And now as Miss Corbet and Lady Maxwell talked, and Anthony lolled
embarrassed beside them, attempting now and then to join in the
conversation, Mistress Margaret, as she sat a little apart and worked
away at the panting stag dreamed away, smiling quietly to herself, of all
the old scenes that her own conversation had called up into clearer
consciousness; of the pleasant little meadow of the Sussex priory, with
the old apple-trees and the straight box-lined path called the nun's walk
from time immemorial; all lighted with the pleasant afternoon glow, as it
streamed from the west, throwing the slender poplar shadows across the
grass; and of the quiet chatter of the brook as it over-flowed from the
fish ponds at the end of the field and ran through the meadows beyond the
hedge. The cooing of the pigeons as they sunned themselves round the dial
in the centre of this Italian garden and on the roof of the hall helped
on her reminiscences, for there had been a dovecote at the priory. Where
were all her sisters now, those who had sat with her in the same sombre
habits in the garth, with the same sunshine in their hearts? Some she
knew, and thanked God for it, were safe in glory; others were old like
her, but still safe in Holy Religion in France where as yet there was
peace and sanctuary for the servants of the Most High; one or two--and
for these she lifted up her heart in petition as she sat--one or two had
gone back to the world, relinquished everything, and died to grace.
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