The gentleman had been waiting some time when he heard a step, and in the door there stood a slight, black-robed lady with a veil thrown over her head, a bright face, and a smell of incense lingering about her. She lifted both hands when she saw him.
"My cup runneth over!"
"You are not a nun?" asked Mr. Granger.
"You're not an apparition," she returned. "Oh! welcome!"
"And now," he said, delighted to see her so happy, "if you are ready, we will go home. I have only a few days' furlough, and I want to make the most of it."
Margaret went to take a hasty leave of the nuns, and also to step into the chapel for one moment.
Then she went out from under that happy portal, and down the steps to the carriage that was waiting for them. One of the sisters stood in the door looking after her, and others here and there in the grounds looked up with a pleasant word of farewell as she passed. She stooped to gather from the lower terrace a humble souvenir, two or three grass-blades and a clover-leaf, then stepped into the carriage. As they drove slowly down the avenue, she looked up into the overhanging branches and repeated:
"'Above him the boughs of the hemlock trees
Waved, and made the sign of the cross,
And whispered their Benedicitis.'"
The family were in raptures over Mr. Granger's return. They could not look at him enough, listen to him enough, do enough for him. "And how nice you look in your uniform!" said Margaret, feeling as if she were about six years old.
"And how nice you look in anything!" he retorted, at which they all laughed. It took but little to make them laugh in those days.