Sister Theresa we have before described as tall, pale, and sad-eyed,—­a moonlight style of person, wanting in all those elements of warm color and physical solidity which give the impression of a real vital human existence.  The strongest affection she had ever known had been that which had been excited by the childish beauty and graces of Agnes, and she folded her in her arms and kissed her forehead with a warmth that had in it the semblance of maternity.

“Grandmamma has given me a day to spend with you, dear mother,” said Agnes.

“Welcome, dear little child!” said Mother Theresa.  “Your spiritual home always stands open to you.”

“I have something to speak to you of in particular, my mother,” said Agnes, blushing deeply.

“Indeed!” said the Mother Theresa, a slight movement of curiosity arising in her mind as she signed to the two nuns to leave the apartment.

“My mother,” said Agnes, “yesterday evening, as grandmamma and I were sitting at the gate, selling oranges, a young cavalier came up and bought oranges of me, and he kissed my forehead and asked me to pray for him, and gave me this ring for the shrine of Saint Agnes.”

“Kissed your forehead!” said Jocunda, “here’s a pretty go! it isn’t like you, Agnes, to let him.”

“He did it before I knew,” said Agnes.  “Grandmamma reproved him, and then he seemed to repent, and gave this ring for the shrine of Saint Agnes.”

“And a pretty one it is, too,” said Jocunda.  “We haven’t a prettier in all our treasury.  Not even the great emerald the Queen gave is better in its way than this.”

“And he asked you to pray for him?” said Mother Theresa.

“Yes, mother dear; he looked right into my eyes and made me look into his, and made me promise;—­and I knew that holy virgins never refused their prayers to any one that asked, and so I followed their example.”

“I’ll warrant me he was only mocking at you for a poor little fool,” said Jocunda; “the gallants of our day don’t believe much in prayers.”

“Perhaps so, Jocunda,” said Agnes, gravely; “but if that be the case, he needs prayers all the more.”

“Yes,” said Mother Theresa.  “Remember the story of the blessed Saint Dorothea,—­how a wicked young nobleman mocked at her, when she was going to execution, and said, ’Dorothea, Dorothea, I will believe, when you shall send me down some of the fruits and flowers of Paradise’; and she, full of faith, said, ‘To-day I will send them’; and, wonderful to tell, that very day, at evening, an angel came to the young man with a basket of citrons and roses, and said, ’Dorothea sends thee these, wherefore believe.’  See what grace a pure maiden can bring to a thoughtless young man,—­for this young man was converted and became a champion of the faith.”

“That was in the old times,” said Jocunda, skeptically.  “I don’t believe setting the lamb to pray for the wolf will do much in our day.  Prithee, child, what manner of man was this gallant?”