The King's Daughters Part 32

"Has the sun turned thy wits out o' door?"

"The sun did nought to me, mother. It was Bessie's face that I could not bear. Bessie's face, that I knew so well--the face that had lain beside me on this pillow over and over again--and that smile upon her lips, as if she were half in Heaven already--Mother it was dreadful! I felt as if the last day were come, and the angels were shutting me out."

"Hush thee, child, hush thee! 'Tis not safe to speak such things.

Heretics go to the ill place, as thou very well wist."

"Names don't matter, do they, Mother? It is truth that signifies.

Whatever names they please to call Bessie Foulkes, she had Heaven and not h.e.l.l in her face. That smile of hers never came from Satan. I know what his smiles are like: I've seen them on other faces afore now. He never had nought to do with her."

"Amy, if thy father hears thee say such words as those, he'll be proper angry, be sure!"

Amy sat up on the bed.

"Mother, you know that Bessie Foulkes loved G.o.d, and feared Him, and cared to please Him, as you and I never did in all our lives. Do folks that love G.o.d go to Satan? Does He punish people because they want to please Him? I know little enough about it, alack-the-day! but if an angel came from Heaven to tell me Bessie wasn't there this minute, I could not believe him."

"Well, well! think what you will, child, only don't say it! I've nothing against Bess being in Heaven, not I! I hope she may be, poor la.s.s. But thou knowest thy father's right set against it all, and the priests too; and, Amy, I don't want to see _thee_ on the waste by Lexden Road. Just hold thy tongue, wilt thou? or thou'lt find thyself in the wrong box afore long."

"Mother, I don't think Bessie Foulkes is sorry for what happened this morning."

"Maybe not, but do hold thy peace!"

"I can hold my peace if you bid me, Mother. I've not been a good girl, but I mean to try and be better. I don't feel as if I should ever care again for the gewgaws and the merrymakings that I used to think all the world of. It's like as if I'd had a glimpse into Heaven as she went in, and the world had lost its savour. But don't be feared, Mother; I'll not vex you, nor Father neither, if you don't wish me to talk. Only-- n.o.body 'll keep me from trying to go after Bessie!"

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

DOROTHY TAKES A MESSAGE.

"Now then, attend, can't you? How much sugar?"

"Please, Sister Mary, my head does ache so!"

"No excuses, Cicely! Answer at once."

A long sobbing sigh preceded the words--"Half a pound."

"Now get to your sewing. Cicely, I must be obeyed; and you are a right perverse child as one might look for with the training you have had.

Let me hear no more about headache: it's nothing but nonsense."

"But my head does ache dreadfully, Sister."

"Well, it is your own fault, if it do. Two mortal hours were you crying last night,--the stars know what for!"

"It was because I didn't hear nothing about Father," said poor Cissy sorrowfully. "Mistress Wade promised she--"

"Mistress Wade--who is that?"

"Please, she's the hostess of the King's Head: and she said she would let me know when--"

"When what?"

"When Father couldn't have any pain ever any more."

"Do you mean that you wish to hear your Father is dead, you wicked child?"

Cissy looked up wearily into the nun's face. "He's in pain now," she said; "for he is waiting, and knows he will have more. But when it has come, he will have no more, never, but will live with G.o.d and be happy for ever and ever. I want to know that Father's happy."

"How can these wicked heretics fall into such delusions?" said Sister Mary, looking across the room at Sister Joan, who shook her head in a way which seemed to say that there was no setting any bounds to the delusions of heretics. "Foolish child, thy father is a bad man, and bad men do not go to Heaven."

"Father's not a bad man," said Cissy, not angrily, but in a tone of calm persuasion that nothing would shake. "I cry you mercy, Sister Mary, but you don't know him, and somebody has told you wrong. Father's good, and loves G.o.d; and people are not bad when they love G.o.d and do what He says to them. You're mistaken, please, Sister."

"But thy father does not obey G.o.d, child, because he does not obey the Church."

"Please, I don't know anything about the Church. Father obeys the Bible, and that is G.o.d's own Word which He spoke Himself. The Church can't be any better than that."

"The Church, for thee, is the priest, who will tell thee how to please G.o.d and the Holy Mother, if thou wilt hearken."

"But the priest's a man, Sister: and G.o.d's Book is a great deal better than that."

"The priest is in G.o.d's stead, and conveys His commands."

"But I've got the commands, Sister Mary, in the Book; and G.o.d hasn't written a new one, has He?"

"Silly child! the Church is above any Book."

"Oh no, it can't be, Sister, please. What Father bade me do his own self must be better than what other people bid me; and so what G.o.d says in His own Book must be better than what other people say, and the Church is only people."

"Cicely, be silent! Thou art a very silly, perverse child."

"I dare say I am, Sister, but I am sure that's true."

Sister Joan was on the point of bidding Cissy hold her tongue in a still more authoritative manner, when one of the lay Sisters entered the room, to say that a woman asked permission to speak with one of the teaching Sisters.

"What is her name?"

"She says her name is Denny."

"Denny! I know n.o.body of that name."

"Oh, please, is her name Dorothy?" asked Cissy, eagerly. "If it's Dorothy Denny, Mrs Wade has sent her--she's Mrs Wade's servant. Oh, do let me--"

"Silence!" said Sister Mary. "I will go and speak with the woman."

She found in the guest-chamber a woman of about thirty, who stood dropping courtesies as if she were very uncomfortable.

Very uncomfortable Dorothy Denny was. She did not know what "nervous"

meant, but she was exceedingly nervous for all that. In the first place, she felt extremely doubtful whether if she trusted herself inside a convent, she would ever have a chance of getting out again; and in the second she was deeply concerned about several things, of which one was Cissy.