torn veil. Each moment she had feared lest cell doors, on either side,
should open; old Antony might appear from the cloisters, or--greatest
disaster of all--Mother Sub-Prioress might advance toward her from the
Refectory stairs! In order to attain a greater rate of speed, she had
tried lifting her knees, as elephants lift their feet. This mode of
progress, though ungainly, had proved efficacious; but would have been
distinctly mirth-provoking to beholders. The stones had hurt her hands
and knees far more than she hurt them when she beat upon the floor of
her own cell.

She arrived at the Reverend Mother's footstool, heated in mind and
body, ashamed of herself, vexed with her garments, in fact in an
altogether saner frame of mind than when she had called upon "Wilfred,"
and made reiterated mention of trappings of crimson and silver bells.

Perhaps the Prioress had foreseen this result, when she imposed the
penance. Leniency or sympathy, at that moment, would have been fatal
and foolish; and had not the Prioress made special petition for wisdom?

She was seated at her table, when Sister Seraphine bumped and shuffled
into view. She did not raise her eyes from the illuminated missal she
was studying. One hand lay on the massive clasp, the other rested in
readiness to turn the page. Her noble form seemed stately calm
personified.

When she heard Sister Seraphine panting close to her foot, she spoke;
still without lifting her eyes.

"You may rise to your feet," she said, "and shut to the door."