tion she desired and turned their steps towards the others, she looked at Helm with greater interest.
"Should you like to go upon the observatory?" she meekly asked, pointing to the top of the adjacent building. "From there you can see how far the convent lands extend. Besides, it is the only point that commands a view of the whole country."
The scene of the temptation was to be transferred to the pinnacle of the temple.
"It is not asking too much of you to climb so far for my pleasure?"
"It is our mission to climb," she replied, wearily; "and if our strength fails, we rest by the way."
Of herself she spoke literally; for when they came to the topmost story of the building, from which the observatory was reached by a short flight of steps, she sank into a seat placed near as a resting-place.
"Will you go above, Sister?" she said feebly. "I will wait here."
On the way up, also, the old man had been shaking his head with a stupid look of alarm and muttering his disapproval.
"There is a high railing, Ezra," she now said to him. "You could not fall." But he refused to go farther; he suffered from vertigo.
The young pair went up alone.
For miles in all directions the landscape lay shimmering in the autumnal sunlight—a poor, rough, homely land, with a few farm-houses of the plainest kind. Briefly she traced for him the boundary of the convent domain. And then he, thinking proudly of his own region, now lying heavy in varied autumnal ripeness and teeming with noble, gentle animal life; with rolling past-
