Evelyn did not answer, for she was thinking of the strange threads one finds in the weft of human life.  Every one follows a thread, but whither do the threads lead?  Into what design?  And while Evelyn was thinking the Prioress told how the house in which they were now living had been bought with five thousand out of the thirty thousand pounds which this girl had brought to the convent.  The late Prioress was blamed for this outlay.  Blame often falls on innocent shoulders, for how could she have foreseen the increased taxation? how could she have foreseen that no more rich postulants would come to the convent, only penniless converts turned out by their relations, and aged governesses?  A great deal of the money had been lost in a railway, and it was lost at a most unfortunate time, only a few days before the lawyer had written to say that the Australian mine in which most of their money was invested had become bankrupt.

“There was nothing for us to do,” the Prioress said, “but to mortgage the property, and this mortgage is our real difficulty, and its solution seems as far off as ever.  There seems to be no solution.  We are paying penal interest on the money, and we have no security that the mortgagee will not sell the property.  He has been complaining that he can do better with his money, though we are paying him five and six per cent.

“And if he were to sell the property, Mother, you would all have to go back to your relations?”

“All of us have not relations, and few have relations who would take us in.  The lay sisters—­what is to become of them?—­some of them old women who have given up their lives.  Frankly, Evelyn, I am at my wits’ end.”

“But, Mother, have I not offered to lend you the money?  It will be a great pleasure to me to do it, and in some way I feel that I owe the money.”

“Owe the money, Evelyn?”

The women sat looking at each other, and at the end of a long silence the Prioress said: 

“It is impossible for us to take your money, my child?”

“But something must be done, Mother.”

“If you were staying with us a little longer—­”

“I have made no plans to leave you.”  And to turn the conversation from herself Evelyn spoke of the crowds that came to Benediction.

“To hear you, dear, and when you leave us our congregation will be the same as it was before, a few pious old Catholic ladies living on small incomes who can hardly afford to put a shilling into the plate.”  Evelyn spoke of the improvement of the choir, and the Prioress interrupted her, saying, “Don’t think for a moment that any reformation in the singing of the plain chant is likely to bring people to our church; the Benedictine gradual versus the Ratisbon.”  And the Prioress shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.  “What has brought us a congregation is you, my dear—­your voice and your story which is being talked about.  The story is going the rounds that you are going to become a nun, and that interests everybody.  An opera singer entering a convent!  Such a thing was never heard of before, and they come to hear you.”