To do something you particularly dislike, is a great point with some devout nuns; I have seen a sister ordered to pick up a spider and let it run over her face, only because she showed a disgust at the creature. This however, was in the former Mother Assistant's time; I don't think Mother Prudentia was much given to such performances. I was naturally very much interested in the prospect of seeing again the house where we had lived on our first coming abroad. The name of Fleurs had awakened in my mind certain dim recollections, but it was as when one strives to recall a dream. I plied Amabel with questions, to most of which I received rather unsatisfactory answers, for though her reminiscences were clearer than mine, they were still those of a mere child. In the excitement through which we had lately passed, and the prospect of a change of residence—not to mention our anxiety about dear Mother's health—we had almost forgotten that we had or were likely to have any other home than the convent. So that when one day in August, we were summoned from our task of splitting apricots to dry, to attend to the Superior, we thought of almost anything, rather than a message from England. I know my own mind was running on a very different subject, namely, thinking that I had gone out of bounds that very morning, having run down to the end of the orchard after a rare butterfly, and wondering whether Mother had seen me. We found the dear lady lying back in her great chair, an unusual indulgence for her who usually sat up straight as an arrow. She looked thin and worn, and her hands were white and transparent like alabaster; but her wonderful eyes were as bright as ever, and she had a lovely color in her cheeks, which I in my ignorance, took for a sign of returning health. She held an open letter in her hand, and I fancied that she had been weeping. We knelt and kissed her hand, and she gave us her blessing as usual. She then bade us to be seated on two stools, one on each side of her, and laid a hand on each of our heads. "My dear children!" said she. "I have heard from Sir Julius Leighton." We both started, and I forgot all about that wicked butterfly. "He tells me that being unable to come for you himself, he has sent for you by the hands of a ship's captain sailing from Newcastle, to bring you to that town. From thence, you will be sent to the house of Sir Julius Leighton's sisters, who reside not far from that place. It seems that this worthy man has brought his sister with him, in order that you may have a female companion and guardian—a measure which speaks well for him. This good woman will arrive to-night, and be our guest for two or three days while your wardrobes are being got in order. And it must be your business, my children, to make her stay as pleasant as possible." We had neither of us spoken, of course, while this address was being made, but the moment it was finished, Amabel fell on her knees and burst into a flood of tears.