The younger lay-sisters might make no retort; but Sister Mary Martha
presently asked: "What have you been doing since Vespers, Sister
Antony?"
By aid of the wits our Lady had sharpened, old Antony, at that moment,
realised that sometimes, when you needs must deceive, there is nothing
so deceptive as the actual truth.
"Listening to a wondrous romantic tale," she made answer, "told by the
Knight of the Bloody Vest."
"You verily are foolish about that robin, Sister Antony," remarked Mary
Martha; "and you will take your death of cold, sitting out in the
garden in the damp, after sunset."
"Well--so long as I take only that which is mine own, others have no
cause to grumble," snapped Mary Antony, and turned her mind upon the
making of a savoury broth, favoured by the Reverend Mother.
And all the while the Devil was whispering in the old woman's ear: "She
will not return. . . . Make thy broth, fool; but she will not be here
to drink it. . . . The World and the Flesh have called; the Reverend
Mother will not come back. . . . Stir the broth well, but flavour it
to thine own taste. Thou wilt sup on it thyself this night. When the
World and the Flesh call loudly enough, the best of women go to the
Devil."
"Liar!" said Mary Antony, brandishing her wooden spoon. "Get thee
behind me--nay, rather, get thee in front of me! I have had thee
skulking behind me long enough. Also in front of me, just now, being
into the fire, thou wilt feel at home, Master Devil! Only, put not thy
tail into the Reverend Mother's broth.
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