choolgirl's extravagant
escapade, or the deluded victim of some infamous plot of her infamous
companion? He could not believe either; yet he could not check a
certain revulsion of feeling towards her, which only a moment ago he
would have believed impossible.

Yet whatever was her purpose, he must prevent her coming there at any
hazard. Her visit would be the culmination of her folly, or the
success of any plot. Even while he was fully conscious of the material
effect of any scandal and exposure to her, even while he was incensed
and disillusionized at her unexpected audacity, he was unusually
stirred with the conviction that she was wronging herself, and that
more than ever she demanded his help and his consideration. Still she
must not come. But how was he to prevent her? It wanted but an hour
of dusk. Even if he could again penetrate the convent on some pretext
at that inaccessible hour for visitors,--twilight,--how could he
communicate with her? He might intercept her on the way, and persuade
her to return; but she must be kept from entering the hotel.

He seized his hat and rushed downstairs. But here another difficulty
beset him. It was easy enough to take the ordinary road to the
convent, but would SHE follow that public one in what must be a
surreptitious escape? And might she not have eluded the procession
that morning, and even now be concealed somewhere, waiting for the
darkness to make her visit. He concluded to patrol the block next to
the hotel, yet near enough to intercept her before she reached it,
until the hour came. The time passed slowly. He loitered before shop
windows, or entered and made purchases, with his eye on the street.
The figure of a pretty girl,--and there were many,--the fluttering
ribbons on a distant hat, or the flashing of a cambric skirt around the
corner sent a nervous thrill through him. The reflection of his grave,
abstracted face against a shop window, or the announcement of the
workings of his own mine on a bulletin board, in its incongruity with
his present occupation, gave him an hysterical impulse to laugh. The
shadows were already gathering, when he saw a slender, graceful figure
disappear in the confectioner's shop on the block below. In his
elaborate precautions, he had overlooked that common trysting spot. He
hurried thither, and entered. The object of his search was not there,
and he was compelled to make a shamefaced, awkward survey of the tables
in