himself and for his heart--do you understand?"

"For his goodness," said Sister Paul, nodding in approval. "I
understand."

"No," Beatrice answered, half impatiently. "Not for his goodness either.
Many men are good, and so was he--he must have been, of course. No
matter. I loved him. That is enough. He loved me, too. And one day we
were alone, in the broad spring sun, upon a terrace. There were lemon
trees there--I can see the place. Then we told each other that we
loved--but neither of us could find the words--they must be somewhere,
those strong beautiful words that could tell how we loved. We told each
other--"

"Without your father's consent?" asked the nun almost severely.

Beatrice's eyes flashed. "Is a woman's heart a dog that must follow at
heel?" she asked fiercely. "We loved. That was enough. My father had
the power, but not the heart, to come between. We told him, then, for
we were not cowards. We told him boldly that it must be. He was a
thoughtful man, who spoke little. He said that we must part at once,
before we loved each other better--and that we should soon forget. We
looked at each other, the man I loved and I. We knew that we should love
better yet, parted or together, though we could not tell how that could
be. But we knew also that such love as there was between us was enough.
My father gave no reasons, but I knew that he hated the name of my
mother's nation. Of course we met again. I remember that I could cry in
those days. My father had not learned to part us then. Perhaps he was
not quite sure himself, at all events the parting did not come so soon.
We told him that we would wait, for ever if it must be. He may have been
touched, though little touched him at the best. Then, one day, suddenly
and without warning, he took me away to another city. And what of him?
I asked. He told me that there was an evil fever in the city and that
it had seized him--the man I loved. 'He is free to follow us if he
pleases,' said my father. But he never came. Then followed a journey,
and another, and another, until I knew that my father was travelling
to avoid him. When I saw that I grew silent, and never spoke his name
again. Farther and farther, longer and longer, to the ends of the earth.
We saw many people, many asked for my hand. Sometimes I heard of him,
from men who had seen him lately. I waited patiently, for I knew that he
was on our track, and sometimes I felt that he was near."

Beatrice paused.