"We require a great deal of room," explained Sister Agatha, as they
passed along, "as there are separate apartments, not only for the
pupils, but also for the unmarried Sisters of our community, who are
not members of a family and yet live and work here with us. Indeed,
even those who have families in the outside world often come to us to
employ their unoccupied time." So saying, she led her guests from the
first floor to the second, and from one room to another. Everything
was neatly and simply arranged. The modest dress of the Sisters, with
their little white caps, their calm diligence in spite of the
exhilarating air of this bright morning, their quiet gait and subdued
voices, the deep silence which pervaded the house, gave one the
sensation of being in a cloister. Sister Agatha conducted the party
into the general workroom. It was built like a deep hall. At long
tables sat numbers of girls with every variety of countenance; all
young, not quite grown, gathered in separate groups, busy with
needlework or writing. The elder ones seemed to supervise the younger
and instruct them in their work. Amongst these was the girl who had
acted the part of guide to the strangers. All rose at the entrance of
the visitors, and after a moment silently resumed their seats.
"Here you see the children of our members, and our dear pupils, all
together. They are sent to us from the most remote colonies and
missions to be educated, and they very soon learn to consider
themselves one with us. Dear Sister Marie," said Agatha, turning to
one of the girls, "please tell Frau Von Trautenau where you were born."
The child addressed, a little girl with olive complexion and keen black
eyes, arose, like a piece of machinery, on being spoken to, and
replied: "At Paramaribo, in Surinam," and dropped back into her seat.
"And you, dear Sister Genevieve?"
"At St. Jean, in the West Indies."
"And Sister Sarah?" "At Sarepta, in Russia, in the province of Saratow."
"Sister Jacobi?"
"At Batavia, in Java."
"Sister Carmen?"
Similarly to all those called before, Carmen rose also, when Sister
Agatha mentioned her name; but it seemed an involuntary motion, as if
in obedience to a command, and then, after a second's hesitation, she
at once resumed her seat. During the entire proceedings her glance had
wandered with painful eagerness, now to Frau von Trautenau, now to her
eldest son, and had remarked how this questioning of the girls had
seemed to amuse them. At last, when her name was called, a deep blush
suffused Carmen's lovely face, and she could not summon courage to
answer.
"Dear Sister Carmen!" repeated the Superior, as if she thought Carmen
had not heard the first call.
"Oh, please---" now interposed Frau von Trautenau, endeavoring to
assist the girl when she saw her painful confusion. She stroked back
from Carmen's brow the curly locks which had escaped from under the
edge of the little white cap, saying: "Never mind! I can fancy, from
her pretty name, that her cradle was rocked in Spain, if not in a still
more distant and beautiful clime. Is it not so, dear child?"
There was so much delicate consideration in the tone and manner of Frau
von Trautenau towards the embarrassed girl that Carmen, with an impulse
of sincere gratitude, bent over her friendly hand and kissed it.
"Yes, it is so," She said, looking at the lady, with her dark eyes full
of childlike innocence. "I was born in the beautiful West Indies, on
the island of Jamaica."
"Have you been here long?"
"Oh yes, a very, very long time. I was sent here when only nine years
old, to be educated, my mother having died some time before; and my
father left Jamaica a year after I did, to go to the East Indies. I
have not seen him or heard from him once since then."
Carmen said all this in an undertone, and her voice trembled, as if
full of suppressed tears.
"Poor child! how sorry I am for you!" said the lady, affectionately,
taking Carmen's hand and pressing it tenderly. She felt such a deep
sympathy for the lonely girl that she quickly added: "Since you know so
well what it is to be separated from loved ones, will you not try to
interest yourself a little in Adele? She will perhaps find it
difficult at first to reconcile herself to this new life."
"Gladly, with all my heart, if your daughter will confide in me!"
replied Carmen with joy.
A stroke of the clock, which sounded loudly through the quiet house,
announced the hour of the midday meal. The girls rose at once from
their places, and Frau von Trautenau took leave of Sister Agatha,
taking her daughter with her.
