Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the city room.djvu/108

 look at her through the convent bars. She had changed her wedding-gown and orange-blossoms for the white serge habit of the Dominican Order. On her head she wore a long veil, and on that was pressed a crown of thorns. There were two gratings three or four feet apart and she was beyond the inner one. We could not so much as touch her finger. No friend ever can again, according to the rules of that particular branch of the Order. She was pale, almost ghastly, after the strain of the day, and her dark eyes looked very tired—but she was her royal self to the last."

"Her royal self. That is it. She was always that—my Dolores."

Low as the words were, Miss Herrick caught them and looked up. Mrs. Eddington was leaning forward, forgetful of her sleeping son, staring at the fire with unseeing eyes. Its light brought out in full relief her wet cheeks and the strong emotion in her face. The reporter rose quietly and took the sleeping child from his mother's lap. She rang the bell and gave him to the nurse who responded. Then she went back to her seat.