Out in the world went Beatrice, her cell was left dark and deserted; Scarce had she gone, when lo! with wonderment be it related-- Down from her canvas and frame, there stepp'd the blessed Madonna, Took up the keys and the raiment Beatrice had quitted, and wore them, Also assuming the face and figure of her who was absent; Became in appearance a nun, so that none could discover the difference. Save that the sisters agreed that Beatrice the portress was growing Better and better, as one who aspired to canonization; Daily abounding in grace, a pattern to all in the convent; Till it would not have surprised them to see a celestial halo Gather around her head, and pinions spring from her shoulders, That, when too good for this world, she might fly away to a better. Her post was below her deserts, and so by promotion they made her Mistress of all the novices seeking religious instruction. Such was her great success in that tender and beautiful office, Her pupils all bloomed into saints, and some of the very first water. III. Many a day had pass'd since Beatrice escaped from the convent, Much had she seen of the world, and its wickedness greatly distress'd her; Oft she repented her act, and long'd to return, yet she dared not; Oft was determined to go, still she "stood on the order of going." Thus it at last occurr'd that her convent's secular agent Entered one day, in the house where the truant sister was staying, But changed as she was in appearance, he did not know her from Adam; Whilst he in his clerical garb was to her a familiar figure. "Now I shall learn," thought she, "what they say of my flight and my absence." And so she eagerly asked of the nuns and of sister Beatrice, As of a friend she had known when living near to the convent. "Truly," the factor replied, "She is still the pride of our sisters, Favourite too of the abbess, and worthy of all our affection. Would there were more of her kind in _some_ houses monastic I know of," Puzzled and rather distress'd, then answer'd the truant _religieuse_, "She whom I speak of, alas! was less of a saint than a sinner, She fled from the veil and the cell, so surely you speak of another?" "Not in the least, my child," the secular agent responded; "Sister Beatrice, the saint-like, did _not_ run away from the cloister, Mistress is she of the novices. Why should she go? Stuff and nonsense!" "What can it mean?" thought Beatrice, "and who is my double and namesake?" So when the agent was gone, resolved she would settle the question, Off to the convent she went, and knocked at the portal familiar, Ask'd for the sister Beatrice, was shown to the parlour and found a Counterpart of herself, as she was in her days of seclusion. Down on her knees went Beatrice--the why and the wherefore she knew not.