Under the Black Pall
HEN she entered St. Mary's it seemed to her like stepping out of the marching ranks of a great army into the cool shade of a way-side chapel. Life during the two years between her graduation and this return to the convent as a candidate for the veil had been bearing her forward too swiftly. She felt breathless from its rush, panic-stricken from the sense of pressure on all sides, horrified by the contrast between the feverish turmoil of living "out in the world" and the restful serenity of life within the cloister walls. Above and beyond all, a great loneliness had oppressed her in the world. What had she in common with these men and women who smiled at her, talked to her, flattered her, and—cared for her not at all?
Everything in the large city where her guardian lived had seemed very worldly to the convent girl. Those she met had been so selfish, so sordid. She had been pathetically shy and
157
