I have but kept her for thee." Over and over the Prioress repeated these words; over and over she thanked our Lady for having vouchsafed so explicit a revelation.

Yet was she distressed that her inmost spirit failed to respond, acclaiming the words as divine.

She knew they must be divine, yet could not feel that they were so.
As dawn crept into the cell, she found herself repeating again and again "A sign, a sign! Thy will was hid from me; yet I accept its revelation through this babe.

But I ask a sign which shall speak to mine own heart, also! A sign, a sign!" She rose and opened wide the casement, not of the oriel window, but of one to the right of the group of the Virgin and child, and near by it.
She was worn out both in mind and body, yet could not bring herself to leave the shrine or to seek her couch.
She remembered the example of that reverend and holy man, Bishop Wulstan.

She had lately been reading, in the Chronicles of Florence, the monk of Worcester, how "in his early life, when appointed to be chanter and treasurer of the Church, Wulstan embraced the opportunity of serving God with less restraint, giving himself up to a contemplative life, going into the church day and night to pray and read the Bible.