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They were all in white, snow-white from head to foot, with a glimmer of
blue scapular beneath their outer garment, and they wore long thick
veils which entirely concealed their features when they entered but were
raised when they reached their seats and faced the altar.
Familiar as I was with similar scenes this one moved me as I had never
before been moved--the silent white figures, with hands clasped on their
breasts, coming in one by one with noiseless and unhurried footsteps,
like a line of wraiths from another world.
But a still deeper emotion was to come to me.
As the last of the nuns entered, the Superior as I knew she would be, I
recognised her instantly. It was my own Reverend Mother herself; and
when, after kneeling to the altar, she came down to her seat nearest to
the screen, immediately in front of the place where I knelt, I knew by
the tremor of the clasped hands which held the rosary, that she had seen
and recognised me.
I trembled and my heart thumped against my breast.
Then the priest entered and the Litany began.


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