ch style--and if she had any spirit of her own,
any vivacity, you might, with that dark face of hers and those
eyes--you _might_ call her piquant."

"Spirit? She has not the spirit of a fly," said Carrington, knocking
the ashes out of his pipe and fumbling in an embroidered velvet pouch,
one of many offerings at his shrine, for a fresh supply of the strong
aromatic tobacco he affected, Keith meanwhile smoking nothing but the
most delicate cigarettes. "The other day I heard a wild scream; and
rushing down stairs I found her half fainting on the steps, all in a
little heap. And what do you think it was? She had been sitting there,
lost in a dream--mystic, I suppose, like St. Agnes--

Deep on the convent roof the snows
Are sparkling to the moon:
My breath to heaven like vapor goes.
May my soul follow soon--

and that sort of thing."

"No," said Keith, "there is nothing mystical about the Luke maiden; she
has never even dreamed of the ideal ecstasies of deeper minds. She says
her little prayers simply, almost mechanically, so many every day, and
dwells as it were content in the lowly valleys of religion."

"Well, whatever she was doing," continued Carrington, "a great sea crab
had crawled up and taken hold of the toe of her little shoe. Grand
tableau--crab and Luke maiden! And the crab had decidedly the better of
it."

"She _is_ absurdly timid," admitted Keith.

And absurdly timid she was now, when, having crossed the stretch of
sand and wound in and out among the low hillocks, they came to the
hollow where grew the dark green thicket, through which they must pass
to reach the Appalachian range, the backbone of the island, where the
trail gave them an easier way than over the sands. Carrington went
first and hacked out a path with his knife; Keith followed, and held
back the branches; the whole distance was not more than twelve feet;
but its recesses looked dark and shadowy to the little Sister, and she
hesitated.

"Come," said Carrington; "we shall never reach the salt marsh at this
rate."

"There is nothing dangerous here, senora," said Keith. "Look, you can
see for yourself. And there are three of us to help you."

"Yes," said Pedro--"three of us." And he swung his broad bulk into the
gap.

Still she hesitated.

"Of what are you afraid?" called out Carrington impatiently.

"I know not indeed," she answered, almost in tears over her own
behavior, yet unable to stir. Keith came back,