Tales of the Cloister
clinging silently to each other while the twilight deepened around them and the air throbbed with the rich music of the voice that sang alone in the chapel. Then the training of years prevailed, and the younger sister withdrew quietly from the other's encircling arms.
"You must forgive me," she said. "I have been foolishly nervous, and I am afraid I have depressed you. I must pray for more strength, and you will pray with me, I am sure."
She rose as she spoke, and smiled with almost her old serenity into the other's eyes. She was the calmer of the two, for Sister George, supported by the friendly lattice-work, had let her head droop forward and was shedding the first tears that had fallen from her eyes in years.
"If we could both be called together," she said. "We left the outside world"—she hesitated, the words she would have said beating against her lips. Her friend silenced her gently.
"These problems are too large for you and me," she said. "We must leave them to Him."
She lifted the vines that formed an arch above them, and held them while the tall figure of Sister George passed under. The convent bell was ringing as they walked on, and they saw the shadowy forms of their associ-
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