ch she lay thinking over her state and its circumstances, she made
plans for his conversion, in which her brother, the cardinal, bore a
principal part. She was grateful to Dalrymple, and it seemed to her that
the most proper way of showing her gratitude would be to save his soul,
a point of view unusual in the ordinary relations of life.

On this particular day, Maria Addolorata shut the door, and came forward
into the parlour as usual. As usual, too, she sat down in the abbess's
own big easy-chair, expecting that Dalrymple would seat himself opposite
to her. But he remained standing, with the evident intention of going
away in a few moments. He said a few words about the patient, gave one
or two directions, and then stood still in silence for a moment.

Maria Addolorata lifted her head a little, but not enough to show him
more than an inch of her face.

"Have I displeased you, Signor Doctor?" she asked, in her deep, warm
voice. "Have I not carried out your orders?"

"On the contrary," answered Dalrymple, with a stiffness which he
resented in himself. "It is impossible to be more conscientious than you
always are."

Seeing that he still remained standing, the nun rose to her feet, and
waited for him to go. She believed that she was far too proud to detain
him, if he wished to shorten the meeting. But something hurt her, which
she could not understand.

Dalrymple hesitated a moment, and his lips parted as though he were
about to speak. The silence was prolonged only for a moment or two.

"Good morning, Sister Maria Addolorata," he said suddenly, and bowed.

"Good morning, Signor Doctor," answered the nun.

She bent her head very slightly, but a keener observer than Dalrymple
was, just then, would have noticed that as she did so, her shoulders
moved forward a little, as though her breast were contracted by some
sudden little pain. Dalrymple did not see it. He bowed again, let
himself out, and closed the door softly behind him.

When he was gone, Maria Addolorata sat down in the big easy-chair again,
and uncovered her face, doubling her veil back upon her head, and
withdrawing the thick folds from her chin and mouth. Her features were
very pale, as she sat staring at the sky through the window, and her
eyes fixed themselves in that look which was peculiar to her. Her full
white hands strained upon each other a little, bringing the colour to
the tips of her fingers. During some minutes she did not move. Then she