“You must play for us again sometime. CHAPTER XV. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. He eyed the young couple with the tragic history behind them, and could only suppose that familiarity had dulled their senses. ‘Quite mad, nuns are.
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