and a girl-child
had been helpless, and the great white stars had looked down unmoved and
changeless upon Innocence destroyed.

The Mother read the letter from the loathly beginning to the infamous end.
She had been sorely wrought upon of late. She tried to pray, but she knew
the Ear Above must be averted from one who had lied and was in deadly
sin.... When Sister Tobias came back she found her lying in a swoon.

The little old crooked, nimble Sister, with the long, pale sheep-face,
dropped on her knees beside that prone column of stately womanhood,
removed the Mother's hooded mantle, loosened the _guimpe_ and habit, and
worked strenuously to revive her, dropping tears.

"My beautiful, my poor lamb!" she crooned. "What's come to her? What
wicked shadow's black on all of us? What's brooding near us--Mary be our
guardian!--that's struck at _her_ to-night!"

The letter lay upon the floor, where it had dropped from the unconscious
hand. It lay there for Sister Tobias, and might lie. If the Mother willed
to tell its contents, she would tell. If not, the little old nun, her
faithful daughter, would never ask or seek to know.

She opened her great eyes at last, and smiled up at the tender, wrinkled
ugliness of the long, sheep-like face in the close white linen wimple.

"Say nothing to anybody. I was overdone," she said, and rose. Sister
Tobias picked up the letter, and gave it to her. There was a Boer
mutton-fat candle flaring draughtily in an iron sconce upon the wall. The
Mother moved across the little room, and burned the letter to the last
blank corner, and trod the fallen ashes into impalpable powder. Then she
helped Sister Tobias to remove every trace left, and obviate every danger
that might result from her late toil, and rejoined her quiet family of
daughters as though nothing had happened.

They recalled afterwards how cheerful and how placid she had seemed that
night. Her smile had a heart-breaking sweetness, and her voice made
wonderful melody even in their accustomed ears.

They supped on the little that they had, and chatted, said the
night-prayers, and went, aching, all of them, with unsatisfied hunger, to
bed. You may conjecture the orderly, modest method of retiring, each
Sister vanishing in turn behind a curtained screen to disrobe, lave, and
vest herself for sleep, emerging in due time in the loose, full conventual
night-garment of thick white twilled linen, high-throated,
monkish-sleeved, and girdle