le as
the bloom of growing roses, which is gone within an hour after they
are cut, though their beauty may be preserved for many days. There was
the nun's habit, too, and the veil and wimple, proclaiming another and
a greater change from which there was no return.

Ippolito Saracinesca had never been in love, even in his early youth; it
was no wonder that he was mistaken in such a man as Giovanni Severi. The
only danger he reckoned with lay in Sister Giovanna's own heart, and he
felt that he could count on her courage, her self-respect, and most of
all on her profoundly religious nature. No danger is ever overcome
without danger, said Mimos. In the case of such a woman it was better,
for her sake, to accept such risk as there might be in a single
interview which must be decisive and final, than to let her live on
haunted by disturbing memories and harassed by regret.

CHAPTER XIV

It was raining when Giovanni and Monsignor Saracinesca rang at the
door of the Convent. The Mother Superior had ordered two rush-bottomed
chairs to be brought out of the hall and placed under the shelter of
the cloister just on one side of the glass door; for Sister Giovanna
was to receive a visit, as she explained, from an officer who had
known her father and had business with her. Such things had happened
before in the community, and the lay sister was not surprised. She
carried the chairs out and set them in what she considered a proper
position, about two yards apart and both facing the garden. The rain
fell softly and steadily, the sky was of an even dove-grey, and the
smell of the damp earth and the early spring flowers filled the
cloister.

Giovanni was a soldier and would impose his military punctuality upon
the prelate, who, like most churchmen, had a clearer idea of eternity
than of definite time. As the Convent clock was striking, therefore,
the Mother Superior and Sister Giovanna came down the narrow stairs,
for they had been together a quarter of an hour, though they had
scarcely exchanged half-a-dozen words. They walked slowly round under
the vaulted cloister, the Mother on the right, the nun on the left,
according to the rigid custom, and they had just turned the last
corner and were in sight of the two chairs when the glass door opened.

Monsignor Saracinesca's voice was heard.

'Remember what I have said. I trust you, and you know that the
cloister is open to every one.'

'Yes,' Giovanni answered, as both appe