e her. I didn't. She wanted to draw a veil over
her frailty, but I wouldn't let her. I think she would like to
confess to her husband, to pour out her heart to him, and begin
again with a clean page, but she is afraid. Of course she hasn't
really been faithless, and I could swear on my life she loves her
husband only. And then her sorrow is so great, and she is
beginning to look worn with lying awake at nights, though some
people still think she is beautiful. I dare say you will say,
serve her right for deceiving a good man. So do I sometimes, but I
feel strangely inconsistent about my poor friend, and a woman has
a right to be inconsistent, hasn't she? Tell me what I am to say
to her, and please don't spare her because she is a friend of
mine."

She lifted her pen from the paper. "He'll understand," she thought.
"He'll remember our other letters and read between the lines. Well, so
much the better, and God be good to me!"

"Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! I feel like a child--as if
the years had gone back with me, or rather as if they had only
just begun. You have awakened my soul and all the world is
different. Nearly everything that seemed right to me before seems
wrong to me now, and _vice versa_. Life? That wasn't life. It was
only existence. I fancy it must have been some elder sister of
mine who went through everything. Think of it! When you were
twenty and I was only ten! I'm glad there isn't as much difference
now. I'm catching up to you--metaphorically, I mean. If I could
only do so physically! But what nonsense I'm talking! In spite of
my poor friend's trouble I can't help talking nonsense to-night."

VI

Two days later Natalina, coming into Roma's bedroom, threw open the
shutters and said:

"Letter with a foreign postmark, Excellency--'Sister Angelica, care of
the Porter.' It was delivered at the Convent, and the porter sent it
over here."

"Give it to me," said Roma eagerly. "It's quite right. I know whom it is
for, and if any more letters come for the same person bring them to me
immediately."

Almost before the maid had left the room Roma had torn the letter open.
It was dated from a street in Soho.

"MY DEAR WIFE,--As you see, I have reached London, and now I am
thinking of you always, wondering what sufferings are being
inflicted upon you for my sake an