“I passed her in the passage just now, and when I asked her if she had seen you, she said she really was too busy to speak to me; and, a moment after, she stood a long while to play with the black kitten, who was catching flies in the window.”

“There is no doubt that Veronica has changed; lately she has been rather rude to me.”

“To you, Teresa?  Now, what could she be rude about to you?” The nun’s face changed expression, and Evelyn sat reading it, “Do you think she is jealous of the time we spend together?  We have been together a great deal lately.”

“But it is necessary that we should be—­our music.”

“Yes, our music, of course; but I was thinking of other times.”

Evelyn knew that Sister Mary John was thinking of the time they had spent reading the Breviary together—­four great volumes, one for every season of the year.  It was Sister Mary John who had taught her to appreciate the rich, mysterious tradition of the Church, and how these books of ritual and observances could satisfy the mind more than any secular literature.  There was always something in the Office to talk about, something new amid much that remained the same—­the reappearance of a favourite hymn.

“All the same, Sister, we should not take so much pleasure in each other’s society.  Veronica is quite right.”

At that moment Evelyn was called away by the portress, who had come to tell her that Mother Hilda wanted her in the novitiate, and Sister Mary John was left thinking in the library that Veronica was certainly right, and every moment the conviction grew clearer.  It must have been forming in her mind for a long time past, for, within five minutes after Evelyn had left the room, the nun determined to go straight to the Prioress and tell her that her life was being absorbed by Evelyn and beg her to transfer her to the Mother House in France.  Never to see Evelyn again!  Her strength almost failed her as she went towards the door.  But what would it profit her to see Evelyn for a few years if she should lose her for eternity?  A little courage, and they would meet to part no more.  In a few years both would be in heaven.  A confusion of thought began in her; she remembered many things, that she no longer loved Christ as she used to love him.  She no longer stood before the picture in which Christ took St. Francis in His arms, saying to Christ, “My embrace will be warmer than his when thou takest me in thy arms.”  She had often thought of herself and Evelyn in heaven, walking hand in hand.  Once they had sat enfolded in each other’s arms under a flowering oleander.  Christ was watching them!  And all this could only point to one thing, that her love of Evelyn was infringing upon her love of God.  And Evelyn, too, had questioned her love of God as if she were jealous of it, but she had answered Evelyn that nuns were the brides of Christ, and must set no measure on their love of God.  “There is no lover,” she had said, “like God; He is always by you, you can turn to Him at any moment.  God wishes us to keep all our love for Him.”  She had said these things, but how differently she had acted, forgetful of God, thinking only of Evelyn, and her vows, and not a little of the woman herself.