"He could not see me, mother," sighed Salome, in a tremulous voice.
"That was well. Come now to your own room, daughter, and do not tremble so. You have nothing to fear, except from your own weak and sinful nature," said the abbess, as she drew the girl's arm within her own and led her from the choir.
"Am I so weak and sinful, mother?" inquired Salome, after a silence which had lasted until the two had reached the door of the Infants' Asylum, where Salome now lodged.
"As every human being is! and especially as every woman is in all affairs of the heart," gravely returned the abbess.
"Can you spare me a few minutes, mother? Will you come in and let me talk to you a little while? Have you time? I want to talk to you. Oh! I wish we had mother-confessors for women—for girls, I mean, instead of father-confessors. Can you come in and let me talk to you, mother, for a little while?"
"Surely, daughter," said the abbess, gently as with her own hand she opened the door and led her votaress into the room.
Salome offered the one chair to the lady-superior, and then took the foot-stool at her feet, and laid her head upon her knees.
"Now speak to me freely, child. Tell me what you wish and how I can help you," said the abbess, kindly.
"Oh, mother! mother! I wish to be rid of the sin of loving him, for I love him still. In spite of all, I love him still!" exclaimed Salome, breaking down in a passion of tears and sobs.
The abbess laid her hands upon the bowed young head, and kept them so in silence until the storm of grief had passed. Then she said: