Sister Mildred dropped her ear-trumpet with a click. The hardness vexed her. And yet she could but acknowledge that it was in a degree excusable. But for the difficulties lying in Jane's path, she had never urged it.
So there the matter rested. Miss Hallet had despatched her new servant to the Nunnery with a portion of Jane's wardrobe: and what on earth was to become of Jane the Sisters were unable to conjecture. They could not keep her: the Nunnery was not a reformatory, or meant to be one. Consulting together, they at last thought of a plan.
Sister Mildred went one morning into Jane's room. Jane was seated at the window in a shawl, busy at her work--some pinafores for the poor little school-children. Her face was prettier than ever and very delicate, her manner deprecating, as she rose and courtesied to the late Superior.
"How are you getting on, Jane?"
"I have nearly finished this one, madam," she answered, holding out the pinafore.
"I don't mean as to work. I mean yourself."
"Oh, I feel nearly quite well now, thank you, madam," replied Jane. "I get stronger every day."
"I was talking about you with some of the ladies last night, Jane. We wonder what you are about to do. Have you any plan, or idea of your own?"
Poor Jane's face took a shade of crimson. She did not answer.
"Not that we wish to hurry you away from us, Jane. You are welcome to stay, and we intend you to do so, for at least two weeks yet. Only it will not do to leave considerations off to the last: this is why I speak to you in time."