CHAPTER XIX.
"What is it ?" asked the nun, noticing Unorna's sudden movement.
"Nothing; the name of Beatrice is familiar to me, that is all.

It suggested something." Though Sister Paul was as unworldly as five and twenty years of cloistered life can make a woman who is naturally simple in mind and devout in thought, she possessed that faculty of quick observation which is learned as readily, and exercised perhaps as constantly, in the midst of a small community, where each member is in some measure dependent upon all the rest for the daily pittance of ideas, as in wider spheres of life.
"You may have seen this lady, or you may have heard of her," she said.
"I would like to see her," Unorna answered thoughtfully.
She was thinking of all the possibilities in the case.

She remembered the clearness and precision of the Wanderer's first impression, when he first told her how he had seen Beatrice in the Teyn Kirche, and she reflected that the name was a very uncommon one.

The Beatrice of his story too had a father and no other relation, and was supposed to be travelling with him.

By the uncertain light in the corridor Unorna had not been able to distinguish the lady's features, but the impression she had received had been that she was dark, as Beatrice was.