nishment she was
ready to kiss the rod, since she might hold forever the memory of Vanno
and his love.

She fastened up her letter to him lest she should be tempted to add
other words to those which might on second reading seem cold. God knew
if she were cold! But Vanno might suffer less if he believed her so.

By and by, when something like calmness came to her again, she began
another letter. It was to Reverend Mother at the convent. The last time
Mary wrote she had told of her engagement, and her happiness. Reverend
Mother had written back, forgiving and understanding her long silence--a
loving letter, rejoicing in her joy; and it was in Mary's writing case
at this moment, for she had intended to keep it always. But she could
not have borne the pain of rereading it now, over the dead body of her
happiness. She wrote quickly, not pausing between words and sentences,
as in writing to Vanno. She told Reverend Mother nothing of the story,
but said that she was ending her engagement with Prince Giovanni Della
Robbia. "It is not because I don't love him," she explained, "but
because I love him so dearly I want to do what is best for his whole
life. I know that I shall love him always. I can no more forget him than
I can forget that I have a heart which must go on beating while I live.
But if you don't think a love like this--expecting, hoping for no
return--too worldly, oh, Reverend Mother, will you let me come back to
you and take the vows after all? I feel the convent is the only home for
me; and I believe I am capable of higher, nobler aims because of what I
have been taught by a great love. I yearn to be with you now, I am so
homesick! I will go through any penance, even if it be years long, if at
the end you will accept me for your daughter. I beg of you to write at
once, and say if you will have me again. If your answer be yes, I will
start immediately. I can hardly wait."

As she folded the letter she remembered how Hannaford had told the story
of Galatea, likening her to the statue which had been given life without
knowledge of the world. It was almost as if his voice spoke to her now,
in this room he had loved, answering when she asked what became of
Galatea in the end. "She went back to be a statue." "That is what I
shall do," Mary said. "I shall go back into the marble."

* * * * * * *

All night long the mistral blew; and "out of the fall of lonely seas and