Elizabeth G. Jordan

“ This life, so dear to her and to others, lay in her hands—and for the first time in her experience she shrank from the responsibility. She felt suddenly cold, and held her hand to the blaze. It shook visibly. Dr. Van Nest sprang to her feet with an exclamation of anger.
"Fool that I am," she said. "I am letting myself go to pieces. I shall be in fine condition for to-morrow's work." Her eyes filled with sudden, rare tears. "She is the only being I love," she breathed, "and I am going to lose her. First, Sister Estelle. ”

“ She was about to speak when the soft tones of an organ rolled through the open chapel windows, in a few chords, struck by a strong hand. Then a voice, deep, rich, and powerful, floated out to them in the notes of an "Ave Maria" they both knew and loved. The invalid's face paled as she listened, and her drooping form straightened.
"Did you know that?" she asked, suddenly. "Did you know that Sister Raymond is to take my place in the choir?"
"Only for a little while," Sister George said, hastily. "Only until you grow well and strong."
"Until I grow well and strong," the other repeated, slowly. ”

“ Why should she leave the father and mother whose only child she was, whose love for her and pride in her were so great, whose willingness to help her in good works in the world was so sincere? Surely they were right in feeling that there was much to be done outside the cloister walls—poverty to be lightened, suffering to be relieved, a good example to be set to those of her own circle whose thoughts were exclusively on worldly things. She did not wish to set herself up as a model, yet perhaps she could show them that life was something more than the gay measure they thought it. ”

“ A puzzling feature of the Imp's case was her entire lack of human affection. Not one pupil, not one Sister, had ever touched the stormy heart of Mercedes Centi. Other little girls went about with their arms around each other's waists and wrote notes to each other, and then quarrelled and sat for hours in a stricken grief that all might see. Every little girl had some favorite nun on whose desk she laid her offering whenever a box came from home, and whom she followed about as constantly and as devotedly as circumstances and the Sister would permit. ”

“ When the human soul was taxed beyond its powers something divine entered in and helped it. She was no mere atom whirling through space, to exist for a little time and perish. Behind the mystery of life was some benign power—she did not know what, but she was satisfied. In these dark hours of her life it had given her this proof that it existed. She could safely trust herself to it. She looked up into Effingham's eyes with a sudden light in hers which gladdened him.
"Your friend can help me," she said, "and he shall—more than any one else in the whole world. ”

“ Outside, the storm, gaining hourly in fury, hurled great masses of snow against the window-panes. The short winter afternoon was coming to an end, and heavy shadows were already forming in the corners of the music-room. The great singer sang on, adapting her selections to the silent auditor before her; and the nun listened with no thought of time or place or person, with consciousness of nothing in the world except the marvellous art, the glorious voice of the woman, this idol of thousands, who had turned from them all for a little time to sing to her alone. ”

“ The chapel was full of the stifled sobs of those who watched the scene. The novices were dead—buried beneath that sombre pall, to rise inhabitants of another world. Sister Patience closed her eyes, and the thought came again and again. It ate into her brain. The music seemed to stop. She no longer felt the warmth of the bodies lying near her. Her face rested against the cold chapel floor, and on the background of the scene through which she was passing memory suddenly brought up her past life, like vivid pictures thrown on a screen. ”

“ Yet she felt, too, strangely buoyant without the support she had expected.
"Why not?" asked the nun, gently. "Am I not human? Should I, because I am happy here, urge you to a life of loneliness outside? For some day, dear little girl, when youth is gone and your parents are dead and your friends have fallen away, life in that big, hungry world would be terrible. Then you might carry into your old age a regret for what you have missed, and regret is a bitter companion for one's declining days."
Alice Twombly listened in silence. ”

“ It was plain to all of us that Sister Chrysostom had not stepped right out of a class-room into a nun's habit, as so many of the Sisters had. She had seen life. She was really a woman of the world. She understood human nature—and we could see that our point of view amused her.
In the convent, of course, the greenest girls put on airs, in a way, over the nuns. The least experienced feels that she has more worldly wisdom than the Sisters, and usually she is right. The day pupils live at home and have their evenings for amusement, not to speak of their Saturdays and Sundays. ”

