he lantern
shining out from the shattered windows of the tower in a fitful,
surprised sort of a way, for Melvyna had returned, and with the true
spirit of a Yankee, had immediately gone to work at the ruins.

The only sign of emotion she gave was to Keith. "I saw it all," she
said. "That child went right out after you, in that terrible wind, as
natural and as quiet as if she was only going across the room. And she
so timid a fly could frighten her! Mark my words, Mr. Keith, the good
Lord helped her to do it! And I'll go to that new mission chapel over
in the town every Sunday after this, as sure's my name is Sawyer!" She
ceased abruptly, and going into her kitchen, slammed the door behind
her. Emotion with Melvyna took the form of roughness.

Sister St. Luke went joyfully back to her convent the next day, for
Pedro, when he returned, brought the letter, written, as Keith had
directed, in the style of an affectionate invitation. The little nun
wept for happiness when she read it. "You see how they love me--love me
as I love them," she repeated with innocent triumph again and again.

"It is all we can do," said Keith. "She could not be happy anywhere
else, and with the money behind her she will not be neglected. Besides,
I really believe they do love her. The sending here up here was
probably the result of some outside dictation."

Carrington, however, was dissatisfied. "A pretty return we make for our
saved lives," he said. "I hate ingratitude." For Carrington was half
disposed now to fall in love with his preserver.

But Keith stood firm.

"Adios," said the little Sister, as Pedro's boat received her. Her face
had lighted so with joy and glad anticipation that they hardly knew
her. "I wish you could to the convent go with me," she said earnestly
to the two young men. "I am sure you would like it." Then, as the boat
turned the point, "I am sure you would like it," she called back,
crossing her hands on her breast. "It is very heavenly there--very
heavenly."

That was the last they saw of her.

Carrington sent down the next winter from New York a large silver
crucifix, superbly embossed and ornamented. It was placed on the high
altar of the convent, and much admired and reverenced by all the nuns.
Sister St. Luke admired it too. She spoke of the island occasionally,
but she did not tell the story of the rescue. She never thought of it.
Therefore, in the matter of the crucifix, the belief was that a special
grace