“What is this? What are you doing in this holy place and at this hour?” asked Sister Paul, solemnly and sternly.
Unorna folded her arms and was silent. No possible explanation of the struggle presented itself even to her quick intellect. She fixed her eyes on the nun’s face, concentrating all her will, for she knew that unless she could control her also, she herself was lost. Beatrice answered the question, drawing herself up proudly against the great altar and pointing at Unorna with her outstretched hand, her dark eyes flashing indignantly.
“We were talking together, this woman and I. She looked at me--she was angry--and then I fainted, or fell asleep, I cannot tell which. I awoke in the dark to find myself lying upon the altar here. Then she took hold of me and tried to make me sleep again. But I would not. Let her explain, herself, what she has done, and why she brought me here!”
Sister Paul turned to Unorna and met the full glare of the unlike eyes, with her own calm, half heavenly look of innocence.
“What have you done, Unorna? What have you done?” she asked very sadly.
But Unorna did not answer. She only looked at the nun more fixedly and savagely. She felt that she might as well have looked upon some ancient picture of a saint in heaven, and bid it close its eyes. But she would not give up the attempt, for her only safety lay in its success. For a long time Sister Paul returned her gaze steadily.
“Sleep!” said Unorna, putting up her hand. “Sleep, I command you!”
But Sister Paul’s eyes did not waver. A sad smile played for a moment upon her waxen features.
“You have no power over me--for your power is not of good,” she said, slowly and softly.
Then she quietly turned to Beatrice, and took her hand.
“Come with me, my daughter,” she said. “I have a light and will take you to a place where you will be safe. She will not trouble you any more to-night. Say a prayer, my child, and do not be afraid.”
“I am not afraid,” said Beatrice. “But where is she?” she asked suddenly.
Unorna had glided away while they were speaking. Sister Paul held the lamp high and looked in all directions. Then she heard the heavy door of the sacristy swing upon its hinges and strike with a soft thud against the small leathern cushion. Both women followed her, but as they opened the door again a blast of cold air almost extinguished the lamp. The night wind was blowing in from the street.