Her gaze had found the place from whence came the sound that had halted her. It was the bell of a church vibrating through the still evening air. The steeple in which it was mounted, raised far into the air above the buildings about it, and she watched it with growing reverence. As she continued to stare at it, it seemed to outline a mighty sepulchre, and she fell to speculating about it. She was familiar with it, in a measure, and recalled, as she found herself wandering vaguely along a few moments later, that she used to pass it each day. It was when he lay ill at the hospital, that it was near. It was called St. Catherine. She had happily observed that may little colored children went to it each day, and Sunday. Their training, she had observed, was very different from the denominations with which she was acquainted. She had stopped before its steeple the first time, one day toward the close of Sidney's recovery. The next day she had entered it, and wandered down its carpeted aisles. She had gone up to the front, before she realized that any one was in the church. And then a sister came from an alcove, or from some place, but she could not imagine where.
She had halted embarrassed, but the other smiled upon her so pleasantly, that her confidence was won in a moment.
Mildred recalled it—the meeting—strangely today. She wondered what the life of a sister was like. She had guessed what it meant.... She had almost forgotten the sister, until she went her way this day, when the lot of those patient souls came to her mind again.
She reached a street presently, where two wide walkways intersected, and when she reached the center of the intersection, something gripped her and she stopped quickly, catching her breath. She continued to stand thus, but with eyes widening, nerves tense, and then she uttered beneath her breath: "Why not? Yes, why not? Why, why, why?" Then, completely absorbed in the idea, which had suddenly come to her, offering, as she felt it now, a solution of her life, she turned on her heel, and retraced her steps homeward.
And all the way she kept saying to herself: "Why not, why, why?"
She hesitated at the gate, and again there came to her ears from across the river the chime of the bell on St. Catherine. It echoed softly, and vibrating, it touched her soul to its depths. She stood at last transformed. As it continued to float across to her, she seemed to translate: "Come unto me, all ye that are heavy laden, and I will give thee rest."
When she entered the house, her head hung, with eyes cast down. She had decided to become a sister.
There came a day, bright, clear, and slightly breezy; but withal, invigorating, and she went to visit the old woman who lived alone in the deserted St. Louis—Royal Hotel. She had no tremors, because it had been the place where once her people were sold by thousands. She had met the old woman on one of her frequent pilgrimages alone in the creole city, and had become strangely fond of her. Mildred had, on more than one occasion, felt constrained to tell her the story.... So today, she came quietly upon the old soul sitting by the window, with the light streaming in upon her faded hair and features.
"You come today, Little Sister. I am always so glad to see you."