Her Last Stake, Chapters I-V [pp. 815-839]

IHER LAST STAKE.
HER LAST STAKE.
BY T. L. L. TEELING.
CHAPTER I.
' T was only the month of May; yet the season
was already almost August-like in its sultry heat,
t and shops were beginning to put up their shut, g u. ters with the customary notice, "Ouverture le
Ire Octobre," and hotel omnibuses to convey
huge mountains of trunks and portmanteaux to, instead of from,
the unpretending little railway station which, like all its fellows,
has welcomed so many illustrious strangers to the Riviera.
Just as the day was at its hottest, and the "butterflies of
fashion," as some one calls them, had presumably folded their
wings to rest until sufindown-for few, if any, were to be seen
flitting in and out of the gorgeous hotels which seem to constitute modern Mentone-two slender, black-robed figures advanced somewhat timidly up the footpath leading to one of
the largest of these, and, after a brief parley with the porter,
were ushered into a large and luxuriously furnished salon.
To them there entered, after a few minutes delay, a quietlooking, middle-aged lady with gray hair and placid expression,
who cast an inquiring glance upon her visitors as she advanced
with a little bow towards them.
"You speak English?" she inquired hesitatingly, as the two
nuns rose to receive her.
"We are English," was the unexpected reply from the elder
of the two, given in rich, round tones; "that is to say, we are
Irish."
"Irish? Oh!" and the lady's face brightened as she held
out both hands to her visitors. "Irish nuns? What an unexpected, welcome sight!" she went on, drawing a chair close to
them. "Where did you come from, and how came you here?"
"Indeed, it doesn't seem the place for us, does it?" laughed
the nun. "I never felt more out of my element. But the fact
is, we are on a begging tour."
"What order do you belong to?" asked Mrs. Mortimer,
glancing at their black habits and white coifs as if seeking
1894.]
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