“I do not agree with you,” was the quiet answer.  “There is no real need for it here, and perhaps there never will be.  Work that is so unnecessary might better be avoided.  In Spenersberg it is better that the poor and the old and the sick should be cared for in their homes, by their own households:  there is no want here.”

“Will you read what I have been reading?” said Elise, hesitating, not willing yet to give up the project which looked so full of promise.

“I know all about Sisters’ Houses, and they are excellent institutions, but if you will go from house to house here you will find that you would probably keep house by yourself a long time if you opened such an establishment.  No, no:  you have your work all prepared for you, and I certainly have mine.  There is a good deal to be done yet for the festival.  Tomorrow, after five, come to the school-room and we will practice a while.  And we might do something here to-night.  The children surprise me:  I seem to be surrounded by a little company of angels while they sing.”

“Oh, Sister Benigna,” exclaimed Elise throwing down her work in despair, “I don’t in the least care about the festival.  I should be glad to know it was all given up.  I cannot sing at it.  I think I have lost my voice:  I do, indeed.  I tried it this afternoon, and I croaked worse than anything you ever heard.”

“Croaked?  We must see to that,” said Sister Benigna; but, though her voice was so cheerful, she closed her eyes as she spoke, and passed her hands over them, and in spite of herself a look of pain was for an instant visible on her always pale face.  She rose quickly and walked across the room, and crossed it twice before she came again to the window.

“You don’t understand me to-day,” said Elise impetuously; “and I don’t want you to.”  But Elise would not have spoken at all had she looked at Sister Benigna.

A silence of many seconds, which seemed much longer to Elise, followed her words.  She did not dare to go on.  What was Sister Benigna thinking?  Would she never speak?  Had she nothing to say?  Elise was about to rise also, because to sit still in that silence or to break it by words had become equally impossible, when Sister Benigna, approaching gently, laid her hand upon her and said, “Wait one moment:  I have something to tell you, Elise.”

And so Elise sat down.  She could not summon the strength to go with that voice in her ear and the touch of that hand arresting her.

“I once had a friend as young as you are, of whom you often remind me,” said Benigna.  “She had a lover, and their faith led them to seek a knowledge of the Lord’s will concerning their marriage.  It was inquired for them, and it was found against the union.  You often remind me of her, I said, but your fortunes are not at all like hers.”

“Sister Benigna, why do you tell me this?” asked Elise quickly, in a voice hardly audible.  She was afraid to listen.  She recalled Albert’s words.  She did not know if she might trust the friendly voice that spoke.