“ Your letters and your love have made me what I am. In every crisis of my life you have been with me; I could not have met them without you. I have come to you always, and you have never failed me. How can I live on alone?"
The sick woman looked at her with wet eyes. "Listen to me, my little girl," she said. "This may not be so great a separation as you think. The memory of me will always be with you, and you know whether I shall forget you when I am with God. You know how I would have you act. ”

“ Sister Edgar had not been kept out of the school-room, for the reason that she had gently protested against remaining away from it. She found teaching the girls—so many of whom she loved—a distraction from haunting thoughts which were as new as they were terrible. In the shadow of death, life had suddenly grown attractive. She did not analyze this, even to herself, and she gave no outward sign of lack of peace; but Sister George, who had known and loved her in the world as well as in the convent, knew that she was not as indifferent as she seemed. ”

“ To be projected into the world through no volition of one's own; to be danced about like a puppet on a string; to have the body to which one is tied seized by disease, and to bee forced to watch one's own decay, helpless to arrest or avert it—that was a horror before which the soul itself must shrink.
Her strong soul was appalled by the prospect. Many had leaned on it in the course of her young life, whose brightness had not made her heedless of the gloom in which some have to walk. Her strength had never failed them ”

“ Her friends laughed at the light words, but no one could deny that Miss Randolph wore the cross faithfully during the summer following her graduation. Like many convent girls, she found it very hard to keep away from the institution which had sheltered her for years. She felt homesick for it, and the intervals between her frequent visits were weeks to be lived through in the thought of the open cloister doors that lay at the end of them. After this restful, lazy summer she meant to work and win her place in the world. ”

“ When she took her rare walks down the long halls or through the garden paths, her gentle smile was unfailingly given to every pupil she met, but few of the girls could boast of the honor of a word from her. Universally loved and venerated though she was, Saint Ernesta's aloofness from the community was almost as marked as that of the Imp, though from so different a cause. So, when she one day stopped and spoke to the latter in the garden, even the Imp was conscious of the greatness of the moment and of a swelling of the chest. ”

“ She was responding to a unique inspiration, and in this bare convent room, with a black-veiled nun held in absolute possession by her voice, she gave herself to her singing with no husbanding of force. It was a new and thrilling triumph. Little Ernestine was placidly sleeping in her corner, but her one listener was affording the famous singer such appreciation as she never had from audience before. She could feel the soul of the woman set apart from the world quiver under the tones with which she charged it. ”

“ She must remain a lie until the end—a nun mistaken in her vocation, with no love for it in her heart, yet respected by her associates and pupils for the qualities she had not. She was an impostor! Nature or God, or both, had shown it to her here, in the sanctuary she was profaning by her vows.
Above her the music throbbed tremulously. A single voice, Sister Cecilia's, took up the organ's refrain and carried it forward with a suggestion of triumph in the rich tones. Her face was raised to the arched dome of the chapel, and in her pure eyes burned the light of religious exaltation. ”

“ Making love he certainly was. At the first glimpse of the austere face of the nun, whose eyes were the only eyes that looked at him coldly, whose lips were the only ones that did not curve into smiles under his, the baby started for her as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. Through the convent corridors and along the garden walks he pursued her, his curls standing on end with joyful excitement, his six teeth shining, his voice cooing appeals to her to "wait for Fweddie." ”

“ Comprehension dawned on the doctor's face. "Oh, you have heard from your father or sister, after all," he said, more briskly and with an air of relief. "They said they would not write, as I was to tell you personally. But I see they have given you minute details."
"No one has written," said the novice, simply. "I have not heard one word." She was very erect, and her pure tones had the throbbing quality of a cello string.
"I saw it all—the whole scene—as I knelt before the altar in our chapel, where I had been praying God for strength to do my duty here. He gave it—and more. ”

