ed with theirs upon their tomb, in the roll of honour, as
that of a man who perished in his country's service. I went there with
Madame Bernard before I began my noviciate, and I went again, for the
last time, before I took the veil. I had loved you living and I loved
you dead.'

Giovanni moved as if he were going to speak, but she would not let
him.

'No, hear me!' she cried anxiously. 'I offered God my life and my
strength for your sake, and if I have done any good here in five
years, as novice and nun, it has been in the hope that it might be
accepted for you, if your soul needed it. Though you may not believe
in such things, do you at least understand me?'

'Indeed I do, and I am grateful--most grateful.'

She was a little disappointed by his tone, for he spoke with an
evident effort.

'It was gladly given,' she said. 'But now you have come back to
life----'

She hesitated. With all her courage and strength, she could not quite
control her memory, and the words she had prepared so carefully were
suddenly confused. Giovanni completed the sentence for her in his own
way.

'I have come to life to find you dead for me, as I have been dead for
you. Is that what you were going to say?'

She was still hesitating.

'Was it that?' he insisted.

'No,' she answered, at last. 'Not dead for you--alive for you.'

He would have caught at a straw, and the joy came into his face as he
quickly held out his hand to her; but she would not take it: hers were
both hidden under her white cloth scapular and she shrank from him.
The light went out of his eyes.

'I might have known!' he said, deeply disappointed. 'You do not mean
it. I suppose you will explain that you are alive to pray for me!'

'You promised to listen quietly, whatever I might say.'

'Yes.' He controlled himself. 'I will,' he added, after a moment. 'Go
on.'

'I am not changed,' said Sister Giovanna, 'but my life is. That is
what I meant by the inevitable. No person can undo what I have
done'--Giovanni moved impatiently--'no power can loose me from my vows.'

In spite of himself, the man's temper broke out.

'You are mad,' he answered roughly, 'or else you do not know that you
can be free.'

'Hush!' cried the nun, trying once more to check him. 'Your
promise--remember it!'

'I break it! I will not listen meekly to such folly! Before you took
the vow, you had given me your word, as I gave you mine, that we would
be man and wife, and since I am not