you. Both the supposed original and the miniature are
thin-faced, with Roman features, fair complexion, blue eyes and blonde
hair--points of resemblance which are common to many men who are not at
all alike in any other respect. Now look at this miniature again, and you
will see that, except in the points I have named, it is in no way like
the man you mistook for its original."

"I would rather not look at it. I have not seen it since--Volaski's
supposed death," said the abbess, shrinking.

"Oh, but do, for the satisfaction of your own mind. You see so few men,
that you may easily mistake one blonde for another after twenty years of
absence from them," persisted Salome, pressing the open miniature upon
the lady.

So urged, the abbess took it, gazed wistfully at the pictured face, and
murmured:

"It is possible. I may be mistaken."

"You are," muttered Salome.

The abbess continued to gaze on the portrait, and whispered:

"I think I am mistaken."

"I am _sure_ that you are, good mother," said Salome.

The lady's eyes were still fixed upon the relic, until at length she
closed the locket with a click and laid it away in the little drawer,
saying, clearly and firmly:

"Yes, I see that I _was_ mistaken."

"I am very glad you know it," remarked Salome.

"So am I. It is a relief. And now, dear daughter, I will dismiss you to
your rest. To-morrow we will consult concerning your affairs, and see
what is best for you to do," said the abbess.

"I know what is best for me to do--_my duty_. And my very first duty
is to hasten immediately to England, seek out my dear husband, confess
all my cruel misapprehension of his conduct, and implore his pardon. I
am sure of his pardon, and of his love! As sure as I am of my Heavenly
Lord's pardon and love when I kneel to Him and confess and deplore my
sins!" fervently exclaimed the young wife.

"Yes, I suppose you must return to England now. I do suppose that, after
what we have discovered, you cannot remain here and become a nun," sighed
the abbess, unwilling to resign her favorite.

"No, indeed, I cannot remain here. But I will richly endow the Infants'
Asylum, dear mother. And I will visit, it every year of my life. I am
going to retire now, good mother. Bless me," murmured Salome, bending
her head.

"_Benedicite_, fair daughter," said the abbess, spreading her open
palms over the beautiful, bowed head as she invoked the blessing.

Then Salome arose, left the cell, an