Accordingly they drove to Santa Sabina, or rather, to the foot of Mount Aventine, on the summit of which it stands. The driver begged them to walk up as "the hill was so steep," and, the light fading, he was afraid that his horses might stumble and fall on their way down; so they got out and went up on foot, the carriage waiting below for them.
On reaching the convent they rang at the door, which was quickly opened by a lay-brother, who looked wonder-struck on seeing the three ladies. Mina ignored the look of surprise, and calmly asked if she could see "il Padre Osmondo." The lay-brother said he would inquire, and showed them into the parlour.
It was already so dark that they could see but indistinctly, and suddenly it appeared to dawn upon Miss Lecky that it was somewhat of an unseemly hour for a visit to a monastery. Mina and Flora could hardly suppress their laughter at the thought that the old lady should only then have arrived at the knowledge of that long evident fact.
Just then the door opened, and in came Father Osmond. He shook hands with Mina, who introduced her friends, and laughingly apologised for the lateness of their visit, saying that as they were passing at the foot of the hill, and Miss Lecky was so anxious to see the church before she left Rome, they had ventured to call at that hour, fearing they would have no other opportunity.
Father Osmond was a tall, fat, good-natured-looking Irishman, with ruddy cheeks and laughing blue eyes. He answered, in a rich brogue, "Shure inough, Miss Blake, I'd niver doubt you to be me counthry-woman—to come and see a place in the dark; but as you are here, I suppose I must bring you into the church, and thry if a candle will help you to see Sassoferrato's sweet Virgin."
"Thank you," replied Mina, as they followed him to the church door, where he begged them to wait a moment while he went to get a candle. He quickly returned, with a lighted one in his hand, and led them to the chapel where is Sassoferrato's beautiful Madonna, a picture unsurpassed, perhaps, in sweetness of expression, by any in Rome.
The scene was indeed a strange one; the large dark church, with the glimmer of a small lamp in one of the side chapels the three female figures standing there, staring up at the picture, and the Dominican in his white habit moving the candle from side to side. The girls were keenly alive to it, and the twinkle in Father Osmond's eye showed that he too was not insensible to its absurdity. At last he said—
"Well, Miss Lecky, I think you'd do as well to come some day to see the church, for shure you can't judge of anything by this miserable candlelight."
"You are right," she answered; "I must manage to come some day to see the church, and have a look at this beautiful picture. Now we had better think of getting home."
Father Osmond led the way back to the reception-room, and said he would call the lay-brother to let them out, adding, "Your carriage is at the door, I suppose."