“How came you here?” I asked, in a whisper; “and what have you done to induce them to punish you so?” “O,” said she, with a burst of tears, and grasping my hand with her pale, cold fingers, “I was in the school, and I thought it would be so nice to be a nun!  Then my father died and left me all his property, and they persuaded me to stay here, and give it all to the church.  I was so sad then I did not care for money, and I had no idea what a place it is.  I really thought that the nuns were pure and holy—­that their lives were devoted to heaven, their efforts consecrated to the cause of truth and righteousness.  I thought that this was indeed the ‘house of God,’ the very ‘gate of heaven.’  But as soon as they were sure of me, they let me know—­but you understand me; you know what I mean?” I nodded assent, and once more asked, “What did you do?” “O, I was in the school,” said she, “and I knew that a friend of mine was coming here just as I did; and I could not bear to see her, in all her loveliness and unsuspecting innocence, become a victim to these vile priests.  I found an opportunity to let her know what a hell she was coming to.  ’Twas an unpardonable sin, you see.  I had robbed the church—­committed sacrilege, they said—­and they have almost killed me for it.  I wish they would quite, for I am sure death has no terrors for me now.  God will never punish me for what I have done.  But go; don’t stay any longer; they’ll kill you if they catch you here.”  I knew that she had spoken truly—­they would kill me, almost, if not quite, if they found me there; but I must know a little more.  “Did you save your friend?” I asked, “or did you both have to suffer, to pay for your generous act?” “Did I save her?  Yes, thank God, I did.  She did not come, and she promised not to tell of me.  I don’t think she did; but they managed to find it out, I don’t know how; and now—­O God, let me die!” I was obliged to go, and I left her, with a promise to carry her some bread if I could.  But I could not, and I never saw her again.  Yet what a history her few words unfolded!  It was so much like the landlady’s story, I could not forbear relating it to her.  She seemed much interested in all my convent adventures; and in this way we spent the night.

CHAPTER XIV.

The two sisters.

Next morning the lady informed me that I could not remain with her in safety, but she had a sister, who lived about half a mile distant, with whom I could stop until my feet were sufficiently healed to enable me to resume my journey.  She then sent for her sister, who very kindly, as I then thought, acceded to her request, and said I was welcome to stay with her as long as I wished.  Arrangements were therefore made at once for my removal.  My kind hostess brought two large buffalo robes into my chamber, which she wrapped around my person in such a way as to shield me from the observation of the servants.  She then