any days and nights.

She arose on Sunday morning refreshed; but it seemed as if her stony
apathy had passed off, only to leave her more keenly sensitive to her
cause of grief; for as she dressed herself, a flood of tender memories
overflowed her soul, and she threw herself, weeping freely, on her cot.

In this condition she was found by the abbess, who was pleased to see her
weep, knowing that the keenness of sorrow is much softened by tears.

She sat down in silence by the cot, and waited until the paroxysm was
past.

"Good mother, I could not help it," said Salome, with a last convulsive
sob, as she wiped her eyes, and arose.

"Nor did I wish you to do so. Thank the Lord for the gift of tears. Have
you had breakfast, my daughter?"

"Yes, dear mother. Sister Francoise brought it to me before I was up.
This is the last time I will allow myself such an indulgence. To-morrow
morning, if you will permit me, I will join you in the refectory."

"I am rejoiced to hear you say so my child. Your recovery depends much
upon yourself. Every exertion that you make helps it forward. And now I
came to tell you that in ten minutes we shall go on to the chapel. Will
you be ready to accompany us?"

"Yes, dear mother, I will come on and join you almost immediately," said
Salome standing up and shaking down her black robe into shape.

The abbess softly slipped out of the room and left the guest to complete
her toilet.

In a few minutes Salome passed out and joined the procession of nuns to
the chapel.

As soon as they were seated in the screened choir, Salome looked through
the screen, to see if the English priest was at the altar. He was not
there yet; but the body of the little chapel was filled with an expectant
crowd of small country gentry, farmers and laborers with their families,
all drawn together by the fame of the great Oratorian.

Presently the procession entered--six boys, in white surplices, preceding
a pale, thin, intellectual-looking young man in priestly robes.

The priest took his place before the altar, the boys kneeling on his
right and left, and the solemn celebration of the high mass was begun.

The nuns sang well within their screened choir; but the new soprano voice
that sang the solos, and rose elastic, sweet and clear, soaring to the
heavens in the _Gloria in Excelsis_, seemed to carry all the
worshipers with it.

"Who is she?" inquired one of another, in hushed whispers, when the
divine anthem