low it,
the coif, veil, rosary, and crucifix were swept off, and the young
pupil of the convent stood before him.

For all the sombre suggestiveness of her disguise and its ungraceful
contour, there was no mistaking the adorable little head, tumbled all
over with silky tendrils of hair from the hasty withdrawal of her coif,
or the blue eyes that sparkled with frank delight beneath them. Key
thought her more beautiful than ever. Yet the very effect of her
frankness and beauty was to recall him to all the danger and
incongruity of her position.

"This is madness," he said quickly. "You may be followed here and
discovered in this costume at any moment!" Nevertheless, he caught the
two little hands that had been extended to him, and held them tightly,
and with a frank familiarity that he would have wondered at an instant
before.

"But I won't," she said simply. "You see I'm doing a 'half-retreat';
and I stay with Sister Seraphina in her room; and she always sleeps two
hours after the Angelus; and I got out without anybody knowing me, in
her clothes. I see what it is," she said, suddenly bending a
reproachful glance upon him, "you don't like me in them. I know
they're just horrid; but it was the only way I could get out."

"You don't understand me," he said eagerly. "I don't like you to run
these dreadful risks and dangers for"--He would have said "for me," but
added with sudden humility--"for nothing. Had I dreamed that you cared
to see me, I would have arranged it easily without this indiscretion,
which might make others misjudge you. Every instant that you remain
here--worse, every moment that you are away from the convent in that
disguise, is fraught with danger. I know you never thought of it."

"But I did," she said quietly; "I thought of it, and thought that if
Sister Seraphina woke up, and they sent for me, you would take me away
with you to that dear little hollow in the hills, where I first heard
your voice. You remember it, don't you? You were lost, I think, in
the darkness, and I used to say to myself afterwards that I found you.
That was the first time. Then the second time I heard you, was here in
the hall. I was alone in the other room, for Mrs. Barker had gone out.
I did not know you were here, but I knew your voice. And the third
time was before the convent gate, and then I knew you knew me. And
after that I didn't think of anything but coming to you; for I knew
that if I was found out, y