She smiled at herself as she walked down the avenue--she, the elegant, fastidious Kate Danton, attired in those sombre garments, carrying that well-filled bag, and turning, all in a moment, a Sister of Mercy.
It was nearly noon when she returned, pale, and very tired, from her long walk.

Grace wondered more than ever, as she saw her dragging herself slowly upstairs.
"Where can she have been ?" she mused, "in that dress and with that bag, and what on earth can she have wanted the keys of the sideboard for ?" Grace was enlightened some hours later, when Father Francis came up, and informed the household that he had found Kate ministering to one of the worst cases of fever in the village--a dying old woman.
"She was sitting by the bedside reading to her," said the priest; "and she had given poor old Madame Lange what she has been longing for weeks past, wine.

I assure you I was confounded at the sight." "But, good gracious!" cried the Captain, aghast, "she will take the fever." "I told her so--I expostulated with her on her rashness, but all in vain.

I told her to send them as much wine and jellies as she pleased, but to keep out of these pestiferous cottages.

She only looked at me with those big solemn eyes, and said: "'Father, if I were a professed Sister of Charity, you would call my mission Heaven-sent and glorious; because I am not, you tell me I am foolish and rash.