As the nun stood by the window, her tearful eyes rested upon the calm beauty of the early Springtime, while her mind was lost in gloomy reveries. At her feet lay a piece of costly violet-colored velvet, which had dropped from her hands, and upon the window ledge were tangled masses of white and yellow silk. Rousing herself from her dreams, she hastily gathered up the velvet, sat down upon a stool, and resumed her embroidery. It was an altar-cloth for the convent-church. The design was, two palm branches crossed, and above, the legend "Ave Maria." The words were already finished; but the branches were merely outlined in coarse stitches. Her slender fingers moved wearily over the velvet, and her head bent low over her work, for the last scant rays of daylight were falling into the cell. Suddenly, the heavy, iron-mounted door was opened, and a younger nun appeared. "What is this, Sister Katharine?" she exclaimed, in surprise. "Still at your work? Pray spare your eyes! But," she continued, coming nearer, "why are you so far behindhand? What will the abbess say? To-morrow, at High Mass, the altar was to wear its new draperies." Katharine looked up with a dreary smile. "I am angry with my own heart, because it is so reluctant to obey the commands of our Superior. My needle moves slowly; and what was once a pleasure, has become a burden. O Sister Elizabeth, a change has come over my soul, since the voice of the Monk of Wittenberg penetrated these walls!" Elizabeth glanced anxiously toward the door. "Speak softly, Sister Katharine, these walls have ears." She pushed the bolt, and drawing a stool beside Katharine, she sat down, saying gently: "Light the lamp, Sister, I will help you." "How kind you are, dear Elizabeth," exclaimed Katharine, with a grateful smile. "But let us wait--it is time for vespers." As she spoke, the little bell was heard, summoning the nuns to evening prayers. Then followed the meagre supper in the refectory.