"Not within her cell!" shrieked a score of terrified voices, like
seagulls calling to each other, before a gathering storm.
"The Prioress left the Convent yesterday afternoon," said the Bishop,
"with my knowledge and approval; travelling at once, with a sufficient
escort, to a place some distance from Worcester, where I also spent the
night. I have come to bring you a message from His Holiness the Pope,
sent to me direct from Rome. . . . The Holy Father bids me say that
your Prioress has been moved on by me, with his full knowledge and
approval, to a place where she is required for higher service. Perhaps
I may also tell you," added the Bishop, looking with kindly sympathy
upon all the blankly disconcerted faces, "that this morning I myself
performed a solemn rite, for which I held the Pope's especial mandate,
setting apart your late Prioress for this higher service. She grieved
that it was not possible to bid you farewell. She sends you loving
greetings, her thanks for loyalty and obedience, and prays that the
blessing of the Lord may ever be with you."
The Bishop ceased speaking.
At first there was an amazed silence.
Then the unexpected happened. Mother Sub-Prioress, without any
warning, broke into passionate weeping.
Never before had Mother Sub-Prioress been known to weep. The sight
petrified the Convent. Yet somehow all knew that she wept because, in
the hard old nut which did duty for her heart, there was a kernel of
deep love for their noble Prioress.
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