Four sisters sat there. Their black garments made their pale faces
whiter still, and time and sorrow had worked deep ravages. They were
stately yet; but the flush and pride of beauty were gone.
'And Alice--where was she? In Heaven.
'The monk--even the monk--could bear with some grief here; for it
was long since these sisters had met, and there were furrows in their
blanched faces which years could never plough. He took his seat in
silence, and motioned them to continue their speech.
'"They are here, sisters," said the elder lady in a trembling voice. "I
have never borne to look upon them since, and now I blame myself for my
weakness. What is there in her memory that we should dread? To call up
our old days shall be a solemn pleasure yet."
'She glanced at the monk as she spoke, and, opening a cabinet, brought
forth the five frames of work, completed long before. Her step was
firm, but her hand trembled as she produced the last one; and, when the
feelings of the other sisters gushed forth at sight of it, her pent-up
tears made way, and she sobbed "God bless her!"
'The monk rose and advanced towards them.
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