keep out all insects. I wish I could do it for you."

She took the frame and fitted it under the sash.

"I am sorry I did not know that before," she said, as she returned to
her table; "this is a very bad piece of business."

I begged her to excuse me for not having informed her of the screen, but
I did not say that I was sorry for what had occurred. I merely expressed
my gratification that she had not been stung. Her chair had been pushed
away from the table, its back against the wall, opposite to me. She
seated herself upon it, gently panting. She looked from side to side at
the sheets of manuscript scattered upon the floor.

"I will pick them up presently and go to work, but I must rest a
minute." She did not now seem to consider that it was of the slightest
consequence whether I saw her face or not.

"Never mind the papers," I said; "leave them there; they can be picked
up any time."

"I wish that were the worst of it;" and as she spoke she raised her eyes
toward me, and the least little bit of a smile came upon her lips, as
if, though troubled, she could not help feeling the comical absurdity of
the situation.

"It is simply dreadful," she continued. "I don't believe such a thing
ever before happened to a sister."

"There is nothing dreadful about it," said I; "and do you mean to say
that the sisters of the House of Martha, who go out to nurse, and do all
sorts of good deeds, never speak to the people they are befriending, nor
allow them to look upon their faces?"

"Of course," said she, "you have to talk to sick people; otherwise how
could you know what they need? But this is a different case;" and she
began to gather up her hair and twist it at the back of her head.

"I do not understand," I remarked; "why is it a different case?"

"It is as different as it can be," said she, picking up her comb from
the floor and thrusting it through her hastily twisted knot of hair. "I
should not have come here at all if your grandmother had not positively
asserted that there would be nothing for me to do but to listen and to
write. And Mother Anastasia and Sister Sarah both of them especially
instructed me that I was not to speak to you nor to look at you, but
simply to sit at the table and work for the good of the cause. That was
all I had to do; and I am sure I obeyed just as strictly as anybody
could, except once, when you forgot the name of Eza, and I was so
anxious to have you go on with the incident that I co