After the departure of the guests, the girls left the room; and as
Carmen passed Sister Agatha, the latter laid her hand on the girl's
shoulder, saying gravely, but not unkindly:
"Dear Sister, I would like to speak with you; on your return from the
love-feast which we celebrate this evening, come to my room, and I will
have a talk with you."
Carmen looked calmly into the serious eyes of the speaker, where she
read no small degree of secret dissatisfaction.
"Yes, Sister Agatha, I will come."
* * * * * *
No apartment could be more simply furnished than that of Sister Agatha.
It seemed as if she wished to excel in her avoidance of anything like
unnecessary ornament or comfort. Three chairs, a table, an
old-fashioned sofa, a writing-desk, and a chest of drawers formed the
scanty furniture. The walls were whitewashed and bare, while at the
windows were hung plain white curtains. Above the desk was placed the
solitary ornament of the room, the watchword for the day. These
"watchwords" are texts of Scripture printed on cards, one for each day
in the year, and distributed to every member of the settlement, so that
all may meditate upon it, and guide their daily lives by its precepts.
Sister Agatha sat at one of the windows; and with her, his chair drawn
back into the shadow, out of the bright afternoon sunshine, sat Brother
Jonathan Fricke, talking in his calmest and most deliberate manner, "It
seems to me, dear Sister, that the healthy give you more anxiety than
the sick."
"Because they are the more difficult to help than others; and although
your visit is principally to the sick, I should like to have your
advice regarding the case of one in my charge, and whose father was
your dearest friend."
"You are anxious about Carmen's worldly-mindedness; but ought you not
to be indulgent, dear Sister, and remember that the child's early
associations are still holding sway in her heart, and make great excuse
for her? Brother Mauer, you remember, went away from the mission to
his plantation, where, although he did not sever himself from our
communion, there was not much to remind him of his religious
obligations. His last wife, a hot-blooded Creole, could not be
considered much help as regards keeping the faith. She loved best to
swing herself into the saddle and gallop away over the plains. She
would sing her glowing Spanish songs to the accompaniment of the
mandolin; or else she would dance like a fairy, her foot scarce seeming
to touch the floor as she floated along, to the sound of the tambourine
played by her old negro duenna. She was too beautiful for him to
restrain, in dancing, riding, or anything. Too beautiful!" he
repeated, becoming more and more enthusiastic. "I have seen her often,
when summoned to the plantation on professional duty as a physician;
and there was little Carmen, always with her mother, and following her
in everything. She learned to dance and sing in true Spanish style,
and she seemed to feel all the beauty and fascination of it."
Suddenly he paused, as if becoming conscious of his unwonted animation
under the wondering gaze of Sister Agatha's grave eyes. Heaving a deep
sigh, he had again recourse to his old trick of brushing an invisible
speck of dust from his sleeve, and then continued in the orthodox,
placid manner:
"It was a fearful sin for a member of our faith to fall into, and
Brother Mauer should have resisted the temptation. I spoke to him
frequently about it, but he had lost all power of self-control. He was
too much absorbed in love for his wife, and therefore it was a mercy to
his soul and Carmen's that this Spanish girl died, and the child was
placed here, under our discipline, where she may yet be won over to a
spiritual life," he concluded, and cast a humble, sanctimonious look on
Sister Agatha.
"Where were you when her mother died?" asked the Sister. "Were you
with her?"
"No; she has been dead about ten years, and I left Jamaica some time
before that, as my health could not stand the climate. I went from
there to the northern part of the United States. From Bethlehem, where
I remained several years, I went back to the old place, and when I got
there Carmen was a wee little maiden, and I was told that Brother Mauer
had left Jamaica for the East Indies."
