"My child, I may not speak of these things; it would be a sin. Our words we can control, if not our thoughts." "But, sister, I need your help. You know that I have not your faith, and never could have. But I have loved as you once loved, and I shall never see the face of my lover. What shall I do with my empty life? I am so weak!" "All the greater need have you for a stronger help than mine, for a haven from the ills of the world. I cannot think you would find that place in our cloister. There must be workers in the world among the living and strong, as well as with the sick and dying. It is in that world that you, my child, with your power, your wealth, your beauty, should find your work. The arms of the Church are wide, and embrace the toilers in the market-place as well as those who watch and pray in the cloister." "There is only work, then, that will bring peace?" "Work and prayer, my child. You must not talk of this to-night; you should sleep now. To-morrow you shall tell me more of the needs of your soul." "Only work! I am so tired, I am so weak, I cannot work alone. If there had been one to help me--" She lifted her white hand, so nerveless now, and let it sink wearily beside her. "Bring the great candelabrum, and set it at the foot of the bed. Light all the candles. I want to drive out the shadows from the dark corners. Ah! hear them singing below there in the canal." She sat up among her pillows listening to the chorus chanted by a band of belated merry-makers. It was the love-song that the people in the _sandalo_ had sung that afternoon. "_Dame un pensiero, sogna me, ed io ti sognerò._" "In dreaming give a thought of me, and I will dream of thee." "Give me my little golden crown, sister, and then lie down upon your couch and sleep. You do not mind the lights?" Millicent was fanciful and wilful that night; and the nun, knowing that it was best to humor her, brought her from its velvet case the gold fillet of olive leaves which Graham had laid on the brow of his love in the forest of San Rosario. The girl set it on her head, and called for a mirror. "I am beautiful still, my sister, though so pale, am I not?" The nun nodded her head smilingly. "Now that is all, and I shall sleep. Good-night to you. Say a little prayer for me, sister, and one for a strong, proud man who will be very sad to-night with me so far away from him." She folded her palms upon her breast, as they fold the hands of the dead. The sister stood beside her, watching uneasily the light slumber into which her patient had fallen. Her pulse was full and even, the breathing regular, and the sleep peaceful as that of a child. "A strange fancy to light those candles, and to put that wreath about her head. Poor child, she is beautiful, indeed, as the vision of a saint," murmured the sister.