eye, might be helpful for all, on summer evenings.

"But I cannot have thee take upon thyself to decide the future state of
the White Ladies. Who art thou, to send me to Paradise with a fillip
of thine old finger-nail, yet to keep our excellent Sub-Prioress in
Purgatory? Shame upon thee, Mary Antony!" But the sternness of the
Reverend Mother's tone was belied by the merriment in her grey eyes.

"So no more of that, my Antony; though, truth to tell, thy story gives
me relief, answering a question I was meaning to put to thee. I heard,
not an hour ago, that Sister Antony had boasted that with a turn of her
thumb and finger she could, any night, send Mother Sub-Prioress to
Purgatory."

"Who said that of me?" stuttered Mary Antony. "Who said it, Reverend
Mother?"

"A little bird," murmured the Prioress. "A little bird, dear Antony;
but not thy pretty robin. Also, the boast was taken to mean poison in
the broth of Mother Sub-Prioress. Hast thou ever put harmful things in
the broth of Mother Sub-Prioress?"

Mary Antony slipped to her knees.

"Only beans, Reverend Mother, castor beans; and, when her temper was
vilest, purging herbs. Nothing more, I swear it! Old Antony knows
naught of poisons; only of mixing balsams--ah, ha!--and soothing
ointments! Our blessèd Lady knows the tale is false."

Hastily the Prioress lifted the nosegay and buried her face in bindweed