But I see that the boy has returned with the horse,
and I must continue my journey. I am going to the Iron Furnace to see a
sick woman. I wish you would think of what I have said, and remember
that it was spoken from the depth of my soul. And do not think," she
continued, as I turned and accompanied her toward the carriage, "that I
do not appreciate the state of your feelings. I understand them
thoroughly, and I sympathize with you as perhaps only a woman can
sympathize; but still I say to you that there are some things in this
world which we must give up, and which we ought to give up promptly and
willingly."

"Do you think," said I, "that if Sylvia were to learn typewriting there
would be any objection to her copying manuscript for me?"

Mother Anastasia burst into a laugh. "You ought to be ashamed of
yourself for making a person of my position behave so giddily in the
presence of a hack-driver."

We now reached the carriage, and I assisted her to enter it.

"Good-morning," she said, her face still perturbed by her suddenly
checked merriment, "and do not forget the counsels I have given you."

I bowed and stepped back, but the driver did not start. He sat for a
moment irresolute, and then, turning toward Mother Anastasia, asked,
"Shall I wait for the other sister?"

"Oh, go on!" cried the Mother Superior. "There is no other sister."

The boy, startled by her tone, gave his horse a cut, and the equipage
rattled away. I walked slowly homeward, meditating earnestly upon Mother
Anastasia's words and upon Mother Anastasia.

XXXIX.

A SOUL WHISPER?

My meditations upon the Mother Superior of the House of Martha were not
concluded during my homeward walk; the subject occupied my mind for the
greater part of the rest of the day. I do not call myself a philosopher,
but I am in the habit of looking into the nature and import of what
happens about me. My reflections on Mother Anastasia gradually produced
in me the conviction that there was something more in her words, her
manner, and her actions than would appear to the ordinary observer.

In considering this matter, I went back to the very first of my
intercourse with this beautiful woman, who, divested of the dismal
disguise of her sisterhood, had produced upon my memory an impression
which was so strong that, whenever I now thought of Mother Anastasia,
she appeared before my mental vision in a white dress, with a broad hat
and a bunch of flowers in her be