In a few minutes the figure of a nun carrying a tray on which were a flagon and some pewter cups, appeared at the narrow door, followed by the girl, bearing a dish with a few apples piled upon it. The nun had hardly passed out of the door when she gave a little stagger, and nearly dropped the things she was carrying. Recovering herself with an effort, she approached Yolande. "My faith, my Lord Woodville, if the girl were lovely, what think you of the sister?" said Yolande. Lord Woodville looked at the nun, as she approached, and became deadly pale. "How could it be!" he murmured. "I heard she was dead!" "Well," observed Yolande, "of all strange things, this is the most parlous bewildering! Who’d have thought the unmoved Lord Woodville could be so passing stirred twice in the same hour?" The nun poured out the hippocras, and offered it to Yolande, who took it from the fair hand of the draped and veiled figure, with the curiosity and awe which all women feel when brought face to face with one of their own sex who is utterly dead to the world. The air of mystery, romance, and sanctity which surround the convent life was not then probably so powerful as now. Then, the nuns lived more openly, and were a part of the everyday life of society. But to Yolande, with her strong love of life, its amusements, its follies, and its excitement, it seemed like being confronted with death to look at that pale face, downcast eyes, and shrouded figure. [Illustration: THE NUN OFFERED THE WINE TO YOLANDE.] The nun’s face was strikingly beautiful. Her features were very straight, with splendid eyebrows, and a sweet mouth, whose full lips were rendered almost more attractive by the little droop at each corner producing a soft dimple in the rounded cheek. The long lashes lay like a fringe over her magnificent dark hazel eyes, and as she stood, quite impassive and expressionless, only deadly pale, Yolande felt drawn towards her as she had never felt drawn to any woman before. The Captain of the Wight kept his eyes fixed on the sweet face. "Pious lady," he said, "we are greatly indebted to thee for thy hospitable courtesy. Hast thou been in these parts long?" Obliged to answer, the nun, still keeping her eyes, however, steadily on the ground, said, in a low, deep melodious voice,-- "Noble sir, Sister Ursula and I came hither but three months since." "Holy saints!" muttered the Captain, "’tis her very voice!" Then, after a pause, he said,-- "Thou art happy and peaceful here? There is naught that frights or disturbs you?" A little flicker passed over the statue-like features. A slight tremor of the mouth, and a quiver of the eyelids, showed the nun was suffering from some not quite controlled emotion. Bending her head a little down, and keeping her eyes more than ever on the ground, she said, in her bell-like voice,-- "Noble sir, there is naught that frights us." "And this girl, who is she?" asked the Captain.