on in that charming abode peacefully.
Morgana always being the kindest of patrons to Lady Kingswood, and
discoursing feminine commonplaces with her as though there were no
other subjects of conversation in the world than embroidery and
specific cures for rheumatism. She said little--indeed almost
nothing,--of her aerial voyage to the East, except that she had enjoyed
it, and that the Pyramids and the Sphinx were dwarfed into mere
insignificant dots on the land as seen from the air,--she had
apparently nothing more to describe, and Lady Kingswood was not
sufficiently interested in air-travel to press enquiry. One bright
sunny morning, after a week of her self-imposed seclusion, she
announced her intention of calling at the monastery to see Don Aloysius.

"I have been rather rude"--she said--"Of course he has wanted to know
how my flight to the East went off!--and I have given no sign and sent
no message."

"He has called several times"--replied Lady Kingswood--"and I think he
has been very much disappointed not to be received."

"Poor reverend Father!" and Morgana smiled--"He should not bother his
mind about a woman! Well! I'm going to see him now."

Lady Kingswood looked at her critically. She was gowned in a simple
white morning frock with touches of blue,--and she wore a broad-brimmed
Tuscan straw hat with a fold of blue carelessly twined about it. She
made a pretty picture--one of extraordinary youthfulness for any woman
out of her 'teens--so much so that Lady Kingswood wondered if voyages
in the air would be found to have a rejuvenating effect.

"They do not admit women into the actual monastery"--she went
on--"Feminine frivolities are forbidden! But the ruined cloister is
open to visitors and I shall ask to see Don Aloysius there."

She lightly waved adieu and went, leaving her amiable and contented
chaperone to the soothing companionship of a strip of embroidery at
which she worked with the leisurely tranquillity which such an
occupation engenders.

The ruined cloister looked very beautiful that morning, with its
crumbling arches crowned and festooned with roses climbing every way at
their own sweet will, and Morgana's light figure gave just the touch of
human interest to the solemn peacefulness of the scene. She waited but
two or three minutes before Don Aloysius appeared--he had seen her
arrive from the window of his own private library. He approached her
slowly--there was a gravity in the expression of