even made you believe that the management of two or three score
suffering women was government and power. It seemed a great thing to be
abbess, did it not?"

Maria Addolorata bent her veiled head slowly twice or three times, in a
heavy-hearted way.

"They made you believe all that," continued Dalrymple, with cold
earnestness, "and much more besides--a great deal of which I know
little, I suppose--the life to come, and saintship, and the glories of
heaven. You have found out what it is all worth. We have found it out
together. And they frightened you with hell. Do you know what hell is? A
life without love, when one knows what love can mean. I am not eloquent;
I wish I were. But I am plain, and I can tell you the truth."

"It is not the truth," answered the nun, slowly. "You tell me it is, to
tempt me. I cannot drive you away by force. Will you not go? I cannot
cry out for help--it would ruin me and you. Will you not leave me? But
for God's grace, I am at your mercy, and there is little grace for me, a
sinner."

"No, I will not go away," said Dalrymple, and it seemed to Maria that
his voice was the voice of her fate.

"Then God have mercy!" she cried, in a low tone, and as her head sank
forward, it was her forehead that rested in her right hand, instead of
her chin.

"Love is more merciful than God," he answered.

There was a sudden softness in his voice which she had never heard, not
even yesterday. Rising, he stole near to her, and standing, bent down
and leaned upon the table by her side and spoke close to her ear. But he
did not touch her. She could feel his breath through her veil when he
spoke again. It was vital and fierce, and softly hot, like the breathing
of a powerful wild beast.

"You are my God," he said. "I worship you, and adore you. But I must
have you for mine always. I would rather kill you, and have no God, than
lose you alive. Come with me. You are free. You can get through the
garden at night--with good horses we can reach the sea to-morrow. There
is an English ship of war at anchor in Civita Vecchia. The officers are
my friends. Before to-morrow night we can be safe--married--happy. No
one will know--no one will follow us. Maria--come--come--come!"

His voice sank to a vibrating whisper as he repeated the word again and
again, closer and closer to her ear. Her hands had dropped from her
forehead and lay upon the table. With bent head she listened.

"Come, my darling," he continued, fast