But passing the
gracious image of the Virgin and Child, she cast herself down at the
foot of the crucifix.
She had seen a strong man in agony, nailed, by the cruel iron of
circumstance, to the cross-beams of sacrifice and surrender. To the
suffering Saviour she turned, instinctively, for help and consolation.
Thus speedily had her prayer of the previous night been granted. The
pierced feet of our dear Lord, crucified, had become more to her than
the baby feet of the Infant Jesus, on His Mother's knee.
Yet, even as she knelt--supplicating, interceding, adoring--there
echoed in her memory the wicked shriek of Mary Seraphine: "A dead God
cannot help me! I want life, not death!" followed almost instantly by
Hugh's stern question: "Is this religion?"
Truly, of late, wild voices had taken liberty of speech in the cell of
the Prioress, and had left their impious utterances echoing behind them.
CHAPTER XVII
THE DIMNESS OF MARY ANTONY
The Prioress had been back in her cell for nearly an hour, when a
gentle tap came on the door.
"Enter," commanded the Prioress, and Mary Antony appeared, bearing
broth and bread, fruit and a cup of wine.
The Prioress sat at her table, parchment and an open missal before her.
Her face was very white; also there were dark shadows beneath her eyes.
She did not smile at sight of old Antony, thus laden.
"How now, Antony?" she said, almost sternly. "I did not bid thee to
bring me food.
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