Syra as a dependant, and Agnes as a relation, had put on mourning upon Fabius’s death; and hence no change of habit would raise suspicion in his daughter’s mind, of their having taken some secret, or some joint step. Thus far they could safely ask to be admitted at once to receive the solemn consecration to perpetual virginity. Their petition was granted; but for obvious reasons was kept carefully concealed. It was only a day or two before the happy one of their spiritual nuptials, that Syra told it, as a great secret, to her blind friend. “And so,” said the latter, pretending to be displeased, “you want to keep all the good things to yourself. Do you call that charitable, now?” “My dear child,” said Syra, soothingly, “don’t be offended. It was necessary to keep it quite a secret.” “And therefore, I suppose, poor I must not even be present?” “Oh, yes, Cæcilia, to be sure you may; and see all that you can,” replied Syra, laughing. “Never mind about the seeing. But tell me, how will you be dressed? What have you to get ready?” Syra gave her an exact description of the habit and veil, their color and form. “How very interesting!” she said. “And what have you to do?” The other, amused at her unwonted curiosity, described minutely the short ceremonial. “Well now, one question more,” resumed the blind girl. “When and where is all this to be? You said I might come, so I must know the time and place.” Syra told her it would be at the _title_ of Pastor, at daybreak, on the third day from that. “But what has made you so inquisitive, dearest? I never saw you so before. I am afraid you are becoming quite worldly.” “Never you mind,” replied Cæcilia, “if people choose to have secrets from me, I do not see why I should not have some of my own.” Syra laughed at her affected pettishness, for she knew well the humble simplicity of the poor child’s heart. They embraced affectionately and parted. Cæcilia went straight to the kind Lucina, for she was a favorite in every house. No sooner was she admitted to that pious matron’s presence, than she flew to her, threw herself upon her bosom, and burst into tears. Lucina soothed and caressed her, and soon composed her. In a few minutes she was again bright and joyous, and evidently deep in conspiracy, with the cheerful lady, about something which delighted her. When she left she was all buoyant and blithe, and went to the house of Agnes, in the hospital of which the good priest Dyonisius lived. She found him at home; and casting herself on her knees before him, talked so fervently to him that he was moved to tears, and spoke kindly and consolingly to her. The _Te Deum_ had not yet been written; but something very like it rang in the blind girl’s heart, as she went to her humble home.