She put the brass lamp on a chair, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Our conversation has disquieted me, and I cannot sleep.  Long ago, for my own sake, I made a rule by which to govern my judgment of my fellow beings; and it amounts to this:  where I cannot be sure of evil in others, I give them the benefit of the doubt, and sincerely endeavor to think the best.  I have watched you very closely.  There is much that I cannot understand; much that it appears strange you should hesitate to explain; yet in these years I have had no cause to question your truthfulness, and that is the basis of all human worth.  We profess to live here as one family, as sisters, holding each other in love, charity and trust; yet in searching myself to-night, I fear I have gone astray.  I have pondered and prayed over this matter, and my heart yearns toward you.  I feel as I fancy a mother might, who had too hastily slapped the face of her child; and, my sister, I have come to say, forgive me, if I too harshly refused your request, if I wounded you.”

She held out her hand, but Beryl did not see it; she had covered her face, and unable to speak she leaned forward and laid her head on the matron’s lap.  Gently the thin fingers stroked the shining hair, until they were drawn down and pressed to the girl’s lips.

“Again, I asked myself, whether my decision had not been inspired by an overweening pride in the public estimation of our home; rather than by an unselfish regard for the welfare and peace of mind of one of its members?  What will the world think of us, must be subordinated to, what is the best for my young sister, whose cross it is my duty to lighten?  I cannot bear to give you up; and I shall, I will trust you.  Wear the ‘gray’ armor, and remember, if any blot stain it, you will bring disgrace upon a holy cause; you will be the first to stain the Umilta uniform; and I shall be blamed, for reposing confidence in one who betrayed us to public scorn.  My Sister Beryl, I give you ‘the gray’.  God grant it may shelter you from harm, and bring you home to fill my place with honor, when I have passed into the eternal Anchorage.”

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Over the region of the great lakes, her favorite haunt, hung the enchanted stillness, the misty glamour of the purple-cloaked witch—­ Indian Summer; whose sorcery veiled the dazzling face of the sun, and changed the silver lustre of Selene into the vast, solemn red blot that stared wonderingly at its own weird image in the glassy waters.

Wrapped in that soft, sweet haze, which like the eider down of charity smooths all roughness, rounds all angles, the world of shore and lake presented a magical panorama of towns and villages, herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, spires of churches, masts of vessels,—­ all flashing past the open window of the car, where Beryl sat, watching the shadows lengthen as the long train thundered eastward, and the tree dials marked the hour record on the golden brown stubble fields.