Chapter I.
The Convent School
A great Cathedral Church rises high over the river, a beautiful landmark for miles round. It is not an old Gothic church, for these passed into the hands of the Anglicans at the Reformation, but is a model of modern Gothic, stately and tall, with stained glass windows between the slender buttresses.
Below nestles the little town, terraced on the slope above the marshland where a sluggish river winds to the sea.
Here in this quiet world a convent school was bedded in the woods, where the patient nuns devoted their lives to the education of all—whether of their own religion or not—who came under their charge.
On a summer day nearly half a century ago, there came to the convent school an Italian lady, with a young girl, fresh as a rose bud, half formed, but giving promise of rare beauty.
The mother was past her first youth, and like so many southerners was showing signs of fading charms, but still dangerously beautiful.
The child, who spoke no English, gazed shyly round, as they were admitted through the gates to the lovely garden within, and into a cool large room, there to await the Mother Superior.
The woman was dressed in excellent taste, the only jarring note being the quantity of jewelry she wore, which betrayed a certain vulgarity in her otherwise faultless appearance.
The Mother Superior entered with a calm and sweet face as of one whose life was one long sacrifice.
“I wish to leave my little daughter Carlotta with you,” said the Italian. “She is fourteen years old, and has been educated in Verona, but circumstances have arisen which render it necessary for me to part with her—for a time at any rate.”