She looked up gratefully, and murmured her thanks, and then the
evening meal was brought in, and she sat up to partake of it on the
seat of the window looking out on the Cathedral spire. It was a milk
posset far more nicely flavoured than what she had been used to at
Amesbury, where, in spite of the Countess's kindness, the master cook
had grown tired of any special service for the Dacre wench; and
unless Margaret of York secured fruit for her, she was apt to be
regaled with only the scraps that Maudlin managed to cater for her
after the meals were over.
After that, Sister Avice gently undressed her, took care that she
said her prayers, and sat by her till she fell asleep, herself
telling her that she should sleep beside her, and that she would hear
the voices of the sisters singing in the chapel their matins and
lauds. Grisell did hear them, as in a dream, but she had not slept
so well since her disaster as she slept on that night.
CHAPTER V--SISTER AVICE
Love, to her ear, was but a name
Combined with vanity and shame;
Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all
Bounded within the cloister wall.
SCOTT, Marmion.
Sister Avice sat in the infirmary, diligently picking the leaves off
a large mass of wood-sorrel which had been brought to her by the
children around, to make therewith a conserve.
Grisell lay on her couch. She had been dressed, and had knelt at the
window, where the curtain was drawn back while mass was said by the
Chaplain, the nuns kneeling in their order and making their
responses.
Pages:
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46