Sister Carmen | Page 7

Indies."
"And Sister Sarah?" "At Sarepta, in Russia, in the province of
Saratow."
"Sister Jacobi?"
"At Batavia, in Java."
"Sister Carmen?"
Similarly to all those called before, Carmen rose also, when Sister
Agatha mentioned her name; but it seemed an involuntary motion, as if
in obedience to a command, and then, after a second's hesitation, she at
once resumed her seat. During the entire proceedings her glance had

wandered with painful eagerness, now to Frau von Trautenau, now to
her eldest son, and had remarked how this questioning of the girls had
seemed to amuse them. At last, when her name was called, a deep blush
suffused Carmen's lovely face, and she could not summon courage to
answer.
"Dear Sister Carmen!" repeated the Superior, as if she thought Carmen
had not heard the first call.
"Oh, please---" now interposed Frau von Trautenau, endeavoring to
assist the girl when she saw her painful confusion. She stroked back
from Carmen's brow the curly locks which had escaped from under the
edge of the little white cap, saying: "Never mind! I can fancy, from her
pretty name, that her cradle was rocked in Spain, if not in a still more
distant and beautiful clime. Is it not so, dear child?"
There was so much delicate consideration in the tone and manner of
Frau von Trautenau towards the embarrassed girl that Carmen, with an
impulse of sincere gratitude, bent over her friendly hand and kissed it.
"Yes, it is so," She said, looking at the lady, with her dark eyes full of
childlike innocence. "I was born in the beautiful West Indies, on the
island of Jamaica."
"Have you been here long?"
"Oh yes, a very, very long time. I was sent here when only nine years
old, to be educated, my mother having died some time before; and my
father left Jamaica a year after I did, to go to the East Indies. I have not
seen him or heard from him once since then."
Carmen said all this in an undertone, and her voice trembled, as if full
of suppressed tears.
"Poor child! how sorry I am for you!" said the lady, affectionately,
taking Carmen's hand and pressing it tenderly. She felt such a deep
sympathy for the lonely girl that she quickly added: "Since you know
so well what it is to be separated from loved ones, will you not try to

interest yourself a little in Adele? She will perhaps find it difficult at
first to reconcile herself to this new life."
"Gladly, with all my heart, if your daughter will confide in me!" replied
Carmen with joy.
A stroke of the clock, which sounded loudly through the quiet house,
announced the hour of the midday meal. The girls rose at once from
their places, and Frau von Trautenau took leave of Sister Agatha, taking
her daughter with her.
After the departure of the guests, the girls left the room; and as Carmen
passed Sister Agatha, the latter laid her hand on the girl's shoulder,
saying gravely, but not unkindly:
"Dear Sister, I would like to speak with you; on your return from the
love-feast which we celebrate this evening, come to my room, and I
will have a talk with you."
Carmen looked calmly into the serious eyes of the speaker, where she
read no small degree of secret dissatisfaction.
"Yes, Sister Agatha, I will come."
* * * * * *
No apartment could be more simply furnished than that of Sister
Agatha. It seemed as if she wished to excel in her avoidance of
anything like unnecessary ornament or comfort. Three chairs, a table,
an old-fashioned sofa, a writing-desk, and a chest of drawers formed
the scanty furniture. The walls were whitewashed and bare, while at the
windows were hung plain white curtains. Above the desk was placed
the solitary ornament of the room, the watchword for the day. These
"watchwords" are texts of Scripture printed on cards, one for each day
in the year, and distributed to every member of the settlement, so that
all may meditate upon it, and guide their daily lives by its precepts.
Sister Agatha sat at one of the windows; and with her, his chair drawn

back into the shadow, out of the bright afternoon sunshine, sat Brother
Jonathan Fricke, talking in his calmest and most deliberate manner, "It
seems to me, dear Sister, that the healthy give you more anxiety than
the sick."
"Because they are the more difficult to help than others; and although
your visit is principally to the sick, I should like to have your advice
regarding the case of one in my charge, and whose father was your
dearest friend."
"You are anxious about Carmen's worldly-mindedness; but ought you
not to be indulgent, dear Sister, and remember that the