Sister Teresa — Chapter 16

London: T. Fisher Unwin, 8 July 1901, pages 91-93, 819 words

XVI

And the idea of a bell sounding across the evening landscape was in the mind of the congregation when Sister Mary John played the octave; and the broken chords she played with her right hand awoke a sensation of lights dying behind distant hills.

It is almost night, and amid a lonely landscape a harsh rock appears, and by it a forlorn woman stands — a woman who is without friend or any mortal hope — and she commends herself to the care of the Virgin. She begins to sing softly, tremulous like one in pain and doubt, 'Ave Maria, hearken to the Virgin’s cry.' The melody she sings is rich, even ornate, but the richness of the phrase with its two little grace notes does not mitigate the sorrow at the core; the rich garb in which the idea is clothed does not rob the song of its humanity.

Evelyn’s voice filled with the beauty of the melody, and she sang the phrase which closes the stanza, a phrase which dances like a puff of wind in an evening bough, so tenderly, so lovingly, that acute tears trembled under the eyelids. And all her soul was in her voice when she sang the phrase of passionate faith which the lonely, disheartened woman sings, looking up from the desert rock. Then her voice sank into the calm beauty of the Ave Maria, now given with confidence in the Virgin’s intercession, and the broken chords passed down the keyboard, uniting with the last note of the solemn octaves, which had sounded through the song like bells heard across an evening landscape.

'How beautifully she sings it,' a man said out loud, and his neighbour looked and wondered, for the man’s eyes were full of tears.

‘You have a beautiful voice, child,' said the old nun, when they came out of church, 'and it is a real pleasure to me to hear you sing, and to know that for the future your great gift will be devoted to the service of God. Shall we go into the garden for a little walk before supper? We shall have it to ourselves, and the air will do you good.’

It was the month of June, and the convent garden was in all the colour of its summer — crimson and pink; and all the scents of the month, stocks and sweetbriar, were blown up from St Peter’s Walk. In the long mixed borders the blue larkspurs stood erect between Canterbury bells, and the bushy peonies, crimson and pink, and, over all, the great vagrant poppies showered their gay petals. Roses, like pale porcelain, clustered along the low terraced walk and up the house itself, over the stucco walls; but more beautiful than the roses, were the delicate petals of the clematis stretched out like fingers upon the walls.

An old nun was being wheeled up and down the terrace in a chair by one of the lay Sisters, that she might enjoy the sweet air.

‘I must introduce you to Sister Lawrence,' the Prioress said, ‘she will never forgive me if I don’t. She is the eldest member of our community; if she lives another two years she will complete half a century of convent life,'

As they drew near Evelyn saw two black eyes in a white, almost fleshless face. The eyes alone seemed to live, and the shrunken figure, huddled in many shawls, gave an impression of patriarchal age. Evelyn saw by her veil that Sister Lawrence was a lay Sister, and the old nun tried to draw herself up in her chair as they approached, and kissed the hand of the Prioress.

'Well, Sister, how are you feeling? I have brought you our new musical postulant to look at. I want to know what you think of her. You must know, Evelyn,’ said the Prioress, ‘that Sister Lawrence is a great judge of people's vocations; I always consult her about my new postulants.’

Sister Lawrence took Evelyn's hands between hers, and gazed into her face so earnestly that Evelyn feared her innermost thoughts were being read. Then with a little touch of wilfulness, that came oddly from one so old and venerable, the Sister said, —         , .

'Well, Reverend Mother, she is pretty, anyhow, and it is a long time since we had a pretty postulant.’

'Really, Lawrence, I am ashamed of you,’ said the Prioress with playful severity; 'Sister Evelyn will be quite disedified.’

‘Mother, if I like them to be pretty it is only because they have one more gift to bring to the feet of our dear Lord. I see in Sister Evelyn’s face that she has a vocation. I believe she is the providence that God has sent to help us through our difficulties.’

‘We’re all praying,' said the Prioress, that it may be so.’