The rain still splashed against the casement, but the storm had spent
itself; the sky was brightening. A pale slant of sunshine broke
through the parting clouds and, entering the casement, gleamed on the
jewelled cross at the breast of the Prioress, and kindled into peculiar
radiance the searching light of her clear eyes.
"I know you for a man," she said again. "You stand there, revealed;
and surely you stand there, shamed. By plotting and planning, by
assuming our dress, you have succeeded in forcing your undesired
presence into this sacred cloister, where dwells a little company of
women who have left the world, never to return to it again; who have
given up much in order to devote themselves to a life of continual
worship and adoration, gaining thereby a power in intercession which
brings down blessing upon those who still fight life's battles in the
world without.
"But it has meant the breaking of many a tender tie. There are fathers
and brothers dear to them, whom the nuns would love to see again; but
they cannot do so, save, on rare occasions, in the guest-room at the
gate; and then, with the grille between.
"Saving Bishop or Priest, no foot of man may tread our cloisters; no
voice of man may be heard in these cells.
"Yet--by trick and subterfuge--you have intruded. Methinks I scarce
should let you leave this place alive, to boast what you have done."
The Prioress paused.
The figure stood, with folded arms, immovable, leaning against the
wall.
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