“I hope it will.”  Evelyn felt that Veronica had not spoken all her mind, and that the incident was not closed.  The novice’s eyes were full of reverie, and behind her the open press exhaled a fragrance of lavender.  “You see,” she said, turning, “Father Ambrose is coming to-morrow.  I wonder what he will think of you?  He’ll know if you have a vocation.”

Father Ambrose, an old Carmelite monk and the spiritual adviser of the Prioress, was known to be a great friend of Veronica’s, and whenever he came to the convent Veronica’s excitement started many little pleasantries among the novices.  Next day Evelyn waited for one of these to arise.  She had not long to wait; all the novices and postulants with Mother Hilda were sitting under the great tree.  The air was warm, and Mother Hilda guided the conversation occasionally.  Every one was anxious to talk, but every one was anxious to think too, for every one knew she would be questioned by the aged monk, and that the chance of being accepted as a nun depended, in no small measure, on his opinion of her vocation.

“Have you noticed, Sister Teresa, how beaming Sister Veronica has looked for the last day or two?  I can’t think what has come to her.”

“Can’t you, indeed?  You must be very slow.  Hasn’t she been put into the sacristy just before Father Ambrose’s visit; now she will be able to put out his vestments herself.  You may be sure we shall have the best vestments out every day, and she will be able to have any amount of private interviews behind our backs.”

“Now, children, that will do,” said Mother Hilda, noticing Veronica’s crimson cheeks as she bent over her work.

Evelyn wondered, and that evening in the sacristy Veronica broke into expostulations with an excitement that took Evelyn by surprise.

“How could I not care for Father Ambrose!  I have known him all my life.  Once I was very ill with pleurisy.  I nearly died, and Father Ambrose anointed me, and gave me the last Sacraments.  I had not made my first Communion then.  I was only eleven, but they gave me the Sacrament, for they thought I was dying, and I thought so too, and I promised our Lord I would be a nun if I got well.  I never told any one except Father Ambrose, and he has helped me all through to keep my vow, so you see he has been everything to me; I have never loved any one as I love Father Ambrose.  When he comes here I always ask him for some rule or direction, so that I may have the happiness of obeying him till his next visit; and it is so trying, is it not, Sister Teresa, when the novices make their silly little jokes about it?  Of course, they don’t understand, they can’t; but to me Father Ambrose means everything I care for; besides, he is really a saint.  I believe he would have been canonised if he had lived in the Middle Ages.  He has promised to profess me.  It is wrong, I know, but really I should hardly care to be professed if Father Ambrose could not be by.  We must have these vestments for him.”  Evelyn was about to take them out.  “No, allow me.”