"A faint flush swept over the glorious face of Sister Celeste as she raised her eyes, but simply and frankly, and with a slight French accent, she answered:

"'The lady, kind sir, is very ill. Unless, in some way, we can manage to remove her to the hospital, where she can have an evenly warmed room and close nursing, I fear she will not live; but she is penniless and we are very poor, and, moreover, I do not see how she can be moved, for there are no carriages.'

"She spoke with perfect distinctness, notwithstanding the slight foreign accent. The accent was no impediment; rather from her lips it gave her words a rhythm like music.

"The man raised his voice: 'Boys,' he shouted, 'there is a suffering woman up the street. She is very dest.i.tute and very ill, and must be removed to the hospital. The first thing required is some money.' Then, taking off his hat with one hand, with the other he took from his pocket a twenty-dollar piece, put the money in the hat, then sprang upon a low stump that was standing by the trail and added: 'I start the subscription, those who have a trifle that they can spare will please pa.s.s around this way and drop the trifle into the hat.'

"Then Sister Celeste had a new experience. In an instant she was surrounded by a shouting, surging, struggling crowd, all eager to contribute. There was a Babel of voices, but for once a California crowd were awakened to full roar without an oath being heard. The boys could not swear in the presence of Sister Celeste.

"In a few minutes between seven and eight hundred dollars was raised. It was poured out of the hat into a buckskin purse, the purse was tied, and handed, by the man who first addressed her, to Sister Celeste, with the remark that it was for her poor and that when she needed more the boys would stand in.

"Again the nun raised her eyes and in a low voice which trembled a little, she said:

"'Please salute the gentlemen and say to them that G.o.d will keep the account.'

"The man turned around and with an awkward laugh said: 'Boys! I am authorized, by one of His angels, to say that for your contribution, G.o.d has taken down your names, and given you credit.'

"Then a wild fellow cried out from the crowd:

"'Three cheers for the Angel!'

"The cheers rang out like the braying of a thousand trumpets in accord.

Then in a hoa.r.s.e under-tone a voice shouted 'Tiger!' and the deep-toned old-day California 'Tiger' rolled up the hillsides like an ocean roar.

It would have startled an ordinary woman, but Sister Celeste was looking at the purse, and it is doubtful if she heard it at all.

"Then the first speaker called from the crowd eight men, by name, and said:

"'You were all married men in the States and for all that I know to the contrary, were decent, respectable gentlemen. As master of ceremonies I delegate you, as there are no carriages in this camp, to go to the sick woman's house, and carry her to the hospital, while the good Sister proceeds in advance and makes a place for her.'

"This was agreed to, and the Sister was told that in half an hour she might expect her patient.

"Then she hurried away, the crowd watching her and remarking that her usual stately step seemed greatly quickened.

"Long afterward, the Mother Superior related that, when Sister Celeste reached the hospital on that day, she fell sobbing into the Mother's arms, and when she could command her voice, said: 'Those s.h.a.ggy men that I thought were all tigers are all angels disguised. O, Mother, I have seen them as Moses and Elias were, transfigured.'

"The eight men held a brief consultation in the street, then going to a store they bought a pair of heavy white blankets, an umbrella and four pick handles. Borrowing a packer's needle and some twine they began to sew the pick handles into the sides of the blanket, first rolling the handles around once or twice in the edges of the blanket. They then proceeded to the sick woman's house; one went in first and told the sick woman, gently, what they had come to do, and bade her have no fears, that she was to be moved so gently that if she would close her eyes she would not know anything about it. The others were called in; the blanket was laid upon the floor; the bed was lifted with its burden from the bedstead and laid on the blanket; the covers were neatly tucked under the mattress; four men seized the pickhandles at the sides, lifted the bed, woman and all from the floor, a fifth man stepped outside, raised the umbrella and held it above the woman's face, and so, as gently as ever mother rocked her babe to sleep, the sick woman was carried the whole length of the street to the hospital, where Sister Celeste and the Mother Superior received her.

"Then all hands went up town and talked the matter over, and I am afraid that some of them drank a little, but the burden of all the talk and all the toasts, was Sister Celeste.

"After that the nun was often seen, going on her errands of mercy, and it is true that some men who had been rough and who had drank hard for months previous to the coming of the Sister, grew quiet in their lives and ceased to go to the saloons.

"One day a most laughable event transpired. Two men got quarrelling in the street which in a moment culminated in a fight. The friends of the respective men joined and soon there was a general fight in which perhaps thirty men were engaged. When it was at its height (and such a fight meant something) Sister Celeste suddenly turned the sharp bend of the street and came into full view not sixty yards from where the melee was raging in full fury.

"One of the fighters saw her and made a sound between a hiss and a low whistle, a peculiar sound of alarm and warning, so significant that all looked up.

"In an instant the men clapped their hands into their side pockets, and commenced moving away, some of them whistling low and dancing as they went, as though the whole thing was but a jovial lark. When Sister Celeste reached the spot a moment afterward, the street was entirely clear. The men washed their faces, some wag began to describe the comical scene which they made when they concluded that the street under certain circ.u.mstances was no good place for a fight; good humor was restored, the chief combatants shook hands with perfect cordiality, a drink of reconciliation was ordered all around, and when the gla.s.ses were emptied, a man cried out: 'Fill up once more, boys. I want you to drink with me the health of the only capable peace officer that we have ever had in town--Sister Celeste.' The health was drank with enthusiasm.

