Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the city room.djvu/91



HE little convent chapel was brilliant with light and flooded with music. On the great altar hundreds of wax candles blazed, and on every side there were banks of tall lilies whose perfume mingled with the incense that added an oppressive element to the heavy sweetness of the air. The magnificently solemn chords of the Stabat Mater came from an organ hidden by a latticed screen.

The Dominican priest had finished his remarks, his voice softening and lingering over the final words. His eyes, whose expression had been calm almost to coldness, softened also as he turned them upon the white-robed figure at his feet. Their glance seemed to convey the last warning of the confessor and friend to this woman who was voluntarily giving up the world for the cell of a cloistered nun. He knew better than others what she was renouncing. He also knew better the