I have something to say to you."
TWENTIETH CHAPTER
In the late afternoon of the same day we were sitting together for the
last time on the terrace of the Reverend Mother's villa.
It was a peaceful evening, a sweet and holy time. Not a leaf was
stirring, not a breath of wind was in the air; but the voice of a young
boy, singing a love-song, came up from somewhere among the rocky ledges
of the vineyards below, and while the bell of the monastic church behind
us was ringing the Ave Maria, the far-off bell of the convent church at
Gonzano was answering from the other side of the lake--like angels
calling to each other from long distances in the sky.
"Mary," said the Reverend Mother, "I want to tell you a story. It is the
story of my own life--mine and my sister's and my father's."
I was sitting by her side and she was holding my hand in her lap, and
patting it, as she had done during the interview of the morning.
"They say the reason so few women become nuns is that a woman is too
attached to her home to enter the holy life until she has suffered
shipwreck in the world.
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