A tall, wasted figure robed
in black, with a thin, spiritualised face, the natural pallor of which
was just now displaced by a transient flush that faded out almost as
quickly as it had come. The white head-dress had been cast aside for
once, and the black hair, streaked with silver, was tied in a simple
knot behind. The large dark eyes looked larger and darker than they had
ever looked before, and seemed lit up with an inner fire that had its
source in another world than ours.
Sister Agnes advanced a step or two and held out her arms. "My darling!"
was all she said as she pressed Janet to her heart, and kissed her again
and again. They understood each other without words. The feeling within
them was too deep to find expression in any commonplace greeting.
The excitement of the meeting was too much for the strength of Sister
Agnes. She was obliged to lie down again. Janet sat by her side,
caressing one of her wasted hands.
"Your coming has made me very, very happy," murmured Sister Agnes after
a time.
"Through all the seven dreary years of my school life," said Janet, "the
expectation of some day seeing you again was the one golden dream that
the future held before me.
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