The Argosy — page 132: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A Romance of the Cloister. II7 « smallest church wears a festive look. Whilst the convents are deco- rated from end to end with garlands and enormous bouquets are placed under each image or portrait of Mary, it is on the chapels attached that the nuns now expend all their energies. The Carmel- ites of St. Aubin were celebrated for such shows, and’ from the first of May to the first of June the village folk flocked to their services. On the eve of final preparation, just five years ago, a blue-bloused carpenter was still hammering away in the deserted interior, adding fresh-gathered exotics to the festoons adorning ‘the high altar. At the foot of his ladder stood two nuns, who handed him camel- lias and magnolias from time to time, giving directions. The pure spring twilight gradually faded, one basket of flowers was emptied after another, but the work went on. ‘‘We need not wait any longer,” at last said the elder of the two sisters wearily. ‘‘ You quite understand what is to be done,” she added, addressing herself to the workman. “Quite, my sister,” was the alert reply. He also was wearied, that poor carpenter ; he had been at work since five o’clock in the morn- ing and now longed to be rid of his monitresses in order to enjoy just a tiny cigarette under the organ-loft. The pair of homely, florid, not discontented-looking women bustled off. ‘They were lay sisters—that is to say, they were bound by no final vows—on whom, with others under the Superior’s orders, devolved the domestic concerns of the convent. But the workman had hardly glanced round to assure himself that he was alone, when there crept forth from some hiding-place a timid, cowering creature whose features he could not distinguish in the gathering gloom. Only a woman’s voice at once betrayed the intruder and her errand. With a whispered word or two, no more, he was suddenly transported from his careless mood into a world of acutest suffering. A small, weak woman’s world, it is true, but none the less real and moving. It was as if some poor hunted animal had found him out and was trying to make known a horrible story of persecution and despair. ‘You are young, your face is kind,” cried the suppliant, twining her thin, ice-cold fingers about his own. ‘Save me from dying over and over again before my hour is come, from curses that only blacken my own soul. Oh,” she added with a suppressed wail, ‘‘ this earth was not made for curses! [ am sure of it. God did not create even the worm for suffering.” ‘i She glanced round fearfully, then gasped out under-her breath: ‘It must be to-night; my escape, I mean. Everyone is tired out and will sleep heavily. There is a moon. I can steal at midnight unobserved to the outer wall, by the roadside, just opposite the telegraph post. Place your ladder there, inside our garden; the trees and brushwood will make descent easy. Here is all I possess in the world ; but never fear, my parents will reward you well.” CoORnnicloooks (SO) am