"She is. I may as well tell you that she did not wish to be; but--but it has been represented to her that our lives are not our own, to cut short as we please; and so she has repented." "I don't believe she has repented!" said Paul, with inconsequent anger. He hated the word, and the quiet little man. "She told me that she had killed some one," Mr. Smith went on, in a whisper, his voice, even in a whisper, however, preserving its sweetness. "See here!" said Paul, taking him by the arm eagerly; "that is what I have come for; all these months she has thought so, but it is a mistake; he died from another cause." "Thank God!" said Mr. Smith. "Thank God and bring her out, man! _She_ is the one to know." "I'll do what I can. But it may not be thought best by those in authority; I must warn you that I shall obey the orders of my superior, in any case." "Yet you don't look like an ass!" "Wait here, please," said Mr. Smith, without noticing this comment. He opened a door beside the chapel (not the one by which Mrs. Wingate had entered), and, going in, gently closed it behind him. Paul waited. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. He tried all the doors; they were locked. He went over to the corner where the bell-rope hung and pulled it twice; "cling-clang! cling-clang!" sounded the bell in its turret. In answer a window opened above, and a large, placid Italian peasant appeared, looking at him amiably. "Mr. Smith?" said Paul. "Fuori." "Mrs. Wingate, then?" "Fuori." "There's only one road--the one by which I came up, and I haven't heard any carriage drive away; if 'Fuori' means out, you are not telling the truth; they are not out, they are here." The Italian smiled, still amiably. "Is there any one here who speaks English?" said Paul, in despair. "Ingleese? Si." She went off with the same serene expression. Before long she appeared again at a door below, which she left open; Paul could see a bare stone-floored hall, with a staircase at the end. Presently down the staircase came a quick-stepping little old woman, with a black lace veil on her head; she came briskly to the door. "I hear you wish to speak to me?" "You're an American," said Paul. "I'm glad of that." "Well, you're another, and I'm not glad of it! Americans are limited. Besides, they are Puritans. My being an American doesn't make any difference to _you_, that I know of." "Yes, it does. You come from a country where no one is shut up." "_How about the prisons_?" "_For criminals, yes_. _Not for girls_." "Girls are silly. Have nothing to do with them until they are older; that's _my_ advice," said the old lady, alertly. "Do you know Miss Bruce?" "A little." "Take me to her." "I can't, she is in retreat." "You wouldn't approve of force being used for any one; I am sure you would not," said Paul, trying to speak gently.