She will not, then?" said Olive, sighing.

"No. Yet she says she has no bitterness against you. How could she?
However, I ask no questions, for the past is all forgotten here. And I
love the poor young creature. Oh, if you knew her fasts, her vigils,
and her prayers! God and the Holy Mother pity her, poor broken-hearted
thing!" said the compassionate nun.

"Speak to her once more. Do not tell her I am here: only speak of me
to her," said Olive. And she waited anxiously until Sister Ignatia came
back.

"She says she is glad you are happy, and married to that good friend of
hers, to whom she owes so much; but that she is dead to the world, and
wishes to hear of no one any more. Still, when I told her you lived at
Morningside, she began to tremble. I think--I hope, if she were to see
you suddenly, before she had time to reflect--only not now--you look so
agitated yourself."

"No, no; I can always be calm at will--I have long learned that. Your
plan is kind: let it be to-day. It may end in good, please God. Where is
my dear sister?"

"She is sitting in the dormitory of the convent-school. She stays
a great deal with our little girls, and takes much care of them,
especially of some orphans that we have."

Olive sighed. Well she read unhappy Christal's reason. But it showed
some softening of the stony heart. Almost hopeful she followed Sister
Ignatia to the dormitory.

It was a long, narrow room, lined with tiny white beds. Over its pure
neatness good fairies might have continually presided. Through it swept
the fresh air coming from the open window which overlooked the garden.
And there, darkening it with her tall black shadow, stood the only
present occupant of the room, Christal Manners.

She wore a garb half-secular, half-religious. Her black serge dress
betrayed no attention to fashion, scarcely even to neatness; her
beautiful hair was all put back under a white linen veil, and her whole
appearance showed that last bitter change in a woman's nature, when she
ceases to have a woman's instinctive personal pride. Olive saw not her
face, except the cheek's outline, worn to the straightness of age. Nor
did Christal observe Olive until she had approached quite close.

Then she gave a wild start, the old angry flush mounted to her temples,
and sank.

"Why did you come here?" she said hoarsely; "I sent you word I wished to
see no one--that I was utterly dead to the world."

"But not to me--oh, not to me, my sister!