The Abbess curtsied in the old stately way, and retired.
Cloudy looked at Jacquelina reproachfully.
"Are you going to be a nun, Lina?"
"Yes. Oh, Cloudy, Cloudy! what do you come here to disturb my thoughts so for? Oh, Cloudy! every time you come to see me, you do so upset and confuse my mind! You have no idea how many aves and paters, and psalms and litanies I have to say before I can quiet my mind down again! And now this is worse than all. Dear, dear Cloudy!—St. Mary, forgive me, I never meant that—I meant plain Cloudy—see how you make me sin in words! What did you send Mother Ettienne away for?"
"That I might talk to you alone. Why do you deny me that small consolation, Lina? How have I offended, that you should treat me so?"
"In no way at all have you offended, dearest Cloudy—St. Peter! there it is again—I mean only Cloudy."
"Never mind explaining the distinction. You are going to be a nun, you say! Very well—let that pass, too! But you must leave your convent, and go into the world yet once more, and then I shall have opportunities of talking to you before your return."
"No, no; never will I leave my convent—never will I subject my soul to such a temptation."
"My dear Lina, I have the cabalistic words that must draw you forth—listen! Our cousin, Thurston Willcoxen, is in prison, charged with the murder of Marian Mayfield"—a stifled shriek from Jacquelina—"and there is circumstantial evidence against him strong enough to ruin him forever, if it does not cost him his life. Now, Lina, I cannot be wrong in supposing that you know who struck that death-blow, and that your evidence can thoroughly exonerate Thurston from suspicion! Am I right?"
"Yes! yes! you are right," exclaimed Jacquelina, in great agitation.