Tales of the Cloister
so sudden and complete was her recognition of the stamp of death on the face before her. The invalid had wearily closed her eyes; she would not have made even this concession to fatigue and despondency in the presence of any other but the one who saw it, and the incident, trivial in itself, was full of meaning. Sister George turned her back for a moment, ostensibly to pull a flaunting crimson flower from its stem, but really to control the tell-tale quiver of her lips. The atmosphere of self-restraint in which they lived had so schooled the inmates of the cloister that even these two women, bound by ties of years of affection and common interest, rarely dropped the veil of reserve even for each other. The invalid's first remark showed that she did not intend to drop it now.
"How drowsy this air makes one, Sister," she said, softly "The place and the hour are so restful that I could go to sleep. Sometimes I think of the garden at night when I am wakeful," she added, a little wistfully: "then it seems as if I could sleep if I were within hearing of the fountain and the rustle of the leaves."
"Have your nights been restless ones?" asked the other at once. It was the first knowledge she had of the fact. Her friend hesitated a moment and looked up with a smile which was almost an appeal. She was about to
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