The Prioress stood beside the casement, gazing at the golden glory of the sunset.  She was, for the moment, unconscious of her surroundings.  Her mind was away behind those crimson battlements.

Presently she turned and saw the old woman, kneeling at the door.

“How now, dear Antony?” she said, kindly.  “Get up!  Hang the key in its appointed place, and make me thy report.  Have all returned?  As always, is all well?”

The old lay-sister rose, hung the massive key upon a nail; then came to the feet of the Prioress, and knelt again.

“Reverend Mother,” she said, “all who went forth have returned.  But all is not well.  Sister Mary Seraphine is uttering wild cries in her cell; and much I fear me, Mother Sub-Prioress may pass by, and hear her.”

The face of the Prioress grew stern and sad; yet, withal, tender.  She raised the lay-sister, and gently patted the old hands which trembled.

“Go thy ways, dear Antony,” she said.  “I myself will visit the little Sister in her cell.  None will attempt to enter while I am there.”

CHAPTER IV

“Give me tenderness,” She said

The Prioress knelt before a marble group of the Virgin and Child, placed where the rays of evening sunshine, entering through the western casement, played over its white beauty, shedding a radiance on the pure face of the Madonna, and a halo of golden glory around the Infant Christ.

“Mother of God,” prayed the Prioress, with folded hands, “give me patience in dealing with wilfulness; grant me wisdom to cope with unreason; may it be given me to share the pain of this heart in torment, even as—­when thou didst witness the sufferings of thy dear Son, our Lord, on Calvary—­a sword pierced through thine own soul also.

“Give me this gift of sympathy with suffering, though the cross be not mine own, but another’s.

“But give me firmness and authority:  even as when thou didst say to the servants at Cana:  ‘Whatsoever He saith unto you, do it.’”

The Prioress waited, with bowed head.

Then, of a sudden she put forth her hand, and touched the marble foot of the Babe.

“Give me tenderness,” she said.

CHAPTER V

THE WAYWARD NUN

Sister Mary Seraphine lay prone upon the floor of her cell.

Tightly clenched in her hands were fragments of her torn veil.

She beat her knuckles upon the stones with rhythmic regularity; then, when her arms would lift no longer, took up the measure with her toes, in wild imitation of a galloping horse.

As she lay, she repeated with monotonous reiteration:  “Trappings of crimson, and silver bells:  mane and tail, like foam of the waves; a palfrey as white as snow!”

The Prioress entered, closed the door behind her, and looked searchingly at the prostrate figure; then, lifting the master-key which hung from her girdle, locked the door on the inside.