was beautifully kept. I hitched
our horses, and as we strolled up the pavement towards the entrance, I
saw two or three figures moving about the premises, clad in the becoming
black-and-white garb of the order. Presently one sister espied us, and
immediately started our way. She was very old, and moved with slow,
short steps. Salome ran to her with a little cry of joy, bent down and
kissed the wrinkled face, and, as I came up, introduced me to Sister
Hyacintha. I shall never forget the patient, joyful, almost heavenly
look on the face of this good woman. She led us to the porch, and gave
us chairs, and she and Salome talked, while I listened. As it was
nearing the noon hour, we were prevailed upon to stay and take lunch. In
the afternoon we were shown through the building, and took a walk over
the grounds. Time slipped by stealthily, and the sun was hovering above
the western horizon when Salome remembered that St. Rose was yet to be
seen.

A short ride over a narrow dirt road winding through masses of verdure
brought us to the confines of the old church, which, perched upon a
hill, reared its turret aloft in the purple air. I fastened our horses
to some of the numerous hitching-posts placed along the roadside for the
use of worshippers, and we turned to the iron gate leading into the
premises. As this clanged behind us we both felt keenly the jar it
created, for everything was so still and peaceful that the slightest
noise was irrelevant, and we felt bound to talk in whispers. We found
ourselves upon a gravel walk bordered by cedars; to our left was the
road, to our right the white stones of a vast burying ground rose up
like spectral sentinels of the tomb.

Salome put her hand upon my arm. The path was steep, and I should have
offered her assistance, but I had not thought of it. Not a word was
spoken until we had reached the end of the path. Here the brow of the
hill curved around in the form of a semicircle, and was studded with
cedars, like emeralds in a crown. Before us, not a dozen steps away,
rose the ancient edifice we had come to view. It was made of solid
masonry, and seemed good for hundreds of years to come.

"Here we are."

Salome was panting a little as she said this, in a barely audible voice.
I looked at the gray pile in silent contemplation. Its style suggested
massiveness, although the building was not of any great size. The part
comprising the vestibule and bell-tower was octagon in shape, and the