y satisfactory was still an
effective likeness and a fine piece of work, now hung in a splendid
frame over his mantelpiece.

There, on the afternoon in question, he sat before the fire, his eyes
fixed upon the portrait, of which the outline was beginning to grow
dim in the waning December light, when the servant girl came in and
announced that a lady wished to speak to him. He asked what her name
was, and the girl said that she did not know, because she had her veil
down and was wrapped up in a big cloak.

In due course the lady was shown up. He had relapsed into his reverie,
for nothing seemed to interest him much now unless it had to do with
Ida--and he knew that the lady could not be Ida, because the girl said
that she was short. As it happened, he sat with his right ear, in
which he was deaf, towards the door, so that between his infirmity and
his dreams he never heard Belle--for it was she--enter the room.

For a minute or more she stood looking at him as he sat with his eyes
fixed upon the picture, and while she looked an expression of pity
stole across her sweet pale face.

"I wonder what curse there is laid upon us that we should be always
doomed to seek what we cannot find?" she said aloud.

He heard her now, and looking up saw her standing in the glow and
flicker of the firelight, which played upon her white face and black-
draped form. He started violently; as he did so she loosed the heavy
cloak and hood that she wore and it fell behind her. But where was the
lovely rounded form, and where the clustering golden curls? Gone, and
in their place a coarse robe of blue serge, on which hung a crucifix,
and the white hood of the nun.

He sprang from his chair with an exclamation, not knowing if he
dreamed or if he really saw the woman who stood there like a ghost in
the firelight.

"Forgive me, Edward," she said presently, in her sweet low voice. "I
daresay that this all looks theatrical enough--but I have put on this
dress for two reasons: firstly, because I must leave this town in an
hour's time and wish to do so unknown; and secondly, to show that you
need not fear that I have come to be troublesome. Will you light the
candles?"

He did so mechanically, and then pulled down the blinds. Meanwhile
Belle had seated herself near the table, her face buried in her hands.

"What is the meaning of all this, Belle?" he said.

"'Sister Agnes,' you must call me now," she said, taking her hands
from her face. "