Opposite to her there seemed to be another window
with a curtain drawn across it, through which came what perhaps had
wakened her, a low, clear murmuring tone, pausing and broken by the
full, sweet, if rather shrill response in women's voices. Beneath
that window was a little altar, with a crucifix and two candlesticks,
a holy-water stoup by the side, and there was above the little deep
window a carving of the Blessed Virgin with the Holy Child, on either
side a niche, one with a figure of a nun holding a taper, the other
of a bishop with a book.
Grisell might have begun crying again at finding herself alone, but
the sweet chanting lulled her, and she lay back on her pillows, half
dozing but quite content, except that the wound on her neck felt
stiff and dry; and by and by when the chanting ceased, the kind nun,
with a lay sister, came back again carrying water and other
appliances, at sight of which Grisell shuddered, for Master Miles
never touched her without putting her to pain.
"Benedicite, my little maid, thou art awake," said Sister Avice. "I
thought thou wouldst sleep till the vespers were ended. Now let us
dress these sad wounds of thine, and thou shalt sleep again."
Grisell submitted, as she knew she must, but to her surprise Sister
Avice's touch was as soft and soothing as were her words, and the
ointment she applied was fragrant and delicious and did not burn or
hurt her.
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