In the gladiatorial arena of the court-room, Mr. Palma was regarded as a large-brained, nimble-witted, marble-hearted man, of vast ambition and tireless energy in the acquisition of his aims; but his colleagues and clients would as soon have sought chivalric tenderness in a bronze statue, or a polished obelisk of porphyry.  To-day as he curiously watched the quivering yet proud little girlish face, her brave struggles to meet the emergency touched some chord far down in his reticent stern nature, and he suddenly stooped, and took her hand, folding it up securely in his.

“Are you not quite willing to trust yourself with me?”

She hesitated a moment, then said with a slight wavering in her low tone: 

“I have been very happy here, and I love the Sisters dearly; but you are my mother’s friend, and whatever she wishes me to do of course must be right.”

Oh beautiful instinctive faith in maternal love and maternal wisdom!  Wot ye the moulding power ye wield, ye mothers of America?

Pressing her fingers gently as if to reassure her, he said: 

“I dislike to hurry you away from these kind Sisters, but if your baggage is ready we have no time to spare.”

The nuns wept silently as she embraced them for the last time, kissed them on both cheeks, then turned and suffered Mr. Palma to lead her to the carriage, whither her trunk had already been sent.

Leaning out, she watched the receding outlines of the convent until a bend of the road concealed even the belfry, and then she stooped and kissed the drooping lilies in her lap.

Her companion expected a burst of tears, but she sat erect and quiet, and not a word was uttered until they reached the railway station and entered the cars.  Securing a double seat he placed her at the window, and sat down opposite.  It was her introduction to railway travel, and when the train moved off, and the locomotive sounded its prolonged shriek of departure, Regina started up, but, as if ashamed of her timidity, coloured and bit her lip.  Observing that she appeared interested in watching the country through which they sped, Mr. Palma drew a book from his valise, and soon became so absorbed in the contents that he forgot tie silent figure on the seat before him.

The afternoon wore away, the sun went down, and when the lamps were lighted the lawyer suddenly remembered his charge.

“Well, Regina, how do you like travelling on the cars?”

“Not at all; it makes my head ache.”

“Take off your hat, and I will try to make you more comfortable.”

He untied a shawl secured to the outside of his valise, placed it on the arm of the seat, and made her lay her head upon it.

Keeping his finger as a mark amid the leaves of his book, he said: 

“We shall not reach our journey’s end until to-morrow morning, and I advise you to sleep as much as possible.  Whenever you feel hungry you will find some sandwiches, cake, and fruit in the basket at your feet.”