Another person troubles me beside that man and Margaret, and that is Saint Peter's wife's mother. Because, if the holy Apostle had a wife's mother, he must have had a wife; and what could a holy Apostle be doing with a wife? I ventured once to ask Mother Ada how it was to be explained, and she said that of course Saint Peter must have been married before his conversion and calling by our Lord. "And I dare be bound," added Mother Gaillarde, "that she was a shocking vixen, or something bad, so as to serve for a thorn in the flesh to the holy Apostle. He'd a deal better have been an unwedded man." Well, some folks' relations are thorns in the flesh, I can quite suppose. I should think Mother Gaillarde was, and that her being a nun was a mercy to some man, so that she was told off to prick us and not him. But is every body so? and are we all called to be thorns in the flesh to somebody? I should not fancy being looked on by my relations (if I were in the world) as nothing but a means of grace. It might be good for them, but I doubt if it would for me. I wonder if Margaret ever knew that priest whose eyes looked like hers. I should like to ask her. But Mother Ada always forbids us to ask each other questions about our past lives. She says curiosity is a sin; it was curiosity which led Eve to listen to the serpent. But I do not think Mother Ada's soul has any wings, and I always feel as if mine had--something that, if only I were at liberty, would spread itself and carry me away, far, far from here, right up into the very stars, for aught I know. Poor caged bird as I am! how can my wings unfold themselves? I fancy Margaret has wings--very likely, stronger than mine. She seems to have altogether a stronger nature. Mother Alianora will let us ask questions: she sometimes asks them herself. Well, so does Mother Gaillarde, more than any body; but in such a different way! Mother Alianora asks as if she were comforting and helping you: Mother Gaillarde as though you were a piece of embroidery that had been done wrong, and she were looking to see where the stitches had begun to go crooked. If I were a piece of lawn, I should not at all like Mother Gaillarde to pull the crooked stitches out of me. She pounces on them so eagerly, and pulls so savagely at them. I marvel what Margaret's history has been! Last evening, as we were putting the orphans to bed--two of the Sisters do it by turns, every week--little Damia saith to me-- "Sister Annora, what is the matter with our new Sister?" "Who dost thou mean, my child?" I asked. "Sister Marian?" For Sister Marian was our last professed. "No," said the child; "I mean Sister Margaret, who has such curious eyes--eyes that say every thing and don't tell any thing--it is so funny! (So other folks than I had seen those eyes.) But what was the matter with her yesterday morning, at the holy Sacrament?"