n shadows by the flow of many tears, were
slowly lifted now and again, disclosing a vision of black eyes not meant
for endless weeping, nor made so deep and warm only to strain their
sight towards heaven above, forgetting earth below. Unorna knew that
those same eyes could gleam, and flash, and blaze, with love and hate
and anger, that under the rich, pale skin, the blood could rise and ebb
with the changing tide of the heart, that the warm lips could part
with passion and, moving, form words of love. She saw pride in the wide
sensitive nostrils, strength in the even brow, and queenly dignity in
the perfect poise of the head upon the slender throat. And the clasped
hands were womanly, too, neither full and white and heavy like those
of a marble statue, as Unorna's were, nor thin and over-sensitive like
those of holy women in old pictures, but real and living, delicate in
outline, but not without nervous strength, hands that might linger in
another's, not wholly passive, but all responsive to the thrill of a
loving touch.

It was very hard to bear. A better woman than Unorna might have felt
something evil and cruel and hating in her heart, at the sight of so
much beauty in one who held her place, in the queen of the kingdom where
she longed to reign. Unorna's cheek grew very pale, and her unlike eyes
were fierce and dangerous. It was well for her that she could not speak
to Beatrice then, for she wore no mask, and the dark beauty would have
seen the danger of death in the face of the fair, and would have turned
and defended herself in time.

But the sweet singing of the nuns came softly up from below, echoing
to the groined roof, rising and falling, high and low; and the full
radiance of the many waxen tapers shone steadily from the great altar,
gilding and warming statue and cornice and ancient moulding, and casting
deep shadows into all the places that it could not reach. And still the
two women knelt in their high balcony, the one rapt in fervent prayer,
the other wondering that the presence of such hatred as hers should have
no power to kill, and all the time making a supreme effort to compose
her own features into the expression of friendly sympathy and interest
which she knew she would need so soon as the singing ceased and it was
time to leave the church again.

The psalms were finished. There was a pause, and then the words of the
ancient hymn floated up to Unorna's ears, familiar in years gone by.
Almost unco