"No, indeed, I am not!" said Sister Anne, with some sharpness. "Sister Bridget is fully half a dozen years older than I am, are you not, sister?" "More than that, I should say," replied Sister Bridget, tranquilly. (N. B. * She was very pretty and young looking, while Sister Anne was both plain and wrinkled.) "But you know as well as I, sister, that it is not age, but standing in the house, that settles such matters. Again, as the oldest present, I must request you, sisters, to pursue your work in silence. Prayers and psalms and holy meditations are better fitted for people in our evil case, threatened not only with the death of our reverend mother, but with the loss of all things, than such laughing and gossip as has gone on for the last half hour. I take shame to myself, and thank the child for her reproof, though it might have been more gently spoken." * N. B.—nota bene "I beg your pardon, sister," said I. She had spoken with a great deal of gravity, and feeling, and most of the sisters had the grace to look ashamed, only Sister Perpetua muttered under her breath, but so I heard her: "Fine airs, to be sure. But you are not prioress just yet, and many things may happen." I don't know what brought her to a religious house, I am sure, unless it was that her friends wished to get rid of her, which was the reason a great many nuns were professed in those days. I am very sure she never had any vocation for such a life, and she showed it after she got out. By that time my faintness was gone, but I thought I would like to be alone, so I told Sister Bridget what mother assistant had said, and withdrew. I had plenty to think about as I worked. Could it be possible that our house would be turned out of windows, as that of the Gray Nuns at Bridgewater had been—that venerable institution founded in the days of the Confessor—and if so, what would become of all? I had not heard from my uncle, nor from Lady Peckham in several years, and knew not whether they were alive or dead. However, I was not so greatly concerned about my own fate. I was young and strong, a good needle-woman and musician, and I thought I could easily find a place as waiting-woman, or to attend upon young gentlewomen. But what would become of such as Sister Bridget and Sister Cicely, and Sister Sacristine and Mother Joanna—old women who had spent all their lives in those walls, and knew nothing of the world beyond their boundary. Then I began to think about that Bible and to wonder where it was, and what was in it. I remembered the text mother assistant had quoted, and wondered—not without blaming myself for the thought—if she had read it in that same Bible. We had heard before, that though people were permitted to read the Word of God, they were forbidden to discuss or dispute about it, which was much as if one should open the floodgates a little and then forbid the water to run through.