“Now, you who are always complaining that the work of the sacristy is behindhand, Veronica—­”

Veronica awoke from her dream.

“I know, Sister, we ought not to waste time talking, but Teresa asked me about my counterpart.”  Evelyn felt the blood rising to her face, and she turned away so that Angela might not see it.

“And you’ve told her?”

“Yes.  And you, Sister Angela, have got a counterpart; won’t you tell Teresa about him?”

And then, unable to repress herself at that moment, Evelyn turned to Angela, saying: 

“It began about Sister Mary John—­who left the convent to my great grief, so Veronica tells me, because she believed herself to be my counterpart.”

At this, Angela’s face grew suddenly very grave, and she said: 

“Of course, Teresa, she would leave the convent if she believed that; but there was no reason for her believing it?”

“None,” Evelyn answered, feeling a little frightened.  “None.  But what do you mean?”

“Only this, that our counterparts are in heaven; but there are counterparts and counterparts.  One—­I cannot explain now, dear, for I was sent by the Prioress to ask you, Veronica, to go to her room; she wants to speak to you.  And I must go back to the novitiate.  I suppose,” she added, “Veronica has told you that our counterparts are a little secret among ourselves?  Mother Hilda knows nothing of them.  It would not do to speak of these visitations; but I never could see any harm, for it isn’t by our own will that the counterpart comes to us; he is sent.”

Evelyn asked in what Gospel Christ’s descent into hell is described, and heard it was in that of Nicodemus; her estimation of Angela went up in consequence.  Angela was one of the few with intellectual interests; and it was Evelyn’s wish to hear about this Gospel that led her, a few days afterwards, to walk with Angela and Veronica in the orchard.  Angela was delighted to be questioned regarding her reading, and she told all she knew about Nicodemus.  Veronica walked a little ahead, plucking the tall grasses and enjoying the beautiful weather.  Evelyn, too, enjoyed the beautiful weather while listening to the story of the harrowing of hell, as described by Nicodemus.  There were no clouds anywhere, and the sky, a dim blue overhead, turned to grey as it descended.  The June verdure of the park was a wonderful spectacle, so many were the varying tints of green; only a few unfledged poplars retained their russet tints.  Outside the garden, along the lanes, all the hedges overflowed with the great lush of June; nettles and young ivy, buttercups, cow-parsley in profusion, and in the hedge itself the white blossom of the hawthorn.  “The wild briar,” Evelyn said to herself, “preparing its roses for some weeks later, and in the low-lying lands, where there is a dip in the fields, wild irises are coming into flower, and under the larches on the banks women and children spend the long day chattering.  Here we talk of Nicodemus and spiritual loves.”