came back to her ears when she was
alone and told the story over and over again; and somehow her aunt was
often mentioned in the Convent as a recent benefactress who was
showing a lively interest in the hospital, and would perhaps give
further large sums to it which could be expended for good. Sister
Giovanna never said anything when the subject came up, but she could
not help thinking of Judas's suggestion that the alabaster box of
precious ointment might have been sold and given to the poor, and a
disturbing spirit whispered that Princess Chiaromonte, whose past
might well be compared with the Magdalen's, had done what Iscariot
would have advised.

In due time, too, the great lady visited the Convent and hospital, and
was shown over it systematically by the Mother Superior herself,
followed by an approving little escort of nurses and novices, for it
was of course permissible to appreciate and admire the smart clothes
of a benefactress, whereas it would have been the height of levity to
bestow so much attention on a lady visitor who was merely fashionable
and had done nothing for the institution. This, at least, was the
novices' point of view. But the little white volcano seemed quietly
cross, and held her small head very high as she led the Princess from
one ward to another to the beautifully fitted operating-room; and when
she spoke her tone was strangely cold and mordant, as a woman's voice
sometimes sounds in the Alps, when she speaks across an ice-fall or a
frozen lake.

The Princess looked behind her repeatedly, and her eyes sought her
niece's face amongst those she saw, but she asked no questions about
her, and apparently gave all her attention to what was shown her.
Sister Giovanna was in her cell during all that time, and should no
doubt have been occupied; but instead, she was standing idly at her
window, looking through one of the diamond-shaped openings in the
lattice, in the direction of Monteverde. She was hardly aware of what
she saw, however, for in imagination she was following her aunt
through the halls and wards and long corridors, and a struggle was
going on in her heart which hurt her and made her despise herself.

The woman who had ruined her life was under the same roof with her
again, and she could not forgive her; and that seemed a very great
sin. What had she gained in the five years that had gone by since the
beginning of her noviciate, if she could not even forgive an injury?
That was t