So said she; and Olive did not contradict her at the time. But she thought that if there was any strength in faithful affection and earnest prayers, the peace of a useful life, spent, not in barren solitude, but in the fruitful garden of God's world, should be Christal's portion yet.
One only doubt troubled her. After considering for a long time she ventured to say:
“I have told you now nearly all that has happened among us this year. You have spoken of all your friends, save one.” She hesitated, and at last uttered the name of Lyle.
“Hush!” said Christal. But her cheek's paleness changed not; her heavy eye neither kindled nor drooped. “Hush! I do not wish to hear that name. It has passed out of my world for ever—blotted out by the horrors that followed.”
“Then you have forgotten”——
“Forgotten all. It was but a dream of my old vain life—it troubles me no more.”
“Thank God!” murmured Olive, though in her heart she marvelled to think how many false reflections there were of the one true love—the only love that can endure—such as had been hers.
She bade an affectionate farewell to her sister, who went with her to the outer court of the convent. Christal did not ask her to come again, but she kissed her when they parted, and once looked back ere she again passed into the quiet silent home which she had chosen as her spirit's grave.
Olive walked on quickly, for the afternoon was closing.
Very soon she heard overtaking her a footstep, whose sound quickened her pulse even now. “How good and thoughtful of him, my dear Harold—my husband!”