. The marks of our footsteps were still to be seen in the thick black mould which covered the ground. The walls, which seemed of solid rock, streamed with moisture and were hung in places with strange unwholesome growths. I felt my courage slipping away from me, as the thought would come into my mind—What if Mother Superior should herself lose her way! How we were guided, I do not know—probably by some marks or signs on the walls.

At last, the Superior stopped and made a sign to Mother Prudentia. The lanterns were trimmed anew, Mother Superior once more took me by the hand, and bidding me hold up my taper and not take one step in advance of her, we moved cautiously on for some yards. Then we stopped again, and the lady held up her lantern, as did the other mother.

"Look, my children!" said she solemnly. "Look and see the danger from which you were preserved."

I looked, and saw a sight I shall never forget,—a black, sullen, horrible pool, stretching far away out of our sight. The border of the pool was edged with slime, which shone with rainbow colors in the light of the lanterns, and the same slime floated in great patches on the surface of the water. We were not very near—not so near as Amabel and I had gone, for I could see our footmarks beyond us—but the ground felt wet and cold, and when I raised my foot something seemed to hold it down. I shuddered. If we had gone but a little farther—

"Look well, my children, and never forget that sight," said the lady, solemnly. "Let that pit represent to you the pit of destruction to which every wilful unrepented sin is a step. See how treacherous are its very shores. A very little farther, and you would have been sucked down into its foul depths, from which nothing ever comes up again. And in this pit, my poor Lucille, you might have been lying at this moment, led thither by what? By the idle laughter of a wicked fool!"

I realized it all then.

"Oh, I have been very, very wicked!" I cried. "I don't care so much about myself, but if I had drowned Aimeè!"