"But would that be right?" asked Amabel. "I think I ought to obey my father." "Not if he is a heretic," said Sister Angela. "You don't know certainly that he is," said I. "And, besides, how many nuns have taken the veil against the wishes of their nearest and dearest friends," added Sister Angela triumphantly. "Think how St. Agnes left her father's house and ran away to St. Francis in the middle of the night. Think of the blessed Mother de Chantal, the friend of St. Francis de Sales—how she left her children—and, though her eldest son threw himself prostrate on the door-sill, beseeching his mother with tears and cries, she stepped over his body and went her way as calmly as if nothing had happened." There must have been some influence emanating from Mrs. Thorpe after all, for though I had been brought up to think the Mother de Chantal a model of all excellence, I began to conceive a disgust for her directly—I can't say that I have ever got over it. Amabel did not say a word while Sister Angela went on urging the example of one saint after another, till she was stopped by sheer want of breath. Then Amabel asked— "Does Mother Superior know of this plan?" "No, I have not mentioned it to her," answered Sister Angela, taken rather aback. "I thought I would see how you took it first." "Then, if you please, we will say no more about it," said Amabel, "at least not till you have consulted her. I will consider the matter and then I shall know how to act. Come, Lucy, we must finish our task before dark." We sat down to our frame and worked for an hour without saying a word. Then I looked up and, catching Amabel's eye, I saw in a moment that her mind was made up. "Well!" said I. "I shall do nothing of the kind," said Amabel, answering my unspoken question. "Did not Mother Superior say that it was our duty to obey Sir Julius?" "Yes, I know she did." "Sister Angela had no right either to propose such a thing unknown to Mother Prudentia—Mother Superior, I mean," pursued Amabel. "She and some of the others think they can take liberties now. They may find themselves mistaken." "But would you wish to stay?" I asked. "For my part, I confess, I want to know what the world is like." "Mother Superior would have said that was like wishing to eat of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil," returned Amabel, smiling gravely. "No, I don't think I want to stay now. I wish to see my father, and my little brother, and step-mother. Besides, the Bible itself says 'Children obey your parents.' Don't you know we read that in Father Brousseau's big book?" "But if the Church teaches, and of course it must or Mother de Chantal and St. Agnes would not have done it," I began, but Amabel interrupted me. "I don't like to look two ways at once, it only puzzles me. There, our work is finished—the last we shall do in this house. Does it not seem strange? Come, let us carry it to Mother Sacristine, and then I want to speak to Mrs. Thorpe."