The recreation-bell rang, and the novices clattered down the stairs of the novitiate, their childish eagerness rousing Evelyn from the mild stupor which still seemed to hang about her mind; and she smiled at the novices and at herself, for suddenly it had all begun to seem to her like a scene in a play, herself going to take the white veil and to become a nun, at all events, for a while.  “Now, how is all this to end?” she asked herself.  “But what does it matter?” Clouds seemed to envelop her mind again, and she acquiesced when the Prioress said: 

“I think your retreat had better begin to-day.”

“When, Mother?”

“Well, from this moment.”

“If Teresa will come into the garden with me,” said Mother Hilda.

It was impossible for the Prioress to say no, and a slaty blush of anger came into her cheek.  “Hilda will do all she can to prevent her.”  Nor was the Prioress wholly wrong in her surmise, for they had not walked very far before Evelyn admitted that the idea of the white veil frightened her a great deal.

“Frightens you, my dear child?”

“But if I had a vocation I should not feel frightened.  Isn’t that so, Mother Hilda?”

“I shouldn’t like to say that, Teresa.  One can feel frightened and yet desire a thing very much; desire and fear are not incompatible.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, and she appealed to Mother Hilda, saying: 

“Dear Mother, I don’t know why I am crying, but I am very unhappy.  There is no reason why I should be, for here I am safe.”

“Will she ever recover her mind sufficiently to know what she is doing?” Mother Hilda asked herself.

“It is always,” Evelyn said, “as if I were trying to escape from something.”  Mother Hilda pressed her to explain.  “I cannot explain myself better than by telling that it is as if the house were burning behind me, and I were trying to get away.”

That evening Mother Hilda consulted the Prioress, telling her of Evelyn’s tears and confusion.

“But, Hilda, why do you trouble her with questions as to whether she would like to be a nun or not?  As I have said repeatedly, the veil is a great help, and, in a year hence, Teresa will know whether she’d like to join our community.  In the meantime, pray let her be in peace and recover herself.”  The Prioress’s voice was stern.

“Only this, dear Mother—­”

“The mistake you make, Hilda, seems to me to be that you imagine every one turns to religion and to the convent for the same reason, whereas the reasons that bring us to God are widely different.  You are disappointed in Teresa, not because she lacks piety, but because she is not like Jerome or Angela or Veronica, whom we both know very well.  Each seeks her need in religion, and you are not acquainted with Teresa’s, that is all.  Now, Hilda, obedience is the first of all the virtues, and I claim yours in all that regards Teresa.”  Mother Hilda raised her quiet eyes and looked into the Prioress’s face, and then lowered them again.  “We should be lacking in our duty,” the Prioress continued, “if we don’t try to keep her by all legitimate means.  She will receive the white veil at the end of the week; try to prepare her for her clothing, instruct her in the rule of our house; no one can do that as well as you.”