it not so, senora?"

But the senora had never heard of the West Indian islands. Being told,
she replied, "As you say it, it is so. There is, then, much land in the
world?"

"If you keep the sea bean for ever, good will come," said Keith,
gravely presenting it; "but if after having once accepted it, you then
lose it, evil will fall upon you."

The Sister received the amulet with believing reverence. "I will lay it
up before the shrine of Our Lady," she said, carefully placing it in
the little pocket over her heart, hidden among the folds of her gown,
where she kept her most precious treasures--a bead of a rosary that had
belonged to some saint who lived somewhere some time, a little faded
prayer copied in the handwriting of a young nun who had died some years
before and whom she had dearly loved, and a list of her own most
vicious faults, to be read over and lamented daily; crying evils such
as a perverse and insubordinate bearing, a heart froward and evil,
gluttonous desires of the flesh, and a spirit of murderous rage. These
were her own ideas of herself, written down at the convent. Had she not
behaved herself perversely to the Sister Paula, with whom one should be
always mild on account of the affliction which had sharpened her
tongue? Had she not wrongfully coveted the cell of the novice Felipa,
because it looked out upon the orange walk? Had she not gluttonously
longed for more of the delectable marmalade made by the aged Sanchita?
And worse than all, had she not, in a spirit of murderous rage, beat
the yellow cat with a palm branch for carrying off the young doves, her
especial charge? "Ah, my sins are great indeed," she sighed daily upon
her knees, and smote her breast with tears.

Keith watched the sea bean go into the little heart-pocket almost with
compunction. Many of these amulets of the sea, gathered during his
winter rambles, had he bestowed with formal warning of their magic
powers, and many a fair hand had taken them, many a soft voice had
promised to keep them "for ever." But he well knew they would be
mislaid and forgotten in a day. The fair ones well knew it too, and
each knew that the other knew, so no harm was done. But this sea bean,
he thought, would have a different fate--laid up in some little nook
before the shrine, a witness to the daily prayers of the simple-hearted
little Sister. "I hope they may do it good," he thought vaguely. Then,
reflecting that even the most depraved bean would no