“Mayhap, my Lord,” said Brigid sweetly, “I can acquire liking. Here is a good school.” The Cardinal’s eyes twinkled. Memory turning backward many years he saw the Lady Abbess herself before him, heard spoken words. “Methinks, daughter,” here was memory speaking, “thou lackest meekness, a quality possessed by nuns.” “Then, Father, it were well I seek it where it dwells so willingly.” Here he found a repetition of that little scene. “I am also told, child,” he continued, banishing memory for the moment, testing her replies, “that thou art over-merry. Nuns are sober-minded.” “Methinks, my Lord,” quoth Brigid demurely, “that devotion on one note alone may prove a very monotonous chant.” Again the Cardinal’s eyes twinkled. He liked the spirit that could find quick reply, fancied he saw here material other than usual for Sister Gabrielle the Novice Mistress, for all that saw her fashioning it willingly and to good purpose. Matters were not, however, wholly to his mind. Well-versed in dealing with mankind the girl’s resolve was very patent to him. He would learn further what had brought the resolve to light. “Child,” he said on a sudden very grave, “thou hast told me little that is in thy mind.” Brigid looked towards the window. “My Lord,” she said very low, “I lack words.” “Find those thou canst,” he said kindly. “Perchance I may aid thee further.” Brigid trembled. “Sir, I have seen a soul in jeopardy.” “I have seen many, child. What then?” “Ah, sir,” said Brigid, her voice thrilling, “thinking on the one soul I thought on others. I saw a warring world, Powers in deadly conflict, Christ nailed to the Cross watching with Patient Eyes. Sir, I would aid.” “And how, child?” “’Tis that I ask you, my Lord. Methought of ways and means, and found none. Then methought me of prayer. Sir, I am a woman, I can do but little. At the Foot of the Cross from whence Christ reigns can I not pray with Him in His Silence, in His Desire for the souls of men? My Lord, I have no words to show my meaning. Can you understand?” The Cardinal looked not at her, but at the figure of the Mother of God. “I understand very well. Thou hast found words enough. And is that all?” “All for which I can find the words, my Lord.” The Cardinal leaned back slowly in his chair. On the wall opposite him the sunlight lay in a brilliant patch creeping slowly upwards toward the blue-robed figure on the oak bracket. A silence endured a little space, a silence very pregnant with unuttered thoughts. Anon he roused himself, spoke almost briskly.