LITMIR.BIZ

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by the Holy Father," she added triumphantly. "The little rosary is one that has actually touched the Rock of Lourdes, and I always carry it about for my rheumatism, which is very bad in this damp climate."

      Her twisted hands fumbled at the beads lovingly.

      "As for the spectacle case, it is in the true spirit of poverty that I possess such a thing, since it preserves my spectacles from getting broken. I have had this very pair for fifteen years, without an accident; so that the case is really an economy, since if the spectacles got broken they would have to be replaced. We nuns are not so unpractical as people in the world would like to imagine; we think of these little contrivances."

      "What a good idea!" said Zella, feeling as though she were humouring a child.

      "As for the books, dear, they are not mine at all; they are the Community's, and lent to me by Our Mother. You shall see what we inscribe in all the books we use."

      She opened one shabby little volume, and Zella saw that on the fly-leaf was pencilled in pointed French handwriting:

      "À l'usage de Soeur Jeanne Marie."

      "You see, dear, a nun has nothing at all of her own. I have used this book for twenty years, but, as it is not mine, I can have no inordinate attachment to it."

      "I thought one only had inordinate attachments for people, not for things," said Zella, mindful of her Thomas a Kempis.

      "Oh no, my dear child. Human nature is very weak, and can easily attach itself to trifles. I remember hearing a very sad story when I was a child, that made a great impression on me. It was about a very holy nun, belonging to one of the strictest contemplative Orders, though I can't for the moment remember which one. She had always been a shining light in her Community through her love of obedience and mortification, and when she lay dying the Mother Prioress and all the Sisters expected to be greatly edified, and they all knelt round the bed, praying for her departing soul, and thinking what beautiful dispositions she must be in after such a holy life. Presently, however, they saw that she became very uneasy and was no longer attending to the prayers, and at last she was in such a state of alarm and agitation that her confessor felt she must have something on her conscience. So he bent down and asked her what it was.

      "And, my dear, it is terrible to relate, but that poor dying soul was tormented by a dreadful certainty that something was drawing her down to hell; and the fearful part of it was that she couldn't remember having done a deliberate sin for years and years. Well, her confessor, who was a very wise man, suddenly bethought himself of asking her whether, perhaps, she had not allowed herself to become attached to some material object of which she had the use. And, sure enough, she suddenly remembered a ball of twine that had been given her for some particular purpose, and that she had kept in her cell afterwards because she thought it might prove useful some other time. And she begged and implored that it might be fetched; so they brought it to her, and she was able to give it back to the Prioress with her own hands and ask pardon for her want of detachment, and for the scandal she had given. So then she was able to die in peace, and the Devil was robbed of his prey after all.

      "But that story has always seemed to me a warning of how very easily one can risk one's soul. Just think, my dear, of that little ball of string being able to draw the soul of a religious into hell. It is too terrible."

      Zella was silent, not, as Mère Jeanne doubtless supposed, because she was too deeply impressed by this appalling anecdote to utter a word, but from sheer amazement at a point of view so utterly foreign to her.

      It was impossible to doubt the old nun's absolute sincerity, and the very impression of unyielding conviction which her tones conveyed was almost terrifying to the child brought up in the lax atmosphere of Villetswood.

      She was positively relieved when M&re Jeanne calmly went on:

      "But I am forgetting what I wanted my pencil for. Look, dear, I will mark down for you what I think you can do towards our dear Mother's bouquet. Prayers: We can all say our prayers, you know, and God will accept them as they are meant."

      Her tone conveyed an impression of broad-mindedness on the part of the Deity expressly expended for Zella's benefit.

      "Hours of Silence, of course, you can also offer up. Do you understand what that means?"

      "Not quite. We have so many hours of silence, it seems to me," replied Zella.

      "Pauvre chou! You are not used to it yet." "But does it mean that I have to do extra ones?" faltered Zella.

      The old nun burst out laughing.

      "No, no, my child! I do not ask you to spend your recreation in silence, for instance, nor to wake up in the middle of the night in order to remain silent for an hour. But use those opportunities, of which, as you say, you have so many. Spend your study hour in perfect silence, for instance, and offer it up for our dear Mother."

      "I don't quite see how it will do her good."

      "If you offer the merit of your good action for her, it will be so much spiritual gain for her. Do you understand, petite?"

      "Yes," said Zella, who, never having heard the word "merit" used in this connection, was, if possible, .more utterly at a loss than before.

      "That is well. Then we come to Acts of Mortification, which I need not explain, need I?"

      "Oh no!" replied Zella readily, and with distinct recollection of saints who lashed themselves with thongs, slept on hard boards, existed for days without food, and the like.

      "There, then, my dear child, you can quite feel that you are contributing with the others towards our Mother's Feast, and you may be sure that she will be glad to hear how much you wished it. There is the bell for Office, and I must go quickly. I shall not forget to say a special little prayer for you."

      She patted Zella kindly on the head and hurried away, her lips moving even as she went, in earnest supplications for the conversion of the little Protestant who already showed such good dispositions.

      Zella felt strangely disturbed as she reviewed the conversation, and wondered if she should ever come to feel anything with the absolute fervour of conviction which Mere Jeanne brought to bear upon the smallest as well as the greatest detail of her far-reaching and incredibly intricate creed.

      She thought the old nun childish and superstitious, but she also felt a passionate and oddly unchildlike envy of her powers of belief, even while holding herself enormously superior to the whole tangle of pious catchwords and superstitious practices of which she supposed the Catholic religion to consist.

      It was this sense of her superiority to her surroundings that led Zella into one of the many errors of her convent days. She determined to prove to the beholders in general that she could, if she chose, and in spite of what they all appeared to consider as the disadvantage of being a Protestant, beat them on their own ground.

      Shortly before Reverend Mother's Feast she appeared one evening at Mother Veronica's recreation with a contracted brow and limping perceptibly.

      So fierce a discussion was raging on the relative merits of St. Peter and St. Mary Magdalene, always rival favourites, that Zella, to her annoyance, remained unnoticed for some little while. At last, however, after she had drawn in her breath with a sharp hiss of apprehension as a younger child brushed against her in running past, she heard the expected inquiry:

      "What have you done to your foot, Zella?"

      "Oh, nothing," she said hurriedly; " I mean, it doesn't really matter."

      "Have you hurt yourself, dear?" inquired Mother Veronica unemotionally.

      "Not—not exactly," said Zella, with artistic hesitation. "Please don't ask me about it now, Mother."

      "But is anyone looking after it? Have you been to the infirmary?"

      "Oh, no. I'd rather not have a fuss, please," earnestly begged Zella, doing her best to create one by the emphasis and confusion of her manner..

      "Nonsense," briskly returned Mother Veronica, "of course it must be attended to. I see you are limping. Now

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