r we keep as far as possible out of sight. You have
seen Anselmo to-day, senor?"

"Yes, and wished him farewell. It was a sad moment. He alone has repaid
us for our visit to Gerona. We should like to spend many days here and
know him more intimately."

"Days of profit, if I may venture to say so, senor. The more you saw
Anselmo, the more you would love him. It is every one's experience.
Apart from his saintliness, you cannot tell on a slight acquaintance how
much there is in him. His is not the goodness of a weak but of a strong
nature; intellectually strong; but so refined and unambitious that to an
ordinary observer it may seem passive. He is of a different order from
Pere Delormais, who is full of action and energy, and does so much and
does all well. But Delormais was born to great things; they are his of
inheritance. Anselmo had not these privileges."

"The greater merit, Rosalie; but we think you count for very much in his
life. He has kept you before him, and your image has inspired him to
deeper holiness."

"Ah, no, senor. Rather is it the other way. He has been my guide and
king, as I told you yesterday. Anselmo is above all earthly mortals,
all human aid. But you will meet him again and know him better. This
your first visit to Gerona will not be your last. Few people come here,
but those who do always return. I think of it as a place apart,
possessing ideal beauties, a separate atmosphere. And for me," she
smiled, "everything seems imbued with the charm of Anselmo. The bells
ring out his name; I hear it in the song of the birds, the whispering of
the trees. Romance is not dead within me because I am Sister Anastasia."

Here H. C. struck in, unable to contain himself any longer.

"If I were here very long," he cried excitedly, "I should fall madly in
love with you myself, and write reams of poetry to your lovely eyes. I
have never seen such eyes. They have all the light of heaven in them,
and--and--all the beauty of earth."

Rosalie laughed.

"You are very outspoken, senor. I could have told you were a poet from
your look. But you must exercise your genius on a worthier theme. On me
it would be wasted; my life, all I have, all I am, is dedicated to
Heaven. Time is passing. Will you not go with me on my way that I may
show you one of the loveliest spots in Gerona?"

So Rosalie walked through the quiet old-world streets with an escort on
either side. We felt we were attending an angel. H. C. did not at