“I would not say that. Place assists the heart, I think, and the way of life. I thought so once.”
“When you wished to be a monk?”
A deep sadness came into his eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “And even now I find it very difficult to say, ‘It was not thy will, and so it is not mine.’ But would you care to tell me if anything has occurred recently to trouble you?”
“Something has occurred, Father.”
More excitement came into her face and manner.
“Do you think,” she went on, “that it is right to try to avoid what life seems to be bringing to one, to seek shelter from—from the storm? Don’t monks do that? Please forgive me if—”
“Sincerity will not hurt me,” he interrupted quietly. “If it did I should indeed be unworthy of my calling. Perhaps it is not right for all. Perhaps that is why I am here instead of—”
“Ah, but I remember, you wanted to be one of the freres armes.”
“That was my first hope. But you”—very simply he turned from his troubles to hers—“you are hesitating, are you not, between two courses?”