"Oh, my daughter, my daughter, a terrible situation, terrible, terrible!"
"Mother, I have told you everything. Tell me now what hope is left. Give me your direction."
"My daughter, let us humble ourselves before God, and pray that He may reveal the path of duty. Come."
The superior rose, took her crozier in her hand, and walked out of the room. The sister followed her. They passed through the sacristy into the empty church.
It was evening. The glow of a wintery sunset came through the windows to the west, and fell in warm gules on the altar. There was the hush of the world's awe here as day swooned into night. Without these walls were turmoil and strife. Within was the balm of rest—the rest that lies in the heart of the cyclone.
And the good mother and the sister went down on their knees together, and prayed for light and guidance. The mother rose, but the sister knelt on; darkness fell, and she was still kneeling, and when the east was dabbled with the dawn, the gray light fell on her bowed head and uplifted hands.
BOOK IV.
THE WATERS OF MARAH ARE BITTER.