Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the cloister.djvu/215

 the unconsciously assumed professional manner.

"It was Sister Estelle's own request that you should not know," she said, softly. "You were abroad, and she feared your anxiety, if you knew her condition, might interfere with your work. She believed there was no cause for anxiety. She knew you would come to see her as soon after your return to America as you could."

Dr. Van Nest became again the child of the convent. "Let me see her," she begged. "Let me see her at once—not behind the grating, but here, or in the garden, by ourselves. Please ask Reverend Mother."

The little portress departed, leaving the impatient visitor alone. Dr. Van Nest looked around her with a reminiscent smile. It was years since she had been in this particular wing of the great building, but nothing was changed. The same high polish shone on the waxed floor; the same chairs stood at precisely the same angles in the same corners; the same religious pictures hung on the walls; the same wax flowers stood on the same small table. There was the desk which the child Elizabeth Van Nest used to approach shaking in her little shoes, to be reprimanded for some childish mistake by the nun who sat there.