She had ruled her own spirit, even better. She had won the victory
over the World and the Flesh; there remained but the Devil. The Devil,
alas, always remains.
As she moved, with uplifted brow and mien of calm detachment, along the
sunlit cloister to the lofty, stone passage, within, the Convent, she
was feared by many, loved by most, and obeyed by all.
And, as she passed, old Mary Antony, bowing almost to the ground,
dropped a large white pea, from between her right thumb and finger,
into the horny palm of her left hand.
Behind the Prioress there followed a nun, tall also, but ungainly. Her
short-sighted eyes peered shiftily to right and left; her long nose
went on before, scenting possible scandal and wrong-doing; her weak
lips let loose a ready smile, insinuating, crafty, apologetic. She
walked with hands crossed upon her breast, in attitude of adoration and
humility. As she moved by, old Mary Antony let drop the pale and
speckled pea.
Keeping their distances, mostly with shrouded faces, bent heads, and
folded hands, all the White Ladies passed.
Each went in silence to her cell, there kneeling in prayer and
contemplation until the Refectory bell should call to the evening meal.
As the last, save one, went by, the keen eyes of the old lay-sister
noted that her hands were clenched against her breast, that she
stumbled at the topmost step, and caught her breath with a half sob.
Behind her, moving quickly, came the spare form of the Sub-Prioress,
ferret-faced, alert, vigilant; fearful lest sin should go unpunished;
wishful to be the punisher.
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