After that, Sister Avice gently undressed her, took care that she said her prayers, and sat by her till she fell asleep, herself telling her that she should sleep beside her, and that she would hear the voices of the sisters singing in the chapel their matins and lauds. Grisell did hear them, as in a dream, but she had not slept so well since her disaster as she slept on that night. CHAPTER V SISTER AVICE Love, to her ear, was but a name Combined with vanity and shame; Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all Bounded within the cloister wall. SCOTT, _Marmion_. SISTER AVICE sat in the infirmary, diligently picking the leaves off a large mass of wood-sorrel which had been brought to her by the children around, to make therewith a conserve. Grisell lay on her couch. She had been dressed, and had knelt at the window, where the curtain was drawn back while mass was said by the Chaplain, the nuns kneeling in their order and making their responses. It was a low-browed chapel of Norman or even older days, with circular arches and heavy round piers, and so dark that the gleam of the candles was needed to light it. Grisell watched, till tired with kneeling she went back to her couch, slept a little, and then wondered to see Sister Avice still compounding her simples. She moved wearily, and sighed for Madge to come in and tell her all the news of Amesbury—who was riding at the ring, or who had shot the best bolt, or who had had her work picked out as not neat or well shaded enough. Sister Avice came and shook up her pillow, and gave her a dried plum and a little milk, and began to talk to her. “You will soon be better,” she said, “and then you will be able to play in the garden.” “Is there any playfellow for me?” asked Grisell. “There is a little maid from Bemerton, who comes daily to learn her hornbook and her sampler. Mayhap she will stay and play with you.” “I had Madge at Amesbury; I shall love no one as well as Madge! See what she gave me.” Grisell displayed her pouncet box, which was duly admired, and then she asked wearily whether she should always have to stay in the convent. “Oh no, not of need,” said the sister. “Many a maiden who has been here for a time has gone out into the world, but some love this home the best, as I have done.” “Did yonder nun on the wall?” asked Grisell. “Yea, truly. She was bred here, and never left it, though she was a King’s daughter. Edith was her name, and two days after Holy Cross day we shall keep her feast. Shall I tell you her story?” “Prithee, prithee!” exclaimed Grisell. “I love a tale dearly.”