entering into from the world they were leaving.

The high gables and old belfry of the Monastrey stood bathed in
sunlight. The figure of St. Joseph that dominated over the ancient
portal held out his arms and seemed to welcome the trembling fugitives
into the house with a gesture of benediction.

The two ladies paused upon the stone steps. Amelie clasped her arm round
Heloise, whom she pressed to her bosom and said, "Think before you knock
at this door and cross the threshold for the last time, Heloise! You
must not do it for my sake, darling."

"No, Amelie," replied she sadly. "It is not wholly for your sake. Would
I could say it were! Alas! If I remained in the world, I could even
now pity Le Gardeur, and follow him to the world's end; but it must
not--cannot be. Do not seek to dissuade me, Amelie, for it is useless."

"Your mind is made up, then, to go in with me, my Heloise?" said Amelie,
with a fond, questioning look.

"Fully, finally, and forever!" replied she, with energy that left no
room for doubt. "I long ago resolved to ask the community to let me die
with them. My object, dear sister, is like yours: to spend my life in
prayers and supplications for Le Gardeur, and be laid, when God calls
me to his rest, by the side of our noble aunt, Mere Madelaine de
Repentigny, whose lamp still burns in the Chapel of the Saints, as if to
light you and me to follow in her footsteps."

"It is for Le Gardeur's sake I too go," replied Amelie; "to veil my face
from the eyes of a world I am ashamed to see, and to expiate, if I can,
the innocent blood that has been shed. But the sun shines very bright
for those to whom its beams are still pleasant!" said she, looking
around sadly, as if it were for the last time she bade adieu to the sun,
which she should never again behold under the free vault of heaven.

Heloise turned slowly to the door of the Convent. "Those golden rays
that shine through the wicket," said she, "and form a cross upon the
pavement within, as we often observed with schoolgirl admiration, are
the only rays to gladden me now. I care no more for the light of
the sun. I will live henceforth in the blessed light of the lamp of
Repentigny. My mind is fixed, and I will not leave you, Amelie. 'Where
thou goest I will go, where thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people shall
be my people, and thy God my God.'"

Amelie kissed her cousin tenderly. "So be it, then, Heloise. Your
heart is broken as well as mine. We wil