A bell rang, and Evelyn said: 

“Now, Mother, will you take my arm and we’ll go down to chapel together?”

“And after Benediction I will take a turn in the garden with you,” the Prioress said.

She was so weary of singing Gounod’s “Ave Maria” that she accentuated the vulgarity of the melody, and wondered if the caricature would be noticed.  “The more vulgarly it is sung the more money it draws.”  And smiling at the theatrical phrase, which had arisen unexpectedly to her lips, she went into the garden to join the Prioress.

“Come this way, dear; I want to talk to you.”  And the Prioress and the novice wandered away from the other nuns towards the fish-pond, and stood listening to the gurgle of the stream and to the whisper of the woods.  An inspiring calm seemed to fall out of the sky, filling the heart with sympathy, turning all things to one thing, drawing the earth and sky and thoughts of men and women together.

“Teresa, dear, when you leave us what do you intend to do?  You have never told me.  Do you intend to return to the stage?”

“Mother, I cannot bear to think of leaving you.”  The old nun raised her eyes for a moment, and there was a great sadness in them, for she felt that without Evelyn her death would be lonely.

“We came here for the same reason, or very nearly.  I stayed, and you are going.”

“And which do you think is the better part, Mother?”

The nun did not answer for a long time, and Evelyn’s heart seemed to beat more quickly as she waited for the answer.

“These are things we shall never know, whether it is better to go or to stay.  All the wisdom of the ages has never solved this question—­ which ever course we take; it costs a great deal to come here.”

“And it costs a great deal to remain in the world.  Something terrible would have happened to me.  I should have killed myself.  But you know everything, Mother; there is no use going over that story again.”

“No, there is none.  Only one thing remains to be said, Teresa—­to thank you for remaining with me.  You are a gift from God, the best I have received for a long time, and if I reach heaven my prayers will always be with you.”

“And, Mother, if you reach heaven, will you promise me one thing, that you will come to me and tell me the truth?”

“That I promise, and I will keep my promise if I am allowed.”

The ripple of the stream sounded loud in their ears, and the skies became more lovely as Evelyn and the Prioress thought of the promise that had been asked and been given.

“I’ll ask you to do some things for me.”  And she gave Evelyn instructions regarding her papers.  “When you have done all these things you will leave the convent.  You will not be able to remain.  I have seen a great deal of you, more than I saw of any other novice, and I know you as if you were my own child....  I am very old, and you are still a young woman.”