“Ah! what an unfortunate man I am! Miss Rosenthal, if you cannot take a message, since you would not be permitted to deliver it, can you not take one little, little letter? You could easily deliver a little, little letter unknown to the sentinel sisters,” entreated the lover, again clasping his hands and bringing his beautiful eyes to bear upon her with all the force of which they were capable. “I cannot, signior! I am very sorry to refuse you, but I cannot. It would be a very great breach of faith on my part to do as you wish me. I am trusted by Alberta’s parents, and I must be faithful to my trust,” said Erminie, seriously. “You draw hair breadth lines of distinction, my too good Miss Rosenthal,” said the signior, rising, in ill-suppressed displeasure, to take his leave. “Have faith and hope, and the patience that springs from both, signior. In time all will be well,” said Erminie, gently. “I thank you, my much-too-good Miss Rosenthal! I will have faith and hope; but I will have no patience! I will not wait for time; but all shall be well because I will make it so! Good-morning, my very-much-too-good young lady!” And Vittorio Corsoni, with a deeply-injured look, bowed himself out. Erminie, smiling at the Italian’s half-suppressed vehemence, went upstairs to her needlework. Corsoni, after leaving the Lutheran minister’s house, walked rapidly to a cab stand, threw himself into a carriage, and gave the order: “To the Convent of the Visitation.” And the carriage started. He reclined back in his seat, looking grim, moody and sardonic, until, at the end of about three-quarters of an hour, the carriage reached to within a hundred yards of the convent wall. There he stopped it, got out and dismissed it, and continued his way on foot, until he reached the front of the convent. There he walked up and down before the building, gazing up at the windows and debating with himself whether he should boldly go up to grand entrance and ask to see Miss Goldsborough, with the great probability of being refused and suspected and watched; or whether he should wait to mature a plot he had formed of seeing her by stratagem. The first plan suited him well, except in the small chance of success it offered; and the second plan would have suited him, for his Italian spirit delighted in stratagem, but that his impetuous nature detested the process of waiting. While he was thus debating with himself, he noticed the front door open, and little girls, singly or in twos and threes, and then in larger numbers, issue forth and hurry away in various directions. And he easily divined that this hour was the midday recess of the institution, and that these children were the day pupils going to their respective homes in the neighborhood for dinner, and that in an hour or two they would return for the afternoon session of the school. And that “second plan” which had been vaguely forming in his mind, immediately took distinct shape and color, and sprung to maturity.