"The winter came on at length and there was much sickness. Sister Celeste redoubled her exertions; she was seen at all hours of the day, and was met, sometimes, as late as midnight, returning from her watch beside a sick bed.

"The town was full of rough men; some of them would cut or shoot at a word, but Sister Celeste never felt afraid. Indeed, since that Sabbath when the subscription was taken up in the street she had felt that nothing sinister could ever happen to her in that place.

"Once, however, she met a jolly miner who had been in town too long, and who had started for home a good deal the worse for liquor. She met him in a lonely place where the houses had been a few days previous burned down on both sides of the street. Emboldened by rum, the man stepped directly in front of the nun and said:

"'My pretty Sister, I will give your hospital a thousand dollars for one kiss.'

"The Sister never wavered; she raised her calm and undaunted eyes to the face of the man, an incandescent whiteness warmed upon her cheek, giving to her striking face unwonted splendor. For a moment she held the man under the spell of her eyes, then stretching her right arm out toward the sky, slowly and with infinite sadness in her tones said:

"'If your mother is watching from there, what will she think of her son?'

"The man fell on his knees, crying 'pardon,' and Sister Celeste, with her accustomed stately step, pa.s.sed slowly on her way.

"Next day an envelope directed to Sister Celeste was received at the hospital. Within there was nothing but a certificate of deposit from a local bank for one thousand dollars, made to the credit of the hospital.

"On another occasion the nun had a still harder trial to bear. A young man was stricken with typhoid fever and sent to the hospital. He was a rich and handsome man. He had come from the East only a few weeks before he was taken down. His business in California was to settle the estate of an uncle recently deceased, who had died leaving a large property.

"When carried to the hospital Sister Celeste was appointed his nurse.

The fever ran twenty-one days, and when it left him finally, he lay helpless as a child and hovering on the very threshhold of the grave for days.

"With a sick man's whim, no one could do anything for him but Sister Celeste. She had to move him on his pillows, give him his medicines and such food as he could bear. In lifting him her arms were very often around him and her bosom was so near his breast that she could feel the throbbing of his heart.

"As health slowly returned, the young man watched the nurse with steadily increasing interest.

"At length the time came when the physician said that in another week the patient would require no further attendance, but that he ought, so soon as possible, to go to the seaside, where the salt air would furnish him the tonic that he needed most.

"When the physician went away the young man said: 'Sister Celeste, sit down and let us talk.' She obeyed. 'Let me hold your hand,' he said: 'I want to tell you of my mother and my home, and with your hand in mine it will seem as though the dear ones there were by my side.' She gave him her hand in silence.

"Then he told her of his beautiful home in the East; of the love that had always been a benediction to that home; of his mother and little sister, of their daily life and their unbroken happiness.

"Insidiously the story flowed on until at length he said, with returning health, his business being nearly all arranged, he should return to those who awaited, anxiously, his coming. And before Sister Celeste had any time for preparation or remonstrance, the young man added:

"'You have been my guardian angel; you have saved my life. The world will be all dark without you. You can serve G.o.d and, humanity better as my wife than as a lowly and poor Sister here. Some women have higher destinies and a n.o.bler sphere to fill on earth than as Sisters of Charity; you were never meant to be a nun, but a loving wife. Be mine.

If it is the poor you wish to serve, a thousand shall bless you where one blesses you here; but come with me, filling my mother's heart with joy and taking your rightful place as my wife. Be my guardian angel forever!'

"The face of Sister Celeste was white as the pillow on which her hand lay; for a moment she seemed choking, while about her lips and eyes there was a tremulousness as though she was about to break into a storm of uncontrollable sobs. But she rallied under a tremendous effort at self-control, gently disengaged her hand from the hand that held it, rose to her feet and said:

"'I ought not to have permitted this; ought not to have heard what you said. However, we must bear our cross. I do not belong to the world; but do not misjudge me, I have not always been as you see me. I can only tell you this: To a woman now and then there comes a time when either her heart must break or she must give it to G.o.d. I have given mine to Him. I cannot take it back. I would not if I could.

"'If you suffer a little now, you will forget it with returning strength. I only ask that when you are strong and well and far away, you will sometimes remember that the world is full of heart aches. Comfort as many as you can. And now, G.o.d bless you, and farewell.'

"She laid her hand a moment on his brow, then drew it down upon his cheek, where it lingered for a moment like a caress, and then she was gone.

"After that the Mother Superior became the young man's nurse until he left the hospital. He tried hard, but never saw Sister Celeste again.

While he remained in the place she ceased to appear on the street.

"Another year pa.s.sed by and Sister Celeste grew steadily in the love of the people. With the winter months some cases of smallpox broke out. The country was new, the people careless, and no particular alarm was felt until the breaking out of ten cases in one day awakened the people to the fact that the disease prevailed generally.

"Sister Celeste labored almost without rest, night or day, until the violence of the contagion had pa.s.sed; then she was stricken. She recovered, but was shockingly marked by the disease.

"She was in a darkened room, and how to break to her the news of her disfigurement was a matter of sore distress to the other nuns. But one day, to a Sister who was watching by her bed side, she suddenly said: