"Let her lie! If she choose to remain with the Dead, it is but small
loss to the Living."
And with hands devoutly crossed upon her breast, ferret face peering to
right and left from out the curtain of her veil, Mother Sub-Prioress
moved forward at the head of the nuns.
The Bishop's procession, which had wavered, continued to lead the way;
solemn chanting began; and, as the Bishop turned into the Cypress Walk
he saw the flying figure of Mary Seraphine running among the trees in
the orchard, trying to catch up, and to take her place again,
unnoticed, among the rest.
The Bishop smiled, remembering his many talks with the Prioress
concerning Seraphine, and the Knight's dismay when he feared they were
foisting the wayward nun upon him.
Then he sighed as he realised that the control of the Convent had now
passed into the able hands of Mother Sub-Prioress; and that, in these
unusual circumstances, the task of selecting and appointing a new
Prioress, fell to him.
Perhaps his conversations on this subject, first with the Prior, and
later on with Mother Sub-Prioress, partly accounted for his extreme
fatigue, now that he found himself at last alone in his library.
But the reward of those "whose strength is to sit still," had come to
the Bishop.
Soon after he fixed his eyes upon the Gregorian and Gelasian
Sacramentaries, his eyelids gently began to droop. Sleep was already
upon him when he decided to let the Palace, the City, yea, even the
Cathedral go, if he might but keep the Prioress.
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