Word had just arrived that
her father lay dangerously ill and Nita must hasten to his bedside if
she wished to see him once more in this world. The carriage was waiting
and Nita must go at once.
The Benediction over and the lights extinguished, all save the tiny
radiance of the Sanctuary lamp, with a final appealing glance towards
the Tabernacle door, Reverend Mother left the chapel, descended to her
office, where she was accustomed to interview the pupils each in turn,
and summoned Nita to her presence.
A little later she stood at the foot of the convent steps and watched
the carriage drive away with a weeping, forlorn little figure huddled in
one corner, while the good lay-sister who accompanied her vainly essayed
words of cheer and consolation. She watched with tear-dimmed eyes as the
carriage rolled rapidly down the avenue and out through the gate, then
entered the house and repaired at once to her refuge in all trials and
afflictions that might beset her way, the convent chapel. There, with
her eyes on the little golden door behind which the dearest and best of
Comforters is always waiting for the sorrowful, the sin-laden, the
weary-hearted, to come to Him, she found consolation and peace. Her
child was in the Lord's hands and surely in those hands she would be
safe.
Many times have the June roses blossomed and fallen since the night on
which Reverend Mother stood in the convent doorway and watched the
departure of the carriage which was bearing her child away from her out
into the world of suffering and sin.
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