CHAPTER VII.

Heard through the Door.


Twenty minutes' walking brought me to the wood which lay between the road
and the convent. I pressed on; soon the wood ceased and I found myself on
the outskirts of a paddock of rough grass, where a couple of cows and half
a dozen goats were pasturing; a row of stunted apple trees ran along one
side of the paddock, and opposite me rose the white walls of the convent;
while on my left was the burying-ground with its arched gateway, inscribed
"_Mors janua vitæ_." I crossed the grass and rang a bell, that clanged
again and again in echo. Nobody came. I pulled a second time and more
violently. After some further delay the door was cautiously opened a
little way, and a young woman looked out. She was a round-faced,
red-cheeked, fresh creature, arrayed in a large close-fitting white cap, a
big white collar over her shoulders, and a black gown. When she saw me,
she uttered an exclamation of alarm, and pushed the door to again. Just in
time I inserted my foot between door and doorpost.

"I beg your pardon," said I politely, "but you evidently misunderstand me.
I wish to enter."

She peered at me through the two-inch gap my timely foot had preserved.

"But it is impossible," she objected. "Our rules do not allow it. Indeed,
I may not talk to you. I beg of you to move your foot."