Trembling and wondering, the woman opened the iron gate and approached the door of the lodge. She knocked feebly, but in a moment the door was opened, and a goodlooking country dame, very clean and bright, stood on the threshold. ‘Can I--can I--’--the wanderer began feebly, but breath failed her, and she stood trembling. ‘Come in, my dear,’ said the woman compassionately, leading her to a chair in a cosy little kitchen. ‘Come in, and welcome. Lord, how pale you be! Have you come far?’ ‘Yes. I want----’ ‘Never mind about that, _now_--wait till I get thee a nice drink of warm milk, and then you can go on the Home.’ But even as she spoke the wanderer fainted away. The good dame uttered an exclamation. ‘Poor dear, she’s fainted. How wet and draggled she be! Why, she must have tramped it all the way. Here, Johnnie--Johnnie!’ A flaxen-haired boy of about twelve appeared on the threshold. ‘Run up to the house, quick, and ask Sister Ursula, with mother’s compliments, to step down here at once. Poor unfortunate,’ she continued, chafing the woman’s fingers, ‘what pretty white hands she has! She looks like a lady born!’ CHAPTER XLI.--THE SISTERS OF MOUNT EDEN. A considerable interval of time must have passed from the moment when the woman recovered consciousness; for on opening her eyes she found herself lying in bed, in a large, dimly lighted room. The bed was white and clean, with snowy hangings, and the chamber contained four other beds of the same description. The curtains of the window were closely drawn, and on the hearth there burnt a cheerful fire. Seated close to the bedside was a young girl, dressed like a nurse, in clean white cap, white apron and cotton gown, and reading a book. For some minutes the wanderer lay silent, not stirring, but looking vacantly around her; on the cleanly papered walls, cosily lit by the firelight: on the engraving of the Crucifixion, hanging over the mantelpiece on the snowy beds, at the head of each of which hung a picture of the Madonna--each different, but all copies from the works of Raphael; and finally, on the quiet, thoughtful-looking girl, who sat intent upon her book. At last, thoroughly awakened, she uttered an exclamation. The girl looked up, and their eyes met. ‘Where am I? What place is this? Why am I lying here?’ The girl smiled, and, without answering, touched a handbell standing on a small table at her side. Scarcely had she done so when a tall, slight figure, also wearing a white cap, entered the room. Her hair was quite white, but her face seemed fresh and young; and her eyes had a cold virginal steadfastness which harmonised well with the lines of a mouth firm almost to hardness. No sooner, however, did her gaze fall upon the occupant of the bed than her face was lit by a smile of strange brightness and sweetness; the coldness passed from her eyes, the lines of her mouth grew soft and tender; and her whole expression was transformed into one of winning kindness and beauty.