“Do not discrown me.  My father’s Beryl will never sully your pure record; and it would be as impossible for me to disgrace your uniform, as defile my mother’s shroud.  Grant me the protection of this consecrated garb.”

“No.  The ‘Anchorage’ must remain as heretofore, like Caesar’s wife.”

“Although I have lived here so long, how little you know me.”

“Very true, my Sister; therefore, as custodian of the interests of our little community, I must not put them in jeopardy.  When do you expect to take your departure?”

“Wednesday, at 6 A.M., on the express for New York.”

“Have you received letters?”

“No, Sister.  Doctor Grantlin is the only person who writes to me, and as his letters are always addressed to your care, I receive them from your hands.”

“How long do you propose to stay in New York?”

“I am not going to New York, and I know not how long I may be detained; but I desire to return without needless delay.”

“Then you want your money.”

“Give me to-morrow five hundred dollars, and keep the remainder until I come, or until you hear from me.  Please say that I have gone on a journey to fulfil a pledge made years ago; and try not to show the Sisters that you have no confidence in me.  That—­would rob my home-coming of half its pleasure.  If any unforeseen accident should keep me away, should cut short a life which has overflowed with great sorrow, then retain the money and the pictures I leave behind; and believe that I died, as I have lived, not unworthy of all thy kindness and true charity this dear sacred ‘Anchorage’ has shown to me.  Sister Elena is impatient; I hear her walking up and down the floor.  While I am absent, Sister Katrina, and especially Sister Anice, can take my place in the Art School; and all my orders were finished last week, except the mirror for Mrs. St. Clair.  She wished it framed in scarlet bignonias, and as the painting is more than half done, Sister Anice can easily complete it.  I will not detain you longer.  Good-night, Sister Ruth.”

No sleep visited Beryl, and as she lay at two o’clock, watching the shimmer of the moonlight reflected from the tossing waves upon the panes of her wide window, where the tangled mesh of quivering rays coiled, uncoiled, glided hither and yon like golden serpents, she heard the click of the key, and the turning of the knob in a door, which opened from the alcove into an adjoining room.  That apartment was reserved as a guest chamber; had been unoccupied for months; and puzzled by the sound, Beryl sat up in her bed and listened.  The blue folds of the drapery hanging over the alcove arch, were drawn aside, and Sister Ruth, wrapped in a trailing dressing-gown, held up a small lamp and peered cautiously around.

“What is the matter, Sister?”

“Did I frighten you?  I came this way rather than knock at the other door, because Sister Frances is on watch to-night; and though she is a dear good soul, she is afflicted with an undue share of the feminine frailty, curiosity, and I prefer that no one should canvass my unseasonable visit to you.  Do not get up.”