charming to become the nuns for
which Sebastien said they were qualifying.

"They are White Ladies," he whispered, "and very soon will be cloistered
and never see the world again. It is enough to break one's heart."

"You don't approve, Sebastien?"

"Ah, senor, I shudder at the thought. It occurs to me what a terrible
thing it would be if Anita were to turn nun instead of becoming my happy
wife--at least I shall do all I can to make her happy. But these poor
girls--think for a moment of the humdrum life they are taking up;
nothing to look forward to; no change, no pleasure of any sort. They
might as well be buried alive at once and put out of their misery."

As the door opened to admit the two novices--if novices they were--we
had caught sight of others in the passage; some eight or ten, as we
fancied. An elderly nun, equally dressed in white, was going amongst
them, almost, as it seemed, in the act of benediction. She was evidently
counselling, encouraging, fortifying those to whom she ministered. One
might have thought that passing through that doorway was renouncing an
old life and taking up a new one; an irrevocable step and choice from
which there was no recall and no turning back.

H. C. was taken with a lump in his throat as the young fair women
unveiled and moved towards the altar. One of them was certainly very
beautiful. Large wistful blue eyes stood out in contrast with the ivory
pallor of her oval face, than which the spotless veil was not more pure
and chaste.

It was too much for H. C.'s equanimity. He coughed and betrayed himself.

She turned hurriedly; and seeing a face that corresponded to her own in
pallor, and eyes that were quite as wistful, gave him an appealing,
imploring glance which seemed to say that she would be saved from her
present fate.

For an instant we trembled. The case was so hopeless. There was the
dividing screen. There was the nun on guard beyond the closed door.
There was the drenching rain outside. An escape in a deluge would not
have been romantic--and where could they escape to? It was one of those
agonising moments of helplessness that sometimes drive men insane.

H. C. grasped the screen. There was an instant when we thought he would
have torn it down come what might. He looked reckless and desperate and
miserable. Then we placed our hand on his arm as we had done that night
at the opera in Gerona, and he calmed down.

We turned to leave the chapel. As we did so, a