“ It was a simple matter for the girl with no home influences or close ties to drift into the "bohemian" set—so unique and interesting to her convent eyes. She went with these new friends to New York's music-halls, to its cheap table-d'hôte restaurants, even to French balls and the slums, and felt that she was seeing life. Men and women sometimes looked at her pure face and wondered over its contrast with the rather sophisticated ones around her. Once an elderly woman with white hair and "mother eyes" took it upon herself to give a little advice to the girl with the gold cross at her neck. ”

“ Sister Estelle did not approve of tears even when shed in such circumstances as these and by the pupil of her heart.
"How can I get up there and read to them," Elizabeth asked, "with our parting before me? You will help me, I know; tell me that I must do it, and that I shall do it well."
The nun smiled serenely. "Assuredly you will do it well, my dear," she said, almost lightly. "We cannot have you fail at this of all times. You will do justice to yourself and to us." ”

“ I turned and looked at Grace; her cheeks were wet, too. Then we heard a short laugh, and we both glanced up. The girl in the blond wig had drawn herself out of Sister Chrysostom's arms and stood looking at her with a queer smile.
"Well, Helen!" she said, in the most off-hand way imaginable. "What on earth brings you here? Have you shaken the convent? I always thought you would if you got a chance. There isn't much convent fever in our blood!"
She picked up the paint she had been using and got in front of the mirror again. "Who're your friends?" ”

“ He has made her feel as if the world were slipping under her feet. The only thing that may save her—the knife. My work must stop, my friends must stand by helplessly. Even Jack can do nothing for me —dear Jack, who would do anything. ..."
The objects in the room grew suddenly dim. She sank deeper into the big chair that held her, while despair, sudden and unreasoning, filled her soul. The question which has so often come to men and women in agony, through all time, rose in her. ”

“ The voice that had been so beautiful broke a little. Sister George did not speak. Sister Edgar waited a moment for the words that failed to come, and understood the feeling under her friend's silence. The sympathy so deep, though unexpressed, wrung her soul to an outburst that startled the repressed woman before her.
"I have known the truth for a long time," she hurried on, speaking, even in these moments of agitation, with the preciseness of the cloister inmates. "I am afraid I have rebelled against it. I am still young, and my work is not done. Life is sweet and peaceful here. ”

“ For Miss Twombly was taking herself very seriously, which, perhaps, was due in part to her extreme youth and in part to a lack of the saving grace of humor.
After a year or two had passed, however, she found herself doing with eager hands and a lighter heart the work around her. They had been right—those friends who advised her when she was graduated. The great world held infinite opportunities for a woman with health, youth, charity, and wealth. It was worth while, this chosen career of hers, broken into though it was by the demands of that other social life which must be lived as well. ”

“ There was a strong draught in the tower, and the feeble flame flickered perilously. Her wrapper caught under her feet as she toiled up the narrow, crooked stairs, and it seemed to her that the sleeping nuns, in their distant wing of the building, must hear the creak of the old boards under even her light weight. But she kept on until she reached the top. There, still clinging to her precious candle with her left hand, she seized the bell-rope in her right. In another moment the solemn clang of the great bell filled every corner of the silent building. ”

“ Mary's it seemed to her like stepping out of the marching ranks of a great army into the cool shade of a way-side chapel. Life during the two years between her graduation and this return to the convent as a candidate for the veil had been bearing her forward too swiftly. She felt breathless from its rush, panic-stricken from the sense of pressure on all sides, horrified by the contrast between the feverish turmoil of living "out in the world" and the restful serenity of life within the cloister walls. Above and beyond all, a great loneliness had oppressed her in the world. ”

“ Within a stone's throw was life at its greatest pressure—life with its twentieth-century strain and sin and suffering. Here were quiet and peace. There was repose in the dim chapel, in the long, silent corridors, in the rooms where the inmates worked and prayed, in the vaults below these, where many of their predecessors slept their last sleep. The reflection of this peace was in the serene faces of the nuns who strolled along the walks, their slight figures outlined by their severely simple black habits, and their heads innocently erect under their flowing veils. ”