noon
Perhaps it was some premonition of approaching death that made her , always gracious , always infinitely kind , untiring in helpful deeds , move about among the sick that day , with such a sorrowful-sweet tenderness for them in her noble face and in her gentle touch , and in that wood-dove 's voice of hers , that they spoke of it long afterwards with bated breath . A perfume as of rare incense was wafted from the folds of her veil , they said , and a pale aureole of light shone about her white-banded forehead , and her eyes -- Ah ! who that met their look could ever forget those eyes ? It was before twilight when she left the Hospital and went to the Convent , a tall , upright , mantled and hooded figure , stepping through the heavy rain that had fallen since noon , under a quaint monster of a cotton umbrella with ribs of ancient whale , -- Tragedy carrying Farce . It was not the custom to linger in the neighbourhood of the Convent , even among those who were most indifferent to shot and shell . No one was visible in its vicinity , except one burly , bushy-bearded , dark-skinned man in tan-cords and a moleskin jacket . He lounged against a bent and twisted lamp-post , near the broken entrance-gates , cutting up a lump of something that might have been cake-tobacco upon his broad , thick palm with a penknife .