One evening, on her knees, she whispered her secret to the Prioress Matilda, whereat the old nun blushed like a girl, yet, after a moment's silent prayer, laid a thin hand upon her head in blessing.
"The Lord Abbot declares that your marriage was no true marriage, my daughter, though why I do not understand, since the man was he whom your heart chose, and you were wed to him by an ordained priest before God's altar and in presence of the congregation." "I care not what he says," answered Cicely in a stubborn voice.

"If I am not a true wife, then no woman ever was." "Dear daughter," answered Mother Matilda, "it is not for us unlearned women to question the wisdom of a holy Abbot who doubtless is inspired from on high." "If he is inspired it is not from on high, Mother.

Would God or His saints teach him to murder my father and my husband, to seize my heritage, or to hold my person in this gentle prison?
Such inspirations do not come from above, Mother." "Hush! hush!" said the Prioress, glancing round her nervously; "your woes have crazed you.

Besides, you have no proof.

In this world there are so many things that we cannot understand.