Many writers ascribe the institution of the Beguines to St. Begga, widow and abbess, daughter of Pepin of Landen, whose husband, mayor of the palace, was killed while hunting, after which she dedicated herself to a penetential state of retirement, and built seven chapels on the Meuse, in imitation of the seven great churches of Rome; and, according to the martyrology, she died so long ago as 698. Others assert that the Beguines were founded by Lambert de Begue or Balbus, a pious priest, of Liege, in 1170, and derive their name from him; but all this lies apart from our story. Suffice it that, fortunately for herself, it was in the spacious Beguinage of Antwerp that Alison found succour, shelter, and protection. Alison had often seen nuns, but never spoken to or been intimate with one before, and, as all she knew of such recluses was derived through the medium of novels and romances, when strength returned to her she began to invest Sister Lisette with the halo of fiction, and to suppose that she must have some story--that a lost lover or a broken heart accounted for her sweet sadness of face and her present vocation; and she was nearer the truth in her guess than she imagined, for Sister Lisette had once been--for a brief time--a happy wife, of which more anon; and when Alison grew stronger, and was taken as far as the chapel, she was greatly impressed by all she saw and heard there at vesper time, though the chanting of female voices only--some of them from age far from melodious--was pleasing, and the sight of such a large assemblage of recluses in black robes with white veils--the ancient Flemish _faille_, which they yet retain--dimly illuminated by a few votive lamps, had a strange, weird, and, to her eyes, mysterious effect. The novices are distinguished by a different costume, and those who have just taken the veil wear a chaplet round their heads. But in all this we are anticipating, for at present Alison was weak as a child, and prostrate with the effect of the short, sharp fever that had left her, though it was apparent to those who watched her that the lines of her face were fine, and they could see that, when well and happy, she must look very beautiful. In Sister Lisette Alison found an able nurse, for she had served as one in the German war under the Red Cross; her soft, white hand had dressed many a ghastly wound and closed many a glazing eye, and often amid the horrors of Sedan and elsewhere the heads of the dying had rested on her bosom, and with low, loving words she had soothed their moments of death and agony--words that were sometimes taken for those of mother, or wife, or some young love that was far, far away. Sister Lisette seemed about five-and-twenty years of age; her face was delicately fair, but the rich tint of her lips and the peach-like bloom of her cheeks relieved it of all paleness. Her features were small and regular, but very soft in their lines, and, at times, a singular sadness stole over them.