“Be off!” said Mary Antony.  “I am too old to be keeping company, even with thee.  Also Sister Mary Rebecca awaits thee in her cell.”

“The Reverend Mother ever walked with her head among the stars,” sneered the Devil.  “Why do the highest fall the lowest, when temptation comes?”

“Ask that of Mother Sub-Prioress,” said Mary Antony, “next time she bids thee to supper.”

Then she clasped her old hands upon her breast; for, very softly, in the lock below, a key turned.

Steps, felt rather than heard, passed up into the cloister.

Then, in the dim light, the tall figure of the Prioress moved noiselessly over the flagstones, passed through the open door and up the deserted passage.

Peering eagerly forward, the old lay-sister saw the Prioress pause outside the door of her chamber, lift her master-key, unlock the door, and pass within.

As the faint sound of the closing of the door reached her straining ears, old Mary Antony began to sob, helplessly.

CHAPTER XVI

THE ECHO OF WILD VOICES

When the Prioress entered her cell, she stood for a moment bewildered by the rapid walk in the darkness.  She could hardly realise that the long strain was over; that she had safely regained her chamber.

All was as she had left it.  Apparently she had not been missed, and had returned unobserved.  Hugh was by now safely in the hostel at Worcester.  None need ever know that he had been here.

None need ever know—­Yet, alas, it was that knowledge which held the Prioress rooted to the spot on which she stood, gazing round her cell.

Hugh had been here; and when he was here, her one desire had been to get him speedily away.

But now?

Dumb with the pain of a great yearning, she looked about her.

Yes; just there he had stood; here he had knelt, and there he had stood again.

This calm monastic air had vibrated to the fervour of his voice.

It had grown calm again.

Would her poor heart in time also grow calm?  Would her lips stop trembling, and cease to feel the fire of his?

Yet for one moment, only, her mind dwelt upon herself.  Then all thought of self was merged in the realisation of his loneliness, his suffering, his bitter disillusion.  To have found her dead, would have been hard; to have lost her living, was almost past bearing.  Would it cost him his faith in God, in truth, in purity, in honour?

The Prioress felt the insistent need of prayer.  But passing the gracious image of the Virgin and Child, she cast herself down at the foot of the crucifix.

She had seen a strong man in agony, nailed, by the cruel iron of circumstance, to the cross-beams of sacrifice and surrender.  To the suffering Saviour she turned, instinctively, for help and consolation.