"I shall never live to see the day!" said poor old Mother Baptista. "And I don't wish to. I was brought to this house when I was too young to remember anything. I was professed at fourteen, * and in all these years, I have not been outside of these walls. Here I have lived, and here I will die and be buried."
* A nun would not be received at this age in any order I am acquainted with, but such things were common enough at that time in France.
"But we must, be obedient, you know, dear mother," said Sister Filomena, trying to soothe her.
"Of course we must be obedient. I hope I know that by this time!" answered the old mother, rather tartly. "All the same, I shall never leave these walls. I shall be buried here."
"I cannot help hoping that the change will benefit dear mother's health!" said another sister. "She has never been well since that dreadful night in the vaults."
"I fear our dear reverend mother will never be well again!" said Mother Prudentia, shaking her head. "She fails every day. I sometimes think she will not live to see us settled in our new home."
"It will never be home without her," said Sister Agnes, sadly. "How many times she has been elected superior. No; I am sure no other place will seem like home after we have lived here so long."
"So much the better for us, perhaps," returned Mother Prudentia. "You know, my child, that we are to have here no continuing city, but we seek one to come."
"Still I cannot help hoping the change may do good," said Sister Angela. "I sometimes fancy all that water under the house may make it unhealthy. I wonder if the new house stands in a high and airy situation."
"It does, I know," said Amabel.