"Well, surely the Lord called him to be His instrument," interrupted
Sister Agatha. "It was wonderful how he was seized with such an
irrepressible desire to be a missionary. And as far as we can know, he
has worked without flagging for the faith. All news from him has
ceased for some time now; and is it not strange that he has never made
any application for money? He took only a very small sum with him when
he went on his mission, and the large sum which the sale of his lands
in Jamaica brought is still in a bank in this country."
"Has he, then, left nothing for Carmen?"
"We receive a certain interest from the money, for her support and
education," replied Agatha, "but it is, comparatively speaking, very
little. The money must have accumulated to an immense sum by this
time. If her father is dead, Carmen must be a very wealthy
heiress--another temptation for her, poor child! It is strange we hear
nothing from Brother Mauer. I feel sure he must be dead--died while
working for his Lord!"
As she spoke, Jonathan's eyes flashed, and he suddenly lifted his head;
but remembering where he was, he immediately resumed his usual pious
bearing, and, when Agatha ceased speaking, said, with something like a
sigh:
"He was my friend!"
A pause ensued, during which he seemed lost in reflection.
"It does seem as if we have lost him," he continued, "and Carmen must
be an orphan. Poor child! Bear so much the more leniently with her,
dear Sister; and if from time to time you observe signs of her early
training, and that her impulses carry her sometimes beyond what is
quite becoming, remember she will find in me a guide who is ever ready
to lead her in the right way."
"Truly, you are still the same faithful friend to her father, for you
have so much consideration for his child," said Agatha, deeply
affected. "But believe me, dear Brother, I also love the girl with my
whole heart, and am the more anxious for that reason, lest her natural
inclinations may lead her into error. But to whom shall I direct her
for guidance, if not to the dear Lord Himself?"
"Surely, my Sister, you say well; and therefore it would be better for
her to have a helpmate ever at her side, who would remind her of her
holy calling," returned Jonathan, earnestly. "Next week she will be
eighteen years of age, and will then be numbered among the marriageable
sisters. It would certainly be the best thing for her to have a
husband; therefore seek one for her, Sister Agatha; and if you and the
assembly of elders can find no one better, then will I, for the sake of
her welfare, give up the freedom of my single life and take her to
myself, to be to her a faithful protector and husband, for the glory of
God."
While speaking, he had risen nervously from his seat, and leaning one
arm on the back of the chair, uttered the last words hastily, as if
impelled thereto by a sudden overwhelming emotion. His eyes were fixed
on the floor, only once in a while looking furtively up, as if to watch
the effect of his words. But the Sister's open countenance showed only
a joyful surprise.
"You would really sacrifice yourself for Sister Carmen's benefit?" she
cried. "How can I do otherwise than approve, dear Brother? You, the
pious, wise, experienced physician, full of love and kind forbearance
towards her, and knowing so well, all the while, what is for her good!
Where in all the wide world could she ever find a better counsellor and
guide?"
"Nay, say not so, Sister Agatha," he interrupted reprovingly. "No
sinful creature deserves such praise; least of all I. None of us are
more than humble instruments for good, and have no merit at all of
ourselves."
"Yet, my dear Brother, we cannot but recognize the good in others,"
replied she in a gentle tone. "And I say no more than the truth. If
every one as worthy as you had only a portion of your modesty! The
sick long for you and praise you as their benefactor; the well welcome
you everywhere as a friend and adviser. Let me thank you for offering
yourself to Carmen, for you have done so with true kindness and love.
After the feast this evening, I will communicate your proposal to the
elders; and if they consent to it, then, afterwards, I will speak to
Carmen on the subject. I have notified her to come to me, without
reference to this matter, as I want to make some inquiries about her
behavior this morning. But now it is the hour for evening prayer."
She arose, and extended her hand to Jonathan, who returned its hearty
pressure. Never had his manner been more humble than it now was as he
left the room. But when the door was closed behind him, he stood quite
still for a moment, and the disagreeable expression of his mouth was
greatly enhanced by the smile of triumph which lit up his countenance.
"Ah!" he exclaimed under his breath, "beauty and wealth; they will
indeed compensate for the past."