those marble features than of
some impassioned human hope. Teresa excitedly whispered her unruly
thoughts to Sister Maria, but instead of the expected reproof the old
nun lifted her shoulders.

"Perhaps," she said. "Who knows?"

* * * * *

It was Christmas eve and all the inmates of the convent paused in their
sorrow to rejoice in the happy portent of the death and burial of one
whom they loyally believed to be no less entitled to beatification than
Catherine herself. Her miracles may not have been of the irreducible
protoplastic order, but they had been miracles to the practical
Californian mind, notwithstanding, and worthy of the attention of
consistory and Pope. Moreover, this was the season when all the vivacity
and gaiety of her youth had revived, and she made merry, not only for
the children left at the convent by their nomadic parents, but for all
the children of the town, whatever the faith of their somewhat anxious
elders.

An hour after sundown they carried the bier on which her coffin rested
into the chapel. It was a solemn procession that none, taking part, was
likely to forget, and stirred the young hearts at least with an ecstatic
desire for a life as saintly as this that hardly had needed the crown of
death.

Following the bier was the cross-bearer, holding the emblem so high it
was half lost in the shadows. Behind her were the young scholars dressed
in black, then the novices in their white robes and veils, carrying
lighted tapers to symbolize the eternal radiance that awaited the pure
in spirit. The nuns finished the procession that wound its way slowly
through the long ill-lighted corridors, chanting the litany of the dead.
From the chapel, at first almost inaudible, but waxing louder every
moment, came the same solemn monotonous chant; for the Bishop and his
assistants were already at the altar....

Teresa, from the organ loft, looked eagerly down upon the beautiful
scene, in spite of the exaltation that filled her: her artistic sense
was the one individuality she possessed. The chapel was aglow with the
soft radiance of many wax candles. They stood in high candelabra against
the somber drapery on the walls, and there were at least a hundred about
the coffin on its high catafalque before the altar; the Argueellos were
as prodigal as of old. About the catafalque was an immense mound of
roses from the garden of the convent, and palms and pampas from the
ranch of S