"Where?" she said. "In the burning fiery furnace, heated seven times hotter than its wont. Of whom? Verily, I think, of that Fourth that walked there, who was the Son of God. He walks oftener, methinks, in the fiery furnace with His martyrs, than in the gilded galleries with the King Nebuchadnezzar and his princes. At least I have oftener found Him there." She seemed as if she lost herself in thought, until Mother Alianora saith, in her soft, faint voice--"Go on, my child." Margaret roused up as if she were awoke from sleep. "Well!" she said, "nothing happened to me, as you may well guess, for the years of childhood that followed, when I was learning to read, write, and illuminate, to sew, embroider, cook, and serve in various ways. My Lady Prioress found that I had a wit at devising patterns and such like, so I was kept mainly to the embroidery and painting: being first reminded that it was not for mine own enjoyment, but that I should so best serve the Order. I took the words and let them drop, and I took the work and delighted in it. So matters went until I was a maid of seventeen years. And then something else came into my life." I asked, "What was it?" for she had paused. But her next words were not an answer. "I marvel," she saith, "of what metal Saint Gilbert was made, that founded our Order. Was it out of pity, or out of bitter hardness, or out of simple want of understanding, that he framed our Rule, and gave us more liberty than other Sisters? Is it more or less happy for a lark that thou let him out of his cage once in the year in a small cell whence he cannot escape into the free air of heaven? Had I been his mother or his sister, when the Saint writ his Rule, I had said to him, Keep thy brethren and sisters apart at the blessed Sacrament, or else bandage their eyes." "O Margaret!" I cried out, for it was awful to hear such words. As if the blessed Saint Gilbert could have made a mistake! "Dost thou think thyself wiser than the holy saints?" "Yes," she answered simply. "I am sure I know more about women than Saint Gilbert did. That he did not know much about them was shown by such a Rule, he might as well have set the door of the lark's cage open, and have said to the bird, `Now, stay in!' Well, I did not stay in. One morrow at mass, I was all suddenly aware of a pair of dark eyes scanning my face across the nave--" "From the brethren's side of the church! O Margaret!" "Well, Annora? I am human: so, perchance, was he. He had been thrust into this life, as I had. Had we both been free, we might have loved each other without a voice saying, `It is sin.' Why was it sin because we wore black and white habits?" "But the vows, Margaret! the vows!"