Yet now her first care was not for her own predicament, but for the two
noble hearts, of whose tragic grief she had secretly been a witness.
Her eye fell on the Madonna, calmly smiling.
She tottered forward, kneeling where the Prioress had knelt.
"Holy Mother of God," she whispered, "teach him that she cannot do this
thing!"
Then, moving along on her knees to where the Knight had kneeled:
"Blessed Virgin!" she cried, "shew her that she cannot leave him
desolate!"
Then shuffling back to the centre, and kneeling between the two places:
"Sweetest Lady," she said, "be pleased to sharpen the old wits of Mary
Antony."
Looking furtively at the Madonna, she saw that our Lady smiled. The
blessed Infant, also, looked merry. Mary Antony chuckled, and took
heart. When the Reverend Mother smiled, she always knew herself
forgiven.
Moreover, without delay, her request was granted; for scarcely had she
arisen from her knees, when she remembered the place where the Reverend
Mother kept the key of her cell; and she, having locked the door, on
leaving, with her own master-key, the other was quickly in old Antony's
hand, and she out once more in the passage, locking the door behind
her; sure of being able to restore the key to its place, before it
should be missed by the Reverend Mother.
Sister Mary Antony slipped unseen past the Refectory and into the
kitchens. Once there, she fussed and scolded and made her presence
felt, implying that she had been waiting, a good hour gone, for the
thing for which she had but that moment asked.
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