y sombre bonnet and gown, and these interpolated days,
which in a manner have been forced upon me, should be forgotten."

"But one thing you must not forget," I exclaimed: "it was in this time
that you promised me"--

"You selfish, selfish man," she interrupted, "you think only of
yourself. I shall talk no more of yourself, of myself, or of Sylvia. My
friends are at the other side of the house, and I am going to them." And
she went.

While Walkirk and I were sailing that afternoon, he managing the boat
and I stretched upon some cushions, I told him of my conversations with
Mother Anastasia. I considered him worthy of my confidence, and it was
pleasant to give it to him.

"She is a rare, strange woman," said he. "I thought her very handsome
when I visited her at the House of Martha; but since I have seen her
here, dressed in becoming clothes, I consider that she possesses
phenomenal attractions."

"And I hope," I remarked, "that she may be phenomenally good-natured,
and give me some chances of seeing Sylvia Raynor."

"That would indeed be phenomenal," said Walkirk, laughing, "considering
that she is a Mother Superior, and the young lady is a member of the
sisterhood. But everything relating to the case is peculiar, and in my
opinion Mother Anastasia is more peculiar than anything else."

That evening we were invited to dine at the house of the Sand Lady. It
was a delightful occasion. Everybody was in good spirits, and the
general tone of the conversation was singularly lively and unrestrained.
Mother Anastasia would not play cards, but we amused ourselves with
various sprightly social games, in which the lady who preferred to be
called a Person showed a vivacious though sometimes nipping wit. I had
no opportunity for further private talk with Mother Anastasia, nor did I
desire one. I wished to interest her in my love for Sylvia, but not to
bore her with it.

The next day, at about eleven o'clock, the Sand Lady and the Shell Man
walked over to our little bay, where they found Walkirk and me fencing
upon the level beach.

"Stop your duel, gentlemen," said the lady. "I come to give you the
farewells of the Interpolation. She was sorry she could not do this
herself, but she went away very early this morning."

"Went away!" I cried, dropping my foil upon the sand. "Where did she
go?"

"She sailed in our yacht for Sanford," answered the Sand Lady, "to take
the morning train for her beloved House of Martha. My bro