."

"It has determined me to follow your advice, Frances."

"Then it has done well."

"And you see," Carmina continued, "that Father Patrizio speaks of
obstacles in the way of my marriage. Teresa has evidently shown him
my letters. Do you think he fears, as I do, that my aunt may find some
means of separating us, even when Ovid comes back?"

"Very likely."

She spoke in faint weary tones--listlessly leaning back in her chair.
Carmina asked if she had passed another sleepless night.

"Yes," she said, "another bad night, and the usual martyrdom in teaching
the children. I don't know which disgusts me most--Zoe's impudent
stupidity, or Maria's unendurable humbug."

She had never yet spoken of Maria in this way. Even her voice seemed to
be changed. Instead of betraying the usual angry abruptness, her tones
coldly indicated impenetrable contempt. In the silence that ensued, she
looked up, and saw Carmina's eyes resting on her anxiously and kindly.

"Any other human being but you," she said, "would find me disagreeable
and rude--and would be quite right, too. I haven't asked after your
health. You look paler than usual. Have you, too, had a bad night?"

"I fell asleep towards the morning. And--oh, I had such a delightful
dream! I could almost wish that I had never awakened from it."

"Who did you dream of?" She put the question mechanically--frowning,
as if at some repellent thought suggested to her by what she had just
heard.

"I dreamed of my mother," Carmina answered.

Miss Minerva raised herself at once in the chair. Whatever that passing
impression might have been, she was free from it now. There was some
little life again in her eyes; some little spirit in her voice. "Take me
out of myself," she said; "tell me your dream."

"It is nothing very remarkable, Frances. We all of us sometimes see our
dear lost ones in sleep. I saw my mother again, as I used to see her
in the nursery at bedtime--tall and beautiful, with her long dark hair
failing over her white dressing-gown to the waist. She stooped over me,
and kissed me; and she looked surprised. She said, 'My little angel, why
are you here in a strange house? I have come to take you back to your
own cot, by my bedside.' I wasn't surprised or frightened; I put my arms
round her neck; and we floated away together through the cool starry
night; and we were at home again. I saw my cot, with its pretty white
curtains and pink ribbons. I heard my mother tell me an