nd thoughtful;
their eyes met and drank, in a moment, every feature of each other.

The Sister, apparently, had seen the settled grief on that fair face;
for the next time they met, she eyed her with a certain sympathy, which
did not escape Bella.

This subtle interchange took place several times and Bella could not
help feeling a little grateful. "Ah!" she thought to herself, "how kind
religious people are! I should like to speak to her." And the next time
they met she looked wistfully in the Sister's face.

She did not meet her again, for she went and rested on a bench, in
sight of her father, but at some distance from him. Unconsciously to
herself, his refusal even to hear Sir Charles repelled her. That was so
hard on him and her. It looked like throwing away the last chance, the
last little chance of happiness.

By-and-by the Sister came and sat on the same bench.

Bella was hardly surprised, but blushed high, for she felt that her own
eyes had invited the sympathy of a stranger; and now it seemed to be
coming. The timid girl felt uneasy. The Sister saw that, and approached
her with tact. "You look unwell," said she, gently, but with no
appearance of extravagant interest or curiosity.

"I am--a little," said Bella, very reservedly.

"Excuse my remarking it. We are professional nurses, and apt to be a
little officious, I fear."

No reply.

"I saw you were unwell. But I hope it is not serious. I can generally
tell when the sick are in danger." A peculiar look. "I am glad not to
see it in so young and--good a face."

"You are young, too; very young, and--" she was going to say
"beautiful," but she was too shy--"to be a Sister of Charity. But I am
sure you never regret leaving such a world as this is."

"Never. I have lost the only thing I ever valued in it."

"I have no right to ask you what that was."

"You shall know without asking. One I loved proved unworthy."

The Sister sighed deeply, and then, hiding her face with her hands for
a moment, rose abruptly, and left the square, ashamed, apparently, of
having been betrayed into such a confession.

Bella, when she was twenty yards off, put out a timid hand, as if to
detain her; but she had not the courage to say anything of the kind.

She never told her father a word. She had got somebody now who could
sympathize with her better than he could.

Next day the Sister was there, and Bella bowed to her when she met her.
This time it was the Sister who w