"I have sometimes thought he must be, or he would not have left us here to be educated!" replied Amabel. "But we need not borrow trouble, Lucy. Perhaps he may never send for us. I should like that best—to live here always and become a religious, would not you?" "I should like to do so if you did!" I answered truly enough, for imagination was not strong enough to picture for myself a life apart from Amabel. "But sometimes I think I should like to see what the world is like, especially England. Perhaps the Protestants are not all so bad after all!" And here I stopped and looked about me rather alarmed, lest my audacious remark should have been overheard. "I am sure our mother was not bad!" said Amabel. "She used to teach us to say our prayers at her knees." "How I wish I could remember her as you do!" said I, enviously. "I wonder why I cannot!" "I heard Mother Prudentia say once that you were very ill when you came here and for some time after—perhaps that is the reason!" answered Amabel, and then recurring to our sick play fellow. "How strange and sad it will seem not to have Dénise." "I can't bear to think of it!" said I, beginning to cry. "She has played with us ever since I remember. It was she who told Mother Superior about our going into the cavern, and only for her we might have died there, for I am sure Desireè would never have told!" "Not she!" said Amabel with decision. "She would not care if the whole family perished, so she were safe. Lucy, that girl is a hypocrite!" "You should not say so—she is very devout," said I; for I rather believed in Desireè's conversion, though I am afraid I did not like her any the better for it. "Devout or not, she is a hypocrite!" persisted Amabel in a tone which surprised me. I had never heard her speak so bitterly, and indeed she rarely spoke ill of any one. "She despises dear Mother Prudentia, whose shoes she is not fit to carry, and she hates Mother Superior. I have seen the looks she casts at them when she thinks herself unobserved. But come, we must not be here. The bell will ring in a moment." Dénise lingered a few weeks, and then died full of peace and hope. Her death was followed, not very long after, by that of Mother Assistant and one of the sisters, which reduced the number of the professed members of the household to eight, beside the superiors. "Our band grows smaller and smaller, and Sister Augustine is failing fast," I heard Mother Prudentia say after Sister Agnes was buried. We had all gone to pray at the grave, next day, and I was helping Mother Bursar to smooth the turf and set some violet roots in it. "There will soon be no one left, and what will become of the dear children?" continued Mother Prudentia. "The Lord will provide, dear sister," answered the Mother. "Our numbers are indeed small, but we must make up for it by more earnestness. We have always, as yet, been able to keep up our constant devotion to the Holy Sacrament of the Altar."