Shivering, she turned her face back to the desolate peace of the ruins.
"Now is it clear to all men why a bloody cloud was hung over the land in the
year that Ethelred came to the throne," she said. "I feel as the blessed dead
might feel should they be forced to leave the shelter of their graves and look
out upon the world."
Rising from its knees beside a bed of herbs, a second figure in faded robes
approached the gate. Sister Sexberga was very old, much older than her
companion, and her face was a wrinkled parchment whereon Time had written some
terrible lessons.
She said gently, "We are one with the dead, beloved sister. Those who lie
under the chancel lay no safer than we, last night, though the Pagans' passing
tread shook the ground we lay on, and their songs broke our slumbers. Let us
cease not to give thanks to Him who has spread over us the peace of the
grave."
The shadows deepened in the eyes of Sister Wynfreda as she turned them back
toward the lane, for her patience was not yet ripe to perfect mellowness. She
was but little past the prime of her rich womanhood, and still bore the traces
of a great beauty. She bore in addition, upon cheek and forehead, the scars of
three frightful burns.
"The peace of the grave can never be mine while my heart is open to the
sorrows of others," she answered with sadness.
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