and thoughtful, and presently took up a book, and after that went to her
own room, where she stood awhile at her window, and looked out on the
garden of the Ursulines. The moon hung full orb in the stainless heaven,
and deepened the mystery of the paths and trees, and lit the silvery
roofs and chimneys of the convent with tender effulgence. A wandering
odor of leaf and flower stole up from the garden, but she perceived the
sweetness, like the splendor, with veiled senses. She was turning over
in her thought the incidents of her walk, and trying to make out if
anything had really happened, first to provoke her against Mr. Arbuton,
and then to reconcile her to him. Had he said or done anything about her
favorite painting (which she hated now), or the Marches, to offend her?
Or if it had been his tone and manner, was his after-conduct at the old
church sufficient penance? What was it he had done that common humanity
did not require? Was he so very superior to common humanity, that she
should meekly rejoice at his kindness to the afflicted mother? Why need
she have cared for his forbearance toward the rapt devotee? She became
aware that she was ridiculous. "Dick was right," she confessed, "and I
will _not_ let myself be made a goose of"; and when the bugle at the
citadel called the soldiers to rest, and the harsh chapel-bell bade the
nuns go dream of heaven, she also fell asleep, a smile on her lips and a
light heart in her breast.




VI.

A LETTER OF KITTY'S.