Very little more than that she could be induced to say, relapsing, after a few words, into a sort of stupor or dream, from which very often it was impossible to rouse her; and the Prioress dreaded these long silences, and often asked herself what they could mean, if the cause were a fixed idea… on which she was brooding. Or it might be that Evelyn’s mind was fading, receding. If so, the responsibility of keeping her in the convent was considerable. A little time would, however, tell them. Any religious instruction was, of course, out of the question, and books would be fatal to her.
“Her mind requires rest,” the Prioress said. “Even her music is a mental excitement.”
“I don’t think that,” Sister Mary John answered. “And as for work, I have been thinking I might teach her a little carpent
