Tales of the Cloister
dows hygienically open at the top she could see the pearl-gray shadows that preceded dawn. On the hearth the fire burned low, but each object in the room was distinct in the dim light. The clock ticked cheerily. She could not quite distinguish its face across the room, but as she strained her eyes in the effort it struck five.
It was not usual for her to wake at this hour, but she experienced no surprise or annoyance. Instead, she was conscious of a vague but trustful responsiveness. She let her eyes roam slowly around the room, and smiled to herself. Fear and unrest had left her; she felt composed, wholly at peace. She threw back the covering and sat up. As she did so a soft hand touched her own. It was years since she had felt it, but she recognized it at once, and with out the slightest shock or fear her mind adapted itself to the experience. She turned quickly and saw Sister Estelle standing at the side of the bed. She was a little in shadow, but her tall figure in the sombre habit of her order was clearly defined, and under the white band across her brow her dark eyes shone luminously. The smile with which she met the doctor's eyes was the old sweet smile of long ago—loving, reassuring, and touched now with a peaceful gratitude which her first words explained.
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