CHAPTER VIII.
A SISTER OUTSIDE THE FAMILY.
Snow lay upon the roof of the convent, and upon the trees, meadows, androads of the island; but within the great house was an animated twofoldlife, for the whole sacred narrative was here rehearsed afresh in theminds and before the eyes of the children. Every day were recalledthose mighty events, so touching and blessed, that took place in Canaannearly two thousand years ago. Manna lived so entirely in theserepresentations, that she often had to stop and force herself to thinkwhere she was. She was seized with a longing to make a pilgrimage toJerusalem, to kiss the soil of the Holy Land, and there atone for allthe evil done by those who were near to her, and those who werestrangers to her.
Her eyes beamed as with a fire from above, while with wonderful powershe repeated the sacred history to little Heimchen, who was again sickin bed. But the little girl made her smile to-day by asking:--
"Is there snow in Jerusalem too, then?"
Manna had scarcely considered what season of the year it was, soentirely was she absorbed in the life she was describing. As she turnedto look at the melting snow, a lay-sister entered and handed her aletter.
"Where is the messenger?" she asked.
"He is waiting in the reception-room."
"I will give him an answer," returned Manna, and began to read herletter a second time.
She paced the cell backwards and forwards; at one moment she wanted toseek the Lady Superior and ask what she should do, but the next, herheart shrank at the thought. Why ask advice of another human being? Shelooked at her hand, which had been pressed upon her eyes. You cannotweep, said a voice within her; you must not weep for aught in thisworld.
"What is the matter?" cried Heimchen from the bed. "What makes you lookso cross?"
"I am not cross, I am not cross; do you think I am?"
"No; now you look pleasant again. Stay with me, Manna--stay with me;don't go away--stay with me, Manna. Manna, shall die."
Manna bent over the child and soothed her. This is the first trial, shethought, and it is a hard one. Now I must show whether love of mankind,of the Saviour, is stronger in me than family affection. I ought, Imust! She committed Heimchen to the care of a lay-sister, and,promising soon to return, descended to the church. At sight of thepicture, which made her think involuntarily of the man who was withRoland, she covered her face with her hands, threw herself in deepcontrition upon her knees, and prayed fervently. Thus she lay long, herface buried in her hands. At length her decision was made, and sherose. I ought and must, and I can! I must have strength for it! I amresolved to live only for the service of the Eternal. Roland has goodcare taken of him; he recognizes no one; if I go to him it will be toremove my own distress, not his. Here, on the other hand, is Heimchensick and needing me. There is no question as to my duty; I will stay atthe post where not my will, but that of the Highest, has placed me.
She remembered the Lady Superior telling her how her father and motherhad died, and she could not leave her convent to go to them. Mannaresolved to do the same thing voluntarily, under the compulsion of novow. She trembled as she thought that it might be better for Roland ifhe could die now before he fell into sin, and perhaps had to hear thedreadful secret. The idea was almost more than she could bear, but sheheld her resolution fast.
Manna returned to her cell, meaning to write and tell all that was inher soul, but she could not. She descended to the reception-room, toldLootz simply that she could not go back with him; and then, returningagain to her cell, looked out upon the landscape. Life seemed frozenwithin her, but as the melting snow dripped from the roof, so her tearsbroke forth at last, and she wept bitterly; yet her decision remainedunshaken. The whole night was spent in watching and prayer, and thenext morning she told her story to the Lady Superior, who made noanswer besides a silent inclination of the head.
Again in her cell, Manna read the letter, and was made aware for thefirst time that Eric's mother was nursing Roland. The paper trembled inher hand, as she read of Roland's constant talking with her in hisfevered ravings. Why did her father write nothing of Pranken? Where washe? she asked herself; then, indignant that her thoughts should stillcling to the world, with a sudden resolve she flung the letter into theopen grate, and watched it break into momentary flame, and then floatin light flakes up the chimney. So had it been in her heart, so oughtit to be; nothing more from the outer world should reach her.