“I have heard the word, I think,” she said, as though she thought there might be something diabolical in it. “And do you heal the sick in this way by means of this--thing?”
“Sometimes,” Unorna answered. “There is an old man, for instance, whom I have kept alive for many years by making him sleep--a great deal.” Unorna smiled a little.
“But you have no words with it? Nothing?”
“But if it is of good, and not of the Evil One, there should be a prayer with it. Could you not say a prayer with it, Unorna?”
“I daresay I could,” replied the other, trying not to laugh. “But that would be doing two things at once; my will would be weakened.”
“It cannot be of good,” said the nun. “It is not natural, and it is not true that the prayer can distract the will from the performance of a good deed.” She shook her head more energetically than usual. “And it is not good either that you should be called a witch, you who have lived here amongst us.”
“It is not my fault!” exclaimed Unorna, somewhat annoyed by her persistence. “And besides, Sister Paul, even if the devil is in it, it would be right all the same.”
The nun held up her hands in holy horror, and her jaw dropped.
“My child! My child! How can you say such things to me!”
“It is very true,” Unorna answered, quietly smiling at her amazement. “If people who are ill are made well, is it not a real good, even if the Evil One does it? Is it not good to make him do good, if one can, even against his will?”
“No, no!” cried Sister Paul, in great distress. “Do not talk like that--let us not talk of it at all! Whatever it is, it is bad, and I do not understand it, and I am sure that none of us here could, no matter how well you explained it. But if you will do it, Unorna, my dear child, then say a prayer each time, against temptation and the devil’s works.”
With that the good nun crossed herself a third time, and unconsciously, from force of habit, began to tell her beads with one hand, mechanically smoothing her broad, starched collar with the other. Unorna was silent for a few minutes, plucking at the sable lining of the cloak which lay beside her upon the sofa where she had dropped it.
“Let us talk of other things,” she said at last. “Talk of the other lady who is here. Who is she? What brings her into retreat at this time of year?”