Sister Mary Agnes [pp. 56-79]

Sister Mary Agnes.
'I think it's somebody-now for
your French, missy-somebody
li-hault. And beautiful? What
should you think of Eternal Beauty?' If we question him earnestly
he puts us off with some joke, for
I think he is gayer than ever' Do
thlee find out, Rodney, and if
there's anything thee can do to
turn him from a scheme that would
be misery to us all, I know thee
won't refuse to try."
So Harry came to us, and I, who
had scarcely seen lhim before, lost
nty heart out and out to the tall,
grand fellow whose childlike simI)licity and gayety failed to hide a
character of great strength and
patience, and a nature magnanimous and sweet to the core. But
he was hardly more talkative to us
than to the home friends of his intentions. He was to look about
him for awhile-thlis, in substance,
bvas all we gained from him. We
knew that he went every morning
to the little Catholic chlapel under
St. Boniface's Down, and we believed him to be keeping a very
rigorous Lent.; but his piety was of
the chleerfulest, most unobtrusive
kind, and his fasting not done to
be seen of men. Only one or two
little things made us uneasy: his
politeness to the two or three young
ladies I knew in Ventnor was much
too calml for the usual gallantry of
a chivalrous young man; if possible, quietly, he avoided any engagement that would bring him
into their society; and after one of
his frequent journeys up to London
lie mentioned casually that hle had
been in Farm Street, and who ever
heard, even, of Farm Street, save
in connection with the Jesuit
church there?
Early in April, when my two
cavaliers had "done" the beatitiful little island, from Ryde to
Freshwater, in a ten days' walking
trip, and had come back to complain a little of the languid breezes
of the Undercliff, I let myself be
persuaded that I could better spare
them then than later for anothler
bachelor excursion they wished to
make-this time down among the
Channel Islands. WValking withl
them to the station when they set
off, we met on our way two ladies
in the sombre garb of some religious sisterhood.
"Look, Harry!" I exclaimed,
"there are some of your friends
coming. To what order do those
nuns belong?"
"To the order-Shlam, Helen.
That's not the genuine article.
'They're Puseyite sisters."
"They look real enough, I'm
sure. The costtume's very Roman.
.Whlat makes you think they're Anglican?"
" Walk's too natural, undisciplined. Gowns kilted up as you
never saw any real nun gathler ui)
her skirts otut of soil's way. And"
-he paused, for they were close
upon us, passed us: a lady of
thlirty-five or so, indisputably English, blue-eyed, strong-nosed, floridcomplexioned, her companion a
girl of twenty, perhaps, of nationality impossible to determine, eyes
large, gray, of wvonderful beauty,
eyebrows and hlair of the darkest
brown, features solid, almost heavy,
pale but not p)allid-an opaque
white tint witlh' golden shadows
about temples, eyes, and mouthl-a
woman who narrowly missed the
noblest beauty, and wvhlo would
have looked an empress in rags"they talk, laugh, and glance freely about as Catholic nuns never do
in the streets. But, Helen, what
an exquisite face, and of wvhat an
unusual type!"
Watching my baby getting her
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