She had now, during two years, ruled the Nunnery wisely and well.

She had ruled her own spirit, even better.  She had won the victory over the World and the Flesh; there remained but the Devil.  The Devil, alas, always remains.

As she moved, with uplifted brow and mien of calm detachment, along the sunlit cloister to the lofty, stone passage, within, the Convent, she was feared by many, loved by most, and obeyed by all.

And, as she passed, old Mary Antony, bowing almost to the ground, dropped a large white pea, from between her right thumb and finger, into the horny palm of her left hand.

Behind the Prioress there followed a nun, tall also, but ungainly.  Her short-sighted eyes peered shiftily to right and left; her long nose went on before, scenting possible scandal and wrong-doing; her weak lips let loose a ready smile, insinuating, crafty, apologetic.  She walked with hands crossed upon her breast, in attitude of adoration and humility.  As she moved by, old Mary Antony let drop the pale and speckled pea.

Keeping their distances, mostly with shrouded faces, bent heads, and folded hands, all the White Ladies passed.

Each went in silence to her cell, there kneeling in prayer and contemplation until the Refectory bell should call to the evening meal.

As the last, save one, went by, the keen eyes of the old lay-sister noted that her hands were clenched against her breast, that she stumbled at the topmost step, and caught her breath with a half sob.

Behind her, moving quickly, came the spare form of the Sub-Prioress, ferret-faced, alert, vigilant; fearful lest sin should go unpunished; wishful to be the punisher.

She must have heard the half-strangled sob burst from the slight figure stumbling up the steps before her, had not old Mary Antony been suddenly moved at that moment to uplift her voice in a cracked and raucous “Amen.”

Startled, and vexed at being startled, the Sub-Prioress turned upon Mary Antony.

“Peace, woman!” she said.  “The Convent cloister is not a hen-yard.  Such ill-timed devotion well-nigh merits penance.  Rise from thy knees, and go at once about thy business.”

The Sub-Prioress hastened on.

Scowling darkly, old Antony bent forward, looking, past Mother
Sub-Prioress, up the cloister to the distant passage.

Sister Mary Seraphine had reached her cell.  The door was shut.

Old Antony’s knees creaked as she arose, but her wizened face was once more cheerful.

“Beans in her broth to-night,” she said.  “One for ‘woman’; another for the hen-yard; a third for threatening penance when I did but chant a melodious ‘Amen.’  I’ll give her beans—­castor beans!”

Down the steps she went, pushed the heavy door to, locked it, and drew forth the key; then turned her steps toward the cell of the Reverend Mother.

On her way thither, she paused at a certain door and listened, her ear against the oaken panel.  Then she hurried onward, knocked upon the door of the Reverend Mother’s cell and, being bidden to enter, passed within, closed the door behind her, and dropped upon her knees.