vacations in the homes of some of her fellow pupils. She has
a very decided personality, and a facility for attracting affection.
She is sensitive and proud--passionate even at times. She can be
led but not driven. I tell you all this, _Monsieur_, not censoriously but
that it may help you in dealing with a character that is extraordinarily
complex, with a nature that both demands and repels affection, that
longs for and yet scorns sympathy." She looked at Craven anxiously.
His complete attention was claimed at last. A new conception of his
unknown ward was forcing itself upon him, so that any humour there
might have been in the situation died suddenly and the difficulties of
the undertaking soared. The Mother Superior smothered a sigh.
His attitude was baffling, his expression inscrutable. Had her words
touched him, had she said what was best for the welfare of the girl
who was so dear to her, and whose departure she felt so keenly?
How would she fare at this man's hands? What lay behind his stern
face and sombre tragic eyes? Her lips moved in silent prayer, but
when she spoke her voice was serene as before.

"There is yet another thing that I must speak of. Gillian has an
unusual gift." A sentence in Locke's letter flashed into Craven's
mind.

"She doesn't _dance_?" he asked, in some dismay.

"Dance, _Monsieur_--in a convent?" Then she pitied his hot
confusion and smiled faintly.

"Is dancing so unusual--in the world? No, Gillian
sketches--portraits. Her talent is real. She does not
merely draw a faithful likeness, her studies are revelations