midnight
And yet , and yet ... To this girl , who had learned to see the Face of Christ and of His Mother reflected in one human face that had smiled down upon her , waking in the little white bed in the Convent infirmary from the long , recuperating sleep that turns the tide of brain-fever , the thought that a shadow of deceit could mar its earnest , candid purity was torture . Months back they had said to her -- the lips that had given her the first kiss she had received since a dying woman 's cold mouth touched the sleeping face of a yellow-haired baby held to her in a strong man 's shaking hands , as the trek-waggon rolled and rumbled over the veld : `` The man who may one day be your husband will have the right to know . '' It was a different voice to the one that had commanded , `` You are never to tell him ! '' Lynette lay listening to those two voices until the alarm-clock belled and the Sisters rose at midnight for matins . Then she lay listening to the soft murmur of voices in the dark , as the red lamp glimmered before the silver Christ upon the wall . The nuns needed no light , knowing the office by heart : '' _ Delicta quis intelligit ? ab occultis meis munda me , et ab alienis parce servo tuo _ '' -- `` Who can comprehend what sin is ?