In faintest breath. I bore her to a seat
In this same room -- and gently spoke to her,
And held her hand in mine -- and soothed her
With words of sympathy, until she seemed
As tranquil as myself.

"And then I asked:
`What brought thee hither, child? and what wilt thou?'
`Mother!' she said, `wilt let me wear the veil?
Wilt let me serve my God as e'en you serve
Him in this cloistered place? I pray to be --
Unworthy tho' I be -- to be His spouse.
Nay, Mother -- say not nay -- 'twill break a heart
Already broken;' and she looked on me
With those brown, wond'ring eyes, which pleaded more,
More strongly and more sadly than her lips
That I might grant her sudden, strange request.
`Hast thou a mother?' questioned I. `I had,'
She said, `but heaven has her now; and thou
Wilt be my mother -- and the orphan girl
Will make her life her thanks.'
`Thy father, child?'
`Ere I was cradled he was in his grave.'
`And hast nor sister nor brother?' `No,' she said,
`God gave my mother only me; one year
This very day He parted us.' `Poor child,'
I murmured. `Nay, kind Sister,' she replied,
`I have much wealth -- they left me ample means --
I have true friends who love me and protect.
I was a minor until yesterday;