"I know just as well as you do that he has no idea of doing anything of the kind, and you need not tell me pretty tales that you don't believe yourself. Sister, it is all humbug; 'Bunnie' is dead, and I sha'n't waste another prayer on St. Francis! If ever I get another rabbit, it will be when I buy one, as I mean to do just as soon as I move to some nice place where owls and hawks never come." Here the clang of a bell startled Sister Angela, who seized the child's hand. "Five strokes!--that is my bell. Come, Regina, we have been hunting you for some time, and Mother will be out of patience." "Won't you please let me bury Bunnie and Snowball before I go upstairs to penance? I can dig a grave in the corner of my little garden and plant verbena and cypress vine over it." She shivered as if the thought had chilled her heart, and her voice trembled, while she pressed the stiffened forms to her, breast. "Come along as fast as you can, dear, you are wanted in the parlour. I believe you are going away." "Oh! has my mother come?" "I don't know, but I am afraid you will leave us." "Will you be sorry, Sister Angela?" "Very sorry, dear child, for we love our little girl too well to give her up willingly." Regina paused and pressed her lips to the cold white fingers that clasped hers, but Sister Angela hurried her on till she reached a door opening into the Mother's reception-room. Catching the child to her heart, she kissed her twice, lifted the dead darlings from her apron, and, pushing her gently into the small parlour, closed the door. It was a cool, lofty, dimly lighted room, where the glare of sunshine never entered, and several seconds elapsed before Regina could distinguish any object. At one end a wooden lattice work enclosed a space about ten feet square, and here Mother Aloysius held audience with visitors whom friendship or business brought to the convent. Regina's eager survey showed her only a gentleman, sitting close to the grating, and an expression of keen disappointment swept over her countenance, which had been a moment before eloquent with expectation of meeting her mother. "Come here, Regina, and speak to Mr. Palma," said the soft, velvet voice behind the lattice. The visitor turned around, rose, and watched the slowly advancing figure. She was dressed in blue muslin, the front of which was concealed by her white bib-apron, and her abundant glossy hair was brushed straight back from her brow, confined at the top of her head by a blue ribbon, and thence fell in shining waves below her waist. One hand hung listlessly at her side, the other clasped the drooping lily and held it against her heart.