In her cell, on a rough wooden cross, hung a life-size figure of the dying Saviour.
She had not reached her twenty-fifth year when, fleeing from the world, she joined the Order of the White Ladies of Worcester, and passed into the seclusion and outward calm of the Nunnery at Whytstone.
Five years later, on the death of the aged Prioress, she was elected, by a large majority, to fill the vacant place.
She had now, during two years, ruled the Nunnery wisely and well.
She had ruled her own spirit, even better.

She had won the victory over the World and the Flesh; there remained but the Devil.

The Devil, alas, always remains.
As she moved, with uplifted brow and mien of calm detachment, along the sunlit cloister to the lofty, stone passage, within, the Convent, she was feared by many, loved by most, and obeyed by all.
And, as she passed, old Mary Antony, bowing almost to the ground, dropped a large white pea, from between her right thumb and finger, into the horny palm of her left hand.
Behind the Prioress there followed a nun, tall also, but ungainly.

Her short-sighted eyes peered shiftily to right and left; her long nose went on before, scenting possible scandal and wrong-doing; her weak lips let loose a ready smile, insinuating, crafty, apologetic.

She walked with hands crossed upon her breast, in attitude of adoration and humility.