The music ceased; began again. Now it was a Habañera, awakening remembrance of those pulses after they were buried--secret, throbbing, dark. The Mother Superior turned her face to left and right. Had she been wise? So many light heads, so many young hearts! And yet how not soothe the last dark hours of this poor heathen girl--the hours so few! She was happy dancing. Yes, she was happy! What power! And what abandonment! It was frightening. She was holding every eye--the eyes even of Sister Louise--holding them as a snake holds a rabbit’s eyes. The Mother Superior nearly smiled. That poor Sister Louise! And then, just beyond that face of fascinated horror, she saw young Sister Marie. How the child stared--what eyes, what lips! Sister Marie--so young--just twenty--her lover killed in the war--but one year dead! Sister Marie--prettiest in all the convent! Her hands--how tightly they seemed pressed together on her lap! And--but, yes--it was at Sister Marie that the dancer looked; at Sister Marie she was twirling and writhing those supple limbs! For Sister Marie the strange sweet smile came and went on those enticing lips. In dance after dance--like a bee on a favourite flower--to Sister Marie the dancer seemed to cling. And the Mother Superior thought: ‘Have I done a work of mercy, or--the Devil’s?’ Close along the line of nuns the dancer swept; her eyes were glowing, her face proud. On Sister Marie a look alighted, a touch with the fan, a blown kiss, “_Gracias, Señoras! Adios!_” And swaying, as she had come, she glided away over the dark floor; and the little old Sister followed. A sighing sound rose from the long row of nuns; and--yes--one sob! “Go to your rooms, my daughters! Sister Marie!” The young nun came forward; tears were in her eyes. “Sister Marie, pray that the sins of that poor soul be forgiven. But, yes, my child, it is sad. Go to your room, and pray!” With what grace the child walked! She, too, had the limbs of beauty, and the Mother Superior sighed.... Morning, cold and grey, a sprinkle of snow on the ground. They came for the dancer during Mass. Later a sound of firing! With trembling lips the Mother Superior prayed for the soul dancing before her God.... That evening they searched for Sister Marie, and could not find her. After two days a letter came. “Forgive me, my Mother. I have gone back to life. “MARIE.” Life out of death! The Mother Superior sat quite still. Figures from the past were stealing out again; and the dancer’s face with the red flower in her hair, the dark sweetened eyes, the lips, touched with a flying finger, parted in a kiss! 1922. PHILANTHROPY