At the same moment there came a gentle flick of wings, and the robin alighted on the stone coping, not three feet from the elbow of Mother Sub-Prioress.

Very bright-eyed, and tall on his legs, was Mary Antony’s little vain man.  With his head on one side, he looked inquiringly at Mother Sub-Prioress; and Mother Sub-Prioress, from out the curtain of her veil, frowned back at him.

There was a solemn quality in the complete silence.  No naughty tales of bakers’ boys or piemen.  No gay chirps of expectation.  Receiving cheese from Mother Sub-Prioress, bestowed for conscience’ sake, partook of the nature of a sacred ceremony.  Yet the robin had come for his cheese, and the Sub-Prioress had come to give it to him.

Presently she slowly opened the wallet, took therefrom some choice morsels, and strewed them on the coping.

“Here, bird,” she said, grimly; “I cannot let thee miss thy cheese because the foolish old creature who taught thee to look for it, comes this way no more.  Take it and begone!”

This was the daily formula.

The “jaunty little layman,” undismayed—­though the look was austere, and the voice, forbidding—­hopped gaily nearer, pecking eagerly.  No gaping mouths now waited his return.  His nestlings were grown and flown.  At last he could afford to feast himself.

Mother Sub-Prioress turned her back upon the coping and stared at the archway opposite.  She had no wish to see the bird’s enjoyment.

Then a strange thing happened.

Having pecked up all he wanted, the robin turned his bright eye upon the motionless figure, seated so near him, wrapped in the aloofness of an impenetrable silence.

Excepting in her dying moments, Mary Antony’s much loved little bird had never adventured nearer to her than to hop along the coping, pecking at her fingers when, to test his boldness, she reached out and with them covered the cheese.

Yet now, with a gentle flick of wings, lo, he alighted on the knee of Mother Sub-Prioress!  Then, while she scarce dared breathe, for wonder and amaze, hopped to her arm and pecked gently at her veil.

Whereupon something broke in the cold heart of Mother Sub-Prioress.  Tears ran slowly down the thin face.  She would not stir nor lift her hand to wipe them away, and they fell in heavy drops upon her folded fingers.

At length she spoke, in a broken whisper.

“Oh, thou little winged thing,” she said, “who so easily could’st fly from me!  Dost thou use those wings of liberty to draw yet nearer?  In this place of high walls and narrow cells, they who have not full freedom, use to the full what freedom they possess, to turn, at my approach and fly from me.  Not one if she could choose, would choose to come to me. . . .  Is there any honour so great as that of being feared by all?  Is there any loneliness so great as by all to be hated?  That honour, little bird, is mine; also that loneliness.  Who then hath sent thee thus to essay to take both from me?”