The terrible longing to burst the coffin lid
and live--live--made her draw a deep, quick breath as of one choking,
just as she had often struggled gaspingly back to realities after this
obsession, while the singing went on in the dim chapel of the convent.
It began, and was all over in a few seconds. By the time her eyes had
grown used to the twilight the impression of old, past things was gone;
and relieved, as if she had waked from a dream of prison, Mary took note
of everything round her: the largeness of the church, the effect of
bareness, the simple decorations of the altar. She dipped her finger in
the holy water, and knelt to pray for a moment, wondering if she had the
right: and when she rose from her knees, the cure stood before her.
"Welcome, my daughter," he said. "I thought you were of the old faith.
Now I am sure. Thank you for coming. I should like to give you my
blessing before you go into the garden."
Presently he pointed to the open door which framed a bright picture of
sky, and flowers growing against a low green and gold background of
orange and lemon trees.
"Go out alone," he told her. "I have to stay here in church a while.
Walk down the path to the wall, and look at the beautiful view. Then to
the left you will see an arbour at the end of the garden. Wait there
for me. I shall follow before you have time to grow impatient."
He said nothing of Vanno, whom she had been brought there to meet, and
to "save." Perhaps the Prince had not cared to come.
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