ry boy, "that is"--he stammered with a half
hysteric laugh,--"that is--a confession as if you were really a sister
or a priest, you know--a sort of confidence to you--to your dress. I
HAVE seen you, or THOUGHT I saw you before. It was that which brought
me here, that which made me follow Mrs. Barker--my only clue to you--to
the door of that convent. That night, in the hollow, I saw a profile
at the lighted window, which I thought was yours."

"I never was near the window," said the young girl quickly. "It must
have been Mrs. Barker."

"I know that now," returned Key. "But remember, it was my only clue to
you. I mean," he added awkwardly, "it was the means of my finding you."

"I don't see how it made you think of me, whom you never saw, to see
another woman's profile," she retorted, with the faintest touch of
asperity in her childlike voice. "But," she added, more gently and
with a relapse into her adorable naivete, "most people's profiles look
alike."

"It was not that," protested Key, still awkwardly, "it was only that I
realized something--only a dream, perhaps."

She did not reply, and they continued on in silence. The gray wall of
the convent was already in sight. Key felt he had achieved nothing.
Except for information that was hopeless, he had come to no nearer
understanding of the beautiful girl beside him, and his future appeared
as vague as before; and, above all, he was conscious of an inferiority
of character and purpose to this simple creature, who had obeyed him so
submissively. Had he acted wisely? Would it not have been better if he
had followed her own frankness, and--

"Then it was Mrs. Barker's profile that brought you here?" resumed the
voice beneath the coif. "You know she has gone back. I suppose you
will follow?"

"You will not understand me," said Key desperately. "But," he added in
a lower voice, "I shall remain here until you do."

He drew a little closer to her side.

"Then you must not begin by walking so close to me," she said, moving
slightly away; "they may see you from the gate. And you must not go
with me beyond that corner. If I have been missed already they will
suspect you."

"But how shall I know?" he said, attempting to take her hand. "Let me
walk past the gate. I cannot leave you in this uncertainty."

"You will know soon enough," she said gravely, evading his hand. "You
must not go further now. Good-night."

She had stopped at the corner of the wal