“ ‘You know how light of heart sweet Alice is,’ replied the eldest sister, passing her fingers through the tresses of the smiling girl.
“ ‘And what joy and cheerfulness it wakes up within us, to see all nature beaming in brightness and sunshine, father,’ added Alice, blushing beneath the stern look of the recluse.
“The monk answered not, save by a grave inclination of the head, and the sisters pursued their task in silence.
“ ‘Still wasting the precious hours,’ said the monk at length, turning to the eldest sister as he spoke, ‘still wasting the precious hours on this vain trifling. Alas, alas! that the few bubbles on the surface of eternity—all that Heaven wills we should see of that dark deep stream—should be so lightly scattered!’
“ ‘Father,’ urged the maiden, pausing, as did each of the others, in her busy task, ‘we have prayed at matins, our daily alms have been distributed at the gate, the sick peasants have been tended—all our morning tasks have been performed. I hope our occupation is a blameless one?’
“ ‘See here,’ said the friar, taking the frame from her hand, ‘an intricate winding of gaudy colours, without purpose or object, unless it be that one day it is destined for some vain ornament, to minister to the pride of your frail and giddy sex. Day after day has been employed upon this senseless task, and yet it is not half accomplished. The shade of each departed day falls upon our graves, and the worm exults as he beholds it, to know that we are hastening thither. Daughters, is there no better way to pass the fleeting hours?’
“The four elder sisters cast down their eyes as if abashed by the holy man’s reproof, but Alice raised hers, and bent them mildly on the friar.
“ ‘Our dear mother,’ said the maiden; ‘Heaven rest her soul!’
“ ‘Amen!’ cried the friar in a deep voice.
“ ‘Our dear mother,’ faltered the fair Alice, ‘was living when these long tasks began, and bade us, when she should be no more, ply them in all discretion and cheerfulness, in our leisure hours; she said that if in harmless mirth and maidenly pursuits we passed those hours together, they would prove the happiest and most peaceful of our lives, and that if, in later times, we went forth into the world, and mingled with its cares and trials—if, allured by its temptations and dazzled by its glitter, we ever forgot that love and duty which should bind, in holy ties, the children of one loved parent—a glance at the old work of our common girlhood would awaken good thoughts of bygone days, and soften our hearts to affection and love.’
“ ‘Alice speaks truly, father,’ said the elder sister, somewhat proudly. And so saying she resumed her work, as did the others.
“It was a kind of sampler of large size, that each sister had before her; the device was of a complex and intricate description, and the pattern and colours of all five were the same. The sisters bent gracefully over their work; the monk, resting his chin upon his hands, looked from one to the other in silence.
“ ‘How much better,’ he said at length, ‘to shun all such thoughts and chances, and, in the peaceful shelter of the church, devote your lives to Heaven! Infancy, childhood, the prime of life, and old age, wither as rapidly as they crowd upon each other. Think how human dust rolls onward to the tomb, and turning your faces steadily towards that goal, avoid the cloud which takes its rise among the pleasures of the world, and cheats the senses of their votaries. The veil, daughters, the veil!’
“ ‘Never, sisters,’ cried Alice. ‘Barter not the light and air of heaven, and the freshness of earth and all the beautiful things which breathe upon it, for the cold cloister and the cell. Nature’s own blessings are the proper goods of life, and we may share them sinlessly together. To die is our heavy portion, but, oh, let us die with life about us; when our cold hearts cease to beat, let warm hearts be beating near; let our last look be upon the bounds which God has set to his own bright skies, and not on stone walls and bars of iron! Dear sisters, let us live and die, if you list, in this green garden’s compass; only shun the gloom and sadness of a cloister, and we shall be happy.’
“The tears fell fast from the maiden’s eyes as she closed her impassioned appeal, and hid her face in the bosom of her sister.
“ ‘Take comfort, Alice,’ said the eldest, kissing her fair forehead. ‘The veil shall never cast its shadow on thy young brow. How say you, sisters? For yourselves you speak, and not for Alice, or for me.’
“The sisters, as with one accord, cried that their lot was cast together, and that there were dwellings for peace and virtue beyond the convent’s walls.
“ ‘Father,’ said the eldest lady, rising with dignity, ‘you hear our final resolve. The same pious care which enriched the abbey of St. Mary, and left us, orphans, to its holy guardianship, directed that no constraint should be imposed upon our inclinations, but that we should be free to live according to our choice. Let us hear no more of this, we pray you. Sisters, it is nearly noon. Let us take shelter until evening!’ With a reverence to the friar, the lady rose and walked towards the house, hand in hand with Alice; the other sisters followed.
“The holy man, who had often urged the same point before, but had never met with so direct a repulse, walked some little distance behind, with his eyes bent upon the earth, and his lips moving as if in prayer. As the sisters reached the porch, he quickened his pace, and called upon them to stop.
“ ‘Stay!’ said the monk,
