The padre was too much occupied with his emotions over the scantily-supplied shelves, and the ladies with their surprise and admiration, to notice her excited condition, which she at length succeeded in quieting enough to hear the padre say, “They have taken our precious manuscripts from us, dating as far back as the eleventh century.  Many of our order had spent their lives translating and copying manuscripts, and our greatest loss is here.  Fra Lorenzo is just now translating some Latin chronicles of our first history into Italian.  You can see by his beautiful handwriting that he is a worthy disciple of his learned predecessors.  But how is this?”—­as he searched among the rolls of yellow parchment.  “I see he has not yet commenced it.”  The old man looked troubled, and, turning from the table, went on:  “These carved depositories for the choral-books, and the frescos at the head of the stairs, are about all you can admire here now, except the architecture of the hall.”

The padre was very silent at dinner.  He only said, noticing that the signora ate nothing, “This will not do, my daughter.  You look ill.  You must eat something, or I shall have two patients on my hands.”

“Who is the other?” asked Margaret and Julia in a breath.

“Fra Lorenzo.”

The signora longed to speak with him in private.  She must go away at once, but she must speak with him before she said anything to her friends.  All the afternoon she watched for an opportunity, but found none.  At length, when it was growing dark, she went to walk in the corridor, hoping to meet him.  She had come to the open gallery looking into the cloister.  Here she would wait for him; and, leaning against the open-work railing, she looked down.  A white figure was walking to and fro.  Finally it came to the well and looked into it.  Now another white figure emerged from the shadows, and, laying an arm around the first, led it gently away out of sight.  Then her overstrained nerves gave way, and she fainted.

When she recovered her senses she found herself in bed.  The padre and her friends were talking in whispers in the next room, but the former’s voice came to her distinctly.  He was saying, “Now you know all.  You must take her away as soon as possible.”

A year after, in Naples, the ladies received these few lines from the padre:  “God in his infinite mercy has taken my son to himself.”

KATE JOHNSTON MATSON.

THE SUBSTITUTE.

CHARACTERS.

MR. NATHANIEL NOKES, a Retired Wine-Merchant.

MR. CHARLES NOKES, his Nephew.

MR. ROBINSON, MR. SPONGE, MR. RASPER, Friends of Mr. Nokes the Elder.

Waiter.

SUSAN, Housemaid at the Hotel of the Four Seasons.

MRS. CHARLES NOKES.

Landlady.

SCENE I.—­A handsome first-floor apartment in the Hotel of the Four Seasons, Paris.  Outside the window, the court-yard, with fountain, and little trees in large pots.