Sister Teresa — Chapter 25

London: T. Fisher Unwin, 8 July 1901, pages 140-142, 668 words

XXV

The door opened and Mother Hilda came in, and, after a few words, Louise asked if they might go into the garden. Mother Hilda assented readily, and, as they walked down the terrace, they stopped to listen to the nuns who were singing in the library. Louise spoke of a school, of the advantages of the situation.

'And what an inducement,' she said, 'for mothers to send their children to you. Where could girls learn singing as they could here?’

Mother Hilda did not perceive that Louise’s remark was intended to be satirical, and she explained that they could not have a school without altering the rule of the order. Louise regretted that this was so, and spoke of the convent where she had been educated. Mother Hilda knew the convent and several of the nuns, and they were soon talking of their friends, of their tempers, their ailments and their amiabilities. Sister So-and-So was dead, Mother So-and-So was getting very old. Evelyn knew none of them, and her thoughts turned to Louise, and the annoyance this visit caused her seemed out of proportion. She had wished this day to pass in meditation, and her meditations had been interrupted for no good reason, to argue about matters which this day had settled for ever. She did not wish to think unkindly of Louise, but she hoped she would not come to see her again. Visits are only agreeable when they are prompted by the desire for mutual benefit and when they are an exchange of mutual ideas. What benefit had come to her or to Louise by this visit? They had not a thought in common, and once all their thoughts had been common. She had lived with this woman, she had sung with her, they had travelled together, and now Louise was merely a faded recollection, a something that had once been.

By this time Mother Hilda and Louise had exhausted their memories of the French convent, and the conversation had begun to flag, and Evelyn wondered what would happen next. At that moment the porteress appeared — she had come to say that the Prioress would be glad to speak with Mother Hilda. Evelyn and Louise walked on, and they spoke of Mother Hilda, without feeling any interest in what they were saying, until they came to the fish-ponds; then to keep the conversation from falling Evelyn had to tell Louise how tame the fish were. Louise began to sing the song of the Rhine Maidens. Evelyn joined her for a few bars and then Louise asked her to throw away the ring.

‘What ring, dear?’?

'The ring that was put on your finger to-day.’

'No ring was put on my finger. I shall not get the ring till I am professed. That will be in a year from now.’

'Evelyn, let me implore you.’

'But, my dear Louise, if I am happier here than I was in the world I had better remain here.’

‘The nuns only want your money. When you have given them your money you will be unhappy.’

'These women are my dearest friends. It is painful to me to hear them spoken of in this way.’

A slight mist was rising, a thin moon floated like a pale feather in the sky, and the convent roofs were clear in the luminous air. A nun had come with a message to Evelyn, and she said, —

'Now I must say good-bye.’

'Shall I not see you again, Evelyn? Have we nothing in common any more? Have we faded from each other? I cannot tell you how indescribably sad it seems to me.’

'Only because you put all your faith into the things of this world, which are passing. But I shall pray for you, Louise; I shall always remember you in my prayers.’

'Only in your prayers, Evelyn?’

'My name is no longer Evelyn. I am Sister Teresa.’