One day, walking round the square with a step of Mercury and heart of
lead, Bella Bruce met a Sister of Charity pacing slow and thoughtful;
their eyes met and drank, in a moment, every feature of each other.
The Sister, apparently, had seen the settled grief on that fair face;
for the next time they met, she eyed her with a certain sympathy, which
did not escape Bella.
This subtle interchange took place several times and Bella could not
help feeling a little grateful. "Ah!" she thought to herself, "how kind
religious people are! I should like to speak to her." And the next time
they met she looked wistfully in the Sister's face.
She did not meet her again, for she went and rested on a bench, in
sight of her father, but at some distance from him. Unconsciously to
herself, his refusal even to hear Sir Charles repelled her. That was so
hard on him and her. It looked like throwing away the last chance, the
last little chance of happiness.
By-and-by the Sister came and sat on the same bench.
Bella was hardly surprised, but blushed high, for she felt that her own
eyes had invited the sympathy of a stranger; and now it seemed to be
coming. The timid girl felt uneasy. The Sister saw that, and approached
her with tact. "You look unwell," said she, gently, but with no
appearance of extravagant interest or curiosity.
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