"I just want one question more!" said Amabel, who had hitherto left the conversation mostly to me. "What did you mean by saying that the water was very high? I know it is high in the well, for I looked this afternoon, and it is nearer the top of the steps than I ever saw it before." "Is it?" asked Mother Prudentia with a startled look—then once more sinking her voice— "It is said that the rise of those dark waters portends misfortune to our house. Once—how many years ago I don't know, but it was very many—that well overflowed so that a stream ran down into the brook in the garden and poisoned the water so that everything along its banks died—and that year a fever or plague broke out in the house and every member of the family died, except the abbess and two sisters. But I will not have you looking into the well. There is a very damp unwholesome air rising from it. Now wash your hands and bring your work, and I will tell you a true tale about St. Helena, and if the work is well done—who knows whether there may not be some comfits in a cupboard somewhere?" I think after the lesson we had received, we should have obeyed Mother Prudentia at any rate, but we had no chance to do otherwise, for the very next day, a heavy wooden covering was placed over the old well, which was never removed while we remained at St. Jean. I should say that Desireè was as severely punished as Amabel and myself. She flatly denied at first having anything to do with the matter—then she said it was I who had opened the door, and that she had tried to prevent me. But the united testimony of Amabel and Dénise prevailed, and she was put in penitence for two or three days and carefully watched afterward for a long time. [Illustration] CHAPTER IV. TROUBLES. IT was I think, about a year after our adventures in the caverns, that Dénise died. She was the only pupil left except Amabel, Desireè and myself—Desireè affected great devotion about that time, and Mother Prudentia rejoiced over her as a brand plucked from the burning; but I think Mother Superior considered her a brand that would bear watching—as indeed she was, and one that was destined to kindle a great fire. Dénise had always been a delicate girl, more so even than Amabel herself. She would never allow that she was ill, however, and used to join in all our sports and latterly made herself very useful in the house and garden. She was one of those people for whom everything will grow, and she loved flowers with an absolute passion. But by and by, she began to grow thin and to have a very little cough. She had a lovely complexion which seemed to grow more beautiful day by day, and her eyes were brighter than ever. We noticed that she became rather silent, though she was always cheerful—and we were sometimes inclined to murmur when Mother Prudentia excused her from one duty after another, and Sister Lazarus cooked all sorts of nice things for her, whereas our own table grew plainer all the time.