Here the heavy, iron gate of the garden is reached and they bid the hospitable, though austere, monk adieu.
"Could we see the beautiful Sister Faith?" enquired Vaura; "if we in our descent into Italy, call at the convent of Ste. Marie, I feel so interested in her, she deserves perfect happiness; do you think reverend Father, that she is so?"
"Your own lovely face, Mademoiselle, looks as if it had never been clouded by sorrow. The face of Sister Faith is unclouded as your own, and we know that the trials of the world can never reach her, the protecting arms of the church enfold her; I am full of regrets that you cannot see her, she is now praying devotedly to the saints that Brother Thomas may be given strength to banish her image altogether from his heart, as well as attending two cases of fever among the inmates."
"Are you not afraid, in her great self-abnegation, that her own health will give way?" inquired Lady Esmondet.
"No, she is gifted with wonderful health and strength, one quiet hour in the cell restores the vigour lost in days and nights of fatigue; and now adieu, and may the blessing of St. Gregory go with you, and I thank you in the name of Christ's poor, for the gold you have given."
"Adieu, adieu, farewell!".
And our friends are again en route.
"Depend upon it," said Lionel, "in ages to come, the good Sister Faith will be Ste. Faith of the Alpine mountains."
"Poor young creature, I cannot but think," said Vaura, her eyes suffused with tears, "that she would be happier in the bright world, loved and loving, than in the cloister."
"What a gifted couple they would have been," observed Lady Esmondet.