d. But no message was
forthcoming. The day passed, and he became alarmed. The fear that her
escapade had been discovered again seized him. If she were in close
restraint, she could neither send to him, nor could he convey to her
the solicitude and sympathy that filled his heart. In her childish
frankness she might have confessed the whole truth, and this would not
only shut the doors of the convent against him, under his former
pretext, but compromise her still more if he boldly called. He waylaid
the afternoon procession; she was not among them. Utterly despairing,
the wildest plans for seeing her passed through his brain,--plans that
recalled his hot-headed youth, and a few moments later made him smile
at his extravagance, even while it half frightened him at the reality
of his passion. He reached the hotel heart-sick and desperate. The
porter met him on the steps. It was with a thrill that sent the blood
leaping to his cheeks that he heard the man say:--

"Sister Seraphina is waiting for you in the sitting-room."

There was no thought of discovery or scandal in Preble Key's mind now;
no doubt or hesitation as to what he would do, as he sprang up the
staircase. He only knew that he had found her again, and was happy!
He burst into the room, but this time remembered to shut the door
behind him. He looked eagerly towards the window where she had stood
the day before, but now she rose quickly from the sofa in the corner,
where she had been seated, and the missal she had been reading rolled
from her lap to the floor. He ran towards her to pick it up. Her
name--the name she had told him to call her--was passionately trembling
on his lips, when she slowly put her veil aside, and displayed a pale,
kindly, middle-aged face, slightly marked by old scars of smallpox. It
was not Alice; it was the real Sister Seraphina who stood before him.

His first revulsion of bitter disappointment was so quickly followed by
a realization that all had been discovered, and his sacrifice of
yesterday had gone for naught, that he stood before her, stammering,
but without the power to say a word. Luckily for him, his utter
embarrassment seemed to reassure her, and to calm that timidity which
his brusque man-like irruption might well produce in the inexperienced,
contemplative mind of the recluse. Her voice was very sweet, albeit
sad, as she said gently:--

"I am afraid I have taken you by surprise; but there was no time to
arrang