The guests of Hercules

								

witches, laughing and pulling the strings which controlled these
people's actions toward Mary, hers toward them, as if they were all
marionettes.

II

Lady MacMillan of Linlochtry Castle, who was a devout Catholic, came
often from her place in the neighbourhood to see her half-sister, Mother
Superior at the Convent of St. Ursula-of-the-Lake. Mary Grant's only
knowledge of the world outside the convent had been given her by Lady
MacMillan, with whom when a schoolgirl she had sometimes spent a few
days, and might have stopped longer if she had not invariably been
seized by pangs of homesickness. Lady MacMillan's household, to be sure,
did not afford many facilities for forming an opinion of the world at
large, though a number of carefully selected young people had been
entertained for Mary's benefit. Its mistress was an elderly widow, and
had been elderly when the child saw her first: but occasionally, before
she became a postulant, Mary had been taken to Perth to help Lady
MacMillan do a little shopping; and once she had actually stayed from
Saturday to Tuesday at Aberdeen, where she had been to the theatre. This
was a memorable event; and the sisters at the convent had never tired of
hearing the fortunate girl describe her exciting experiences, for theirs
was an enclosed order, and it was years since most of them had been
outside the convent gates.
Lady MacMillan was a large, very absent-minded and extremely
near-sighted lady, like her half-sister, Mary's adored Reverend Mother;
but neither so warm-hearted nor so intelligent. Still, Mary was used to
this old friend, and fond of her as well. It was not like going away
irrevocably from all she knew and loved, to be going under Lady
MacMillan's wing. Still, she went weeping, wondering how she had ever
made up her mind to the step, half passionately grateful to Reverend
Mother for not being angry with her weakness and lack of faith, half
regretful that some one in authority had not thought it right to hold
her forcibly back.
There was no railway station within ten miles of the old convent by the
lake. Lady MacMillan came from her little square box of a castle still
farther away, in the old-fashioned carriage which she called a
"barouche," drawn by two satin-smooth, fat animals, more like tightly
covered yet comfortable brown sofas than horses.
It was a great excitement for Lady MacMillan to be going to London, and
a great exertion, but she did not grudge trouble for Mary Grant. Not
that she approved of the girl's leaving the convent. It was Reverend
Mother who had to persuade her half-sister that, if Mary had not the
vocation, it was far better that she should read her own heart in time,
and that the girl was taking with her the blessings and prayers of all
those who had once hoped to keep their dear one with them forever. Still
it was the greatest sensation the convent had known, that Mary should