Next, the two tall nuns who had borne Mary Seraphine to her cell.

Behind them, Mother Sub-Prioress, holding something beneath her
scapulary which gave to her more of a presence than she usually
possessed.

Solemn and official,--nay, almost sacrificial--was their measured
shuffle, as they moved along the passage, and entered the cell of Mary
Seraphine.


The Prioress closed her door, and, kneeling before the crucifix,
implored forgiveness for the sacrilege which, all unwittingly, she had
provoked.

The nuns, in their separate cells, chanted the _Miserere_.
But--suddenly--with one accord, their voices fell silent; then hastened
on, in uncertain, agitated rhythm.


Old Mary Antony below, playing her favourite game, also paused, and
pricked up her ears: then filliped the wizen pea, which stood for
Mother Sub-Prioress, into the darkest corner, and hurried off to brew a
soothing balsam.

So, when the Refectory bell had summoned all to the evening meal, the
old lay-sister crept to the cell of Mary Seraphine, carrying broth and
comfort.