There could be nothing earthly in such love as that, he was sure, and such simple faith would not be disappointed.

It was not the first time in his experience as a priest that he had known and talked with a woman from whom sudden death had wrenched the man she loved, or whom inevitable circumstances had divided from him beyond all hope of reunion; but he had never heard one speak just as Angela spoke, nor seen that look in another face.

He was convinced, and felt that he could say nothing against her intention.
But she herself was not absolutely sure even then, and she went to the Mother Superior that evening to ask her question for the last time.
The Mother was seated at her writing-table, and one strong electric lamp shed its vivid light from under a perfectly dark shade upon the papers that lay under her hand and scattered before her--bills, household accounts, doctors' and nurses' reports, opened telegrams, humble-looking letters written on ruled paper and smart notes in fashionable handwritings.

People who imagine that the Mother Superior of a nursing order which has branches in many parts of the world spends her time in meditation and prayer are much mistaken.
'Sit down,' said the small white volcano, without looking up or lifting her thin forefinger from the column of figures she was checking.
The room would have been very dark but for the light which the white paper reflected upwards upon the nun's whiter face, and into the dark air.

Angela sat down at a distance as she was bidden, and waited some minutes, till the Mother Superior had set her initials at the foot of the sheet with a blue pencil, and raised her face to peer into the gloom.
'Who is it ?' she asked in a businesslike tone, still dazzled by the light.
'I am Angela, Mother.