of hope in me. At
length she said:

"Mary, you don't know what you are asking me to do. When I took my vows
I promised to speak the truth under all circumstances, no matter what
the consequences, as surely as I should answer to God at the great Day
of Judgment. Yet you wish me to lie. How can I? How can I? Remember my
vows, my duty."

I think the next few minutes must have been the most evil of all my
life. When I saw, or thought I saw, that, though one word would save me,
one little word, Mildred intended to give me away to the men
downstairs, I leapt to my feet and burst out on her with the bitterest
reproaches.

"You religious women are always talking about your duty," I cried. "You
never think about love. Love is kind and merciful; but no, duty, always
duty! Love indeed! What do you cold creatures out of the convent, with
your crosses and rosaries, know about love--real love--the blazing fire
in a woman's heart when she loves somebody so much that she would give
her heart's blood for him--yes, and her soul itself if need be."

What else I said I cannot remember, for I did not know what I was doing
until I found myself looking out of the window and panting for breath.

Then I became aware that Mildred was making no reply to my reproaches,
and looking over my shoulder I saw that she was still sitting in my
chair with both her hands covering her face and the tears trickling
through her fingers on to the linen of her habit.

That conquered me in a moment.

I was seized with such remorse that I wished to throw my arms about her
neck and kiss her. I dared not do that, now, but I knelt by her side
again and asked her to forgive me.

"Forgive me, sister," I said. "I see now that God has brought us to this
pass and there is no way out of it. You must do what you think is right.
I shall always know you couldn't have done otherwise. _He_ will know
too. And if it must be that disgrace is to fall on him through me . . .
and that when he comes home he will find. . . ."

But I could not bear to speak about that, so I dropped my head on
Mildred's lap.

During the silence that followed we heard the sound of footsteps coming
up the stairs.

"Listen! They're here," said Mildred. "Get up. Say nothing. Leave
everything to me."

I rose quickly and returned to the window. Mildred dried her eyes, got
up from the chair and stood with her back to the fire-place.

There was a knock at my door. I do not know which of us answer