Again Honor flew, down the corridor, at the end of which a light glanced from the crack under Soeur Séraphine’s door. The little Sister, kneeling at her prie-Dieu, turned as the door opened. Her eyes widened at sight of Honor’s horrified face; her delicate nostrils expanded as the pungent odor crept into them; all this Honor saw afterwards. It seemed hardly a breathing-space before the Sister had flashed past her, flashed down the corridor, and had Maria in her arms by the open window, while Patricia knelt beside her with the salts. A pure cool breeze blew into the room, driving out the choking vapor. A few anxious moments, a convulsive movement, a quiver of the eyelids: Maria opened her eyes, and looked feebly about her.
“Let us thank the merciful Lord and the blessed saints!” said Soeur Séraphine. “My child, behold you restored to us! How do you find yourself?”
“Oh, dear!” said Maria. “Am I not dead? oh, dear!”
At this moment she caught sight of Patricia’s pale face close beside her. She shrank back with a cry.
“Why couldn’t you let me die?” she cried. “Don’t—don’t laugh at me, Patricia! Please go away, and let me die!”
Patricia was about to speak, but Soeur Séraphine signed to her to be silent.
“A little later!” she murmured. “Go now, my child! Thou also, Honor; return in ten minutes.”
As they turned to go, a piece of paper blew off the table and fell at Patricia’s feet. She picked it up mechanically, and saw her own name on it. The two girls passed into Patricia’s room, which was on the other side of Maria’s. Patricia lighted her candle, and read,
“Patricia, it is true, what I told Honor. I did not mean to steal the ring. Please take Honor back. I will not disgrace her when she was so good to me.
“Maria Patterson.”
“Oh, Patricia!” cried Honor. “What—what did she do? What was that dreadful smell? Patricia! you are white as a sheet! Are you going to faint? Don’t—don’t cry, my dear!”