And when the holy rite was over, she had
vanished away."
"And that is she, with the lamp in her hand? Oh, I should have been
afraid!" cried Grisell.
"Not of the holy soul?" said the sister.
"Oh! I hope she will never come in here, by the little window into
the church," cried Grisell trembling.
Indeed, for some time, in spite of all Sister Avice could say,
Grisell could not at night be free from the fear of a visit from St.
Edith, who, as she was told, slept her long sleep in the church
below. It may be feared that one chief reliance was on the fact that
she could not be holy enough for a vision of the Saint, but this was
not so valuable to her as the touch of Sister Avice's kind hand, or
the very knowing her present.
That story was the prelude to many more. Grisell wanted to hear it
over again, and then who was the Archbishop martyr, and who were the
Virgins in memory of whom the lamps were carried. Both these, and
many another history, parable, or legend were told her by Sister
Avice, training her soul, throughout the long recovery, which was
still very slow, but was becoming more confirmed every day. Grisell
could use her eye, turn her head, and the wounds closed healthily
under the sister's treatment without showing symptoms of breaking out
afresh; and she grew in strength likewise, first taking a walk in the
trim garden and orchard, and by and by being pronounced able to join
the other girl scholars of the convent.
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