To which I could only answer that I did not know. As if a little chit like myself would have any hand in her own disposal. "Well, now you are here, you must be content. Mother Joanna says you are homesick and make yourself ill by crying. That must be stopped. If I hear any more of it, I will try what virtue is in a birch twig to cure ague. I am afraid you are a naughty child, or your uncle would not have been in such a hurry to get rid of you." How easy it is for idle or careless hands to gall a sore wound. Her words were like a stab to me, but I set my teeth and clenched my hands and made no sign. "But now you must understand, once for all, that I will have no more crying or homesickness!" pursued the lady, who was like a stone that once set a-going down hill rolls on by its own weight. "You are in a good home and a holy house, where you may grow up without danger of being infected by the heresies, which, as we hear, are so rife in London. Your good mistress, Lady Peckham, will give you a dowry when you are professed, and some time you may come to be prioress, and sit in this chair; who knows?" concluded the lady, relapsing into an easy talking tone, having, I suppose, sustained her dignity as long as was convenient. "So now be a good child, and here is a piece of candied angelica for you!" she added, taking the cover from what I had taken for a reliquary, "and pray don't let us have any more crying." I took the sweetmeat with a courtesy, and afterward gave it to one of the lay sisters, having no great fondness for such things. "And how did you leave my Lady Peckham?" pursued the prioress; then, without waiting for an answer: "We were girls at school together, though she was older than I—oh, yes, quite a good deal older, I should say. Let me see, she married twice, I think. What was her first husband's name?" "Walter Corbet, madam?" I managed to say. I was feeling very queer by that time, being weak and unused to standing so long. The prioress was pursuing her catechism, when I saw the two attendant sisters look at each other, and then one of them bent down as if to whisper in the lady's ear. That was the last I did see or know till I woke, as it were, to find myself on the floor, with one of the sisters bathing my face with some strong waters, and the prioress fussing about, wringing her hands and calling on all the saints in the calendar. I felt very dreamy and strange, and, I fancy, lost myself again, for the next thing I heard was Mother Joanna's voice, speaking in the tone which showed she was displeased. "You kept her standing too long, that is all. Nobody recovering from a fever should be kept standing." "You don't think she will die, do you, mother?" asked one of the sisters, I do believe out of sheer mischief.