Sister Teresa Part 27

"In the novitiate," the Prioress answered.

Evelyn had sunk again into a stupor, and, only half-conscious of what was happening to her, she followed the lay sister out of the Prioress's room.

"It is very late," the Prioress said to herself, "all the lights in the convent should be out; but the rule doesn't apply to me." And she put more coal on the fire, feeling that she must give all her mind to the solution of the question which had arisen--whether Evelyn was to remain with them to-morrow. It had almost been decided, for had she not told Sister Agnes to take Evelyn to the novitiate? But Evelyn might herself wish to leave to-morrow, and if so what inducements, what persuasion, what pressure should be used to keep her? And how far would she be justified in exercising all her influence to keep Evelyn? The Prioress was not quite sure. She sat thinking. Evelyn in her present state of mind could not be thrown out of the convent. The convent was necessary for her salvation in this world and in the next.

"She knows that, and I know it."

The Prioress's thoughts drifted into recollections of long ago; and when she awoke from her reverie it seemed that she must have been dreaming a long while: "too long" she thought; "but I have not thought of these things for many a year.... Evelyn has confessed, her sins are behind her, and it would be so inconvenient--" The Prioress's thoughts faded away; for even to herself she did not like to admit that it would be inconvenient for Evelyn to confess to Father Daly the sins she had committed--if she had committed any.

Perhaps it might be all an aberration, an illusion in the interval between her father's death and her return to the convent. "Her sins have been absolved, and for guidance she will not turn to Father Daly but to me." The Reverend Mother reflected that a man would not be able to help this woman with his advice. She thought of Evelyn's terror, and how she had cried, "I am done for, I am done for!" She remembered the tears upon Evelyn's cheeks and every att.i.tude so explicit of her grief.

"A penitent if ever there was one, one whom we must help, whom we must lead back to G.o.d. Evelyn must remain in the convent. To-morrow we must seek to persuade her. But it will not be difficult." Then, listening to the wind, the Prioress remembered that the convent roof required re-slating. "Who knows? Perhaps what happened may have been divinely ordered to bring her back to us? Who knows? who knows?" She thought of the many other things the convent required: the chapel wanted re-decorating, and they had to spare every penny they could from their food and clothing to buy candles for the altar; another item of expense was the resident chaplain; and when in bed she lay thinking that perhaps to-morrow she would find a way out of the difficulty that had puzzled her so long.

XX

"Yes, dear Mother, if you are willing to keep me I shall be glad to remain. It is good of you. How kind you all are!"

Very little more than that she could be induced to say, relapsing, after a few words, into a sort of stupor or dream, from which very often it was impossible to rouse her; and the Prioress dreaded these long silences, and often asked herself what they could mean, if the cause were a fixed idea... on which she was brooding. Or it might be that Evelyn's mind was fading, receding. If so, the responsibility of keeping her in the convent was considerable. A little time would, however, tell them. Any religious instruction was, of course, out of the question, and books would be fatal to her.

"Her mind requires rest," the Prioress said. "Even her music is a mental excitement."

"I don't think that," Sister Mary John answered. "And as for work, I have been thinking I might teach her a little carpentry. If plain carpentry does not interest her sufficiently, she might learn to work at the lathe."

"Your idea is a very good one, Sister Mary John. Go to her at once and set her to work. It is terrible to think of her sitting brooding, brooding."

"But on what is she brooding, dear Mother?"

"No doubt her father's death was a great shock."

And Sister Mary John went in search of Evelyn, and found her wandering in the garden.

"Of what are you thinking, Sister?" As Evelyn did not answer, Sister Mary John feared she resented the question. "You don't like me to walk with you?"

"Yes I do, I don't mind; but I wonder if the Prioress likes me to be here. Can you find out for me?"

"Why should you think we do not wish to have you here?"

"Well, you see, Sister--oh, it is no use talking." Her thoughts seemed to float away, and it might be five or ten minutes before she would speak again.

"I wish you would come to the woodshed, Sister. If not, I must leave you."

"Oh, I'll go to the woodshed with you."

"And will you help me with my work?"

"I help you with your work!"

There was a long, narrow table in the woodshed--some planks laid upon two tressels; and the walls were piled with all kinds of sawn wood, deal planks, and rough timber, and a great deal of broken furniture and heaps of shavings. The woodshed was so full of rubbish of all kinds that there was only just room enough to walk up and down the table. Sister Mary John was making at that time a frame for cuc.u.mbers, and Evelyn watched her planing the deal boards, especially interested when she pushed the plane down the edge of the board, and a long, narrow shaving curled out of the plane, but asking no questions.

"Now, wouldn't you like to do some work on the other side of the table, Sister?"

Evelyn did not answer, and it was not that day nor the next, but at the end of the week, that she was persuaded to take the pincers and pull the nails out of an old board.

"And when you have done that, I will show you how to plane it."

She seemed to have very little strength--or was it will that she lacked? The pincers often fell from her hands, and she would stand, lost in reverie.

"Now, Sister, you have only pulled two nails out of that board in the last ten minutes; it is really very tiresome of you, and I am waiting for it."

"Do you really mean that you are waiting for this board? Do you want it?"

"But of course; I shouldn't have asked you to draw the nails out of it if I didn't," And it was by such subterfuges that she induced Evelyn to apply herself. "Now, you won't think of anything until you have drawn out every nail, will you? Promise me." Sister Mary John put the pincers into her hand, and when the board was free of nails, it seemed that Evelyn had begun to take an interest in the fate of the board which she had prepared. She came round the table to watch Sister Mary John planing it, and was very sorry when the nun's plane was gapped by a nail which had been forgotten.

"This iron will have to go to the grinders."

"I am so sorry, Sister. Will you forgive me?"

"Yes, I'll forgive you; but you must try to pay attention."

When the cuc.u.mber-frame was finished Sister Mary John was busy making some kitchen chairs, and the cutting out of the chair-backs moved Evelyn's curiosity.

"Shall you really be able to make a chair that one can sit upon?"

"I hope so."

"Have you ever made one before?"

"Well, no, this is my first chair, but I made several stools."

The mystery of dovetailing was explained to Evelyn, and she learned that glue was required.

"Now you may, if you like, melt the glue for me."

There was a stove in the adjoining shed, and Sister Mary John lighted a fire and told Evelyn that she was to keep stirring the glue. "And be sure not to let it burn." But when she came back twenty minutes after, she found that Evelyn had wandered away from the stove to the farther end of the shed to watch a large spider.

"Oh, Sister, just look at the spider! There is a fly in the web; see how he comes out to seize his prey!"

"But, my goodness, Evelyn! what about my glue? There it is, all burnt in the pot, and I shall have to take it to the kitchen and get hot water and sc.r.a.pe it all out. It is really very tiresome of you."

When she returned with the glue, Evelyn said:

"You see, Sister, it is difficult to fix one's thoughts on a glue-pot; the glue melts so slowly, and, watching the spider, I lost count of the time. But I think I should like to saw something."

"That's a very good idea."

A saw was put into her hand, and half an hour after the sister came to see how Evelyn had been getting on. "Why, you will be a first-rate carpenter; you have sawn those boards capitally, wandering a little from the line, it is true, but you will do better to-morrow."