“The great Lord Bishop did address me as ‘worthy Mother,’” she remarked; “not ‘Reverend Mother,’ as we address our noble Prioress.  And this has given me much food for thought.  Is it better to be worthy and not reverend, or reverend and not worthy?  Our large white sow, when she did contrive to have more little pigs in her litters, than ever our sows had before; and, after a long and fruitful life, furnished us with two excellent hams, a boar’s head, and much bacon, was a worthy sow; but never was she reverend, not even when Mother Sub-Prioress pronounced the blessing over her face, much beautified by decoration—­grand ivory tusks, and a lemon in her mouth!  Never, in life, had she looked so fair; which is indeed, I believe, the case with many.  Yet, for all her worthiness, she was not reverend.  Also I have heard tell of a certain Prior, not many miles from here, who, borrowing money, never repays it; who oppresses the poor, driving them from the Priory gate; who maltreats the monks, and is kind unto none, saving unto himself.  He—­it seems—­is reverend but not worthy.  While thou, Master Redbreast, art certainly not reverend; the saints, and thine own conscience, alone know whether thou art worthy.

“This,” explained Mary Antony, “was how I had planned to point a moral to that jaunty little worldling.”

“They who are reverend must strive to be also worthy,” said the Prioress; “while they who count themselves to be worthy, must think charitably of those to whom they owe reverence.  Came the robin to thee in the cloisters, Antony?”

The old woman’s manner changed.  She fixed her eyes upon the Prioress, and spoke with an air of detachment and of mystery.  The very simplicity of her language seemed at once to lift the strange tale she told, into sublimity.

“Aye, he came.  But not for crumbs; not for cheese; not to gossip with old Antony.

“He stood upon the coping, looking at me with his bright eye.

“‘Well, little vain man!’ said I. But he moved not.

“‘Well, Master Pieman,’ I said, ‘art come to spy on holy ladies?’ But never a flutter, never a chirp, gave he.

“So grave and yet war-like was his aspect, that at length I said:  ’Well, Knight of the Bloody Vest!  Hast thou come to carry off again our noble Prioress?’ Upon which, instantly, he lifted up his voice, and burst into song; then flew to the doorway, turning and chirping, as if asking me to follow.

“Greatly marvelling at this behaviour on the part of the little bird I love, I forthwith set out to follow him.

“Along the passage, on swift wing, he flew; in and out of the empty cells, as if in search of something.’  Then, while I was yet some little way behind, he vanished into the Reverend Mother’s cell, and came not forth again.

“Laughing to myself at such presumption, I followed, saying:  ’Ha, thou Knight of the Bloody Vest!  What doest thou there?  The Reverend Mother is away.  What seekest thou in her chamber, Knight of the Bloody Vest?’