Preble Key returned to his hotel from the convent,it is to be feared,with very little of that righteous satisfaction which is supposed to follow the performance of a good deed.He was by no means certain that what he had done was best for the young girl.
He had only shown himself to her as a worldly monitor of dangers,of which her innocence was providentially unconscious.In his feverish haste to avert a scandal,he had no chance to explain his real feelings;he had,perhaps,even exposed her thwarted impulses to equally naive but more dangerous expression,which he might not have the opportunity to check.He tossed wakefully that night upon his pillow,tormented with alternate visions of her adorable presence at the hotel,and her bowed,renunciating figure as she reentered the convent gate.He waited expectantly the next day for the message she had promised,and which he believed she would find some way to send.But no message was forthcoming.The day passed,and he became alarmed.The fear that her escapade had been discovered again seized him.If she were in close restraint,she could neither send to him,nor could he convey to her the solicitude and sympathy that filled his heart.In her childish frankness she might have confessed the whole truth,and this would not only shut the doors of the convent against him,under his former pretext,but compromise her still more if he boldly called.
He waylaid the afternoon procession;she was not among them.
Utterly despairing,the wildest plans for seeing her passed through his brain,--plans that recalled his hot-headed youth,and a few moments later made him smile at his extravagance,even while it half frightened him at the reality of his passion.He reached the hotel heart-sick and desperate.The porter met him on the steps.
It was with a thrill that sent the blood leaping to his cheeks that he heard the man say:--"Sister Seraphina is waiting for you in the sitting-room."There was no thought of discovery or scandal in Preble Key's mind now;no doubt or hesitation as to what he would do,as he sprang up the staircase.He only knew that he had found her again,and was happy!He burst into the room,but this time remembered to shut the door behind him.He looked eagerly towards the window where she had stood the day before,but now she rose quickly from the sofa in the corner,where she had been seated,and the missal she had been reading rolled from her lap to the floor.He ran towards her to pick it up.Her name--the name she had told him to call her--was passionately trembling on his lips,when she slowly put her veil aside,and displayed a pale,kindly,middle-aged face,slightly marked by old scars of smallpox.It was not Alice;it was the real Sister Seraphina who stood before him.
His first revulsion of bitter disappointment was so quickly followed by a realization that all had been discovered,and his sacrifice of yesterday had gone for naught,that he stood before her,stammering,but without the power to say a word.Luckily for him,his utter embarrassment seemed to reassure her,and to calm that timidity which his brusque man-like irruption might well produce in the inexperienced,contemplative mind of the recluse.
Her voice was very sweet,albeit sad,as she said gently:--"I am afraid I have taken you by surprise;but there was no time to arrange for a meeting,and the Lady Superior thought that I,who knew all the facts,had better see you confidentially.Father Cipriano gave us your address."Amazed and wondering,Key bowed her to a seat.
"You will remember,"she went on softly,"that the Lady Superior failed to get any information from you regarding the brother of one of our dear children,whom he committed to our charge through a--a companion or acquaintance--a Mrs.Barker.As she was armed with his authority by letter,we accepted the dear child through her,permitted her as his representative to have free access to his sister,and even allowed her,as an unattended woman,to pass the night at the convent.We were therefore surprised this morning to receive a letter from him,absolutely forbidding any further intercourse,correspondence,or association of his sister with this companion,Mrs.Barker.It was necessary to inform the dear child of this at once,as she was on the point of writing to this woman;but we were pained and shocked at her reception of her brother's wishes.I ought to say,in justice to the dear child,that while she is usually docile,intelligent,and tractable to discipline,and a devote in her religious feelings,she is singularly impulsive.But we were not prepared for the rash and sudden step she has taken.At noon to-day she escaped from the convent!"Key,who had been following her with relief,sprang to his feet at this unexpected culmination.
"Escaped!"he said."Impossible!I mean,"he added,hurriedly recalling himself,"your rules,your discipline,your attendants are so perfect.""The poor impulsive creature has added sacrilege to her madness--a sacrilege we are willing to believe she did not understand,for she escaped in a religious habit--my own.""But this would sufficiently identify her,"he said,controlling himself with an effort.
"Alas,not so!There are many of us who go abroad on our missions in these garments,and they are made all alike,so as to divert rather than attract attention to any individuality.We have sent private messengers in all directions,and sought her everywhere,but without success.You will understand that we wish to avoid scandal,which a more public inquiry would create.""And you come to me,"said Key,with a return of his first suspicion,in spite of his eagerness to cut short the interview and be free to act,--"to me,almost a stranger?""Not a stranger,Mr.Key,"returned the religieuse gently,"but to a well-known man--a man of affairs in the country where this unhappy child's brother lives--a friend who seems to be sent by Heaven to find out this brother for us,and speed this news to him.
