and me, we 'ave to 'old 'er." The
fine, expressive eyes went past the Mother-Superior, and lighted with
evident relief on Saxham. "Ah, Monsieur le Docteur, it is incredible vat
zat poor child she suffer. Madame 'ave told you----"

"Madame was about to tell me, my Sister," Saxham said, in his smooth,
fluent French, "when you appeared upon the scene."

Sister Cleophee launched, unwitting of the Mother-Superior's gesture of
vexation, into voluble explanations in that native language which M. le
Docteur spoke so well.

Mademoiselle Mildare, the ward of Madame the Mother-Superior, was no
coward. But no! the child had courage in plenty--it was the suspense that
devoured her in the absence of the Mother, to whom Mademoiselle was most
tenderly attached, that reduced her to a state of the most pitiable. The
Sisters left at home each day would talk of the work and the fine
weather--anything to distract the mind, that presented itself to them--but
now, nothing was of any use. When the Reverend Mother came back at
nightfall, behold a transformation. Mademoiselle would laugh and sing and
chatter. Her eyes would shine like stars, she would be happy, said Sister
Cleophee, with dramatic emphasis and gesture, as a soul in Paradise. Next
day, taking her guardian from her side, would bring the terrors back, find
redoubled the nervous sufferings of Mademoiselle, to-day reaching such a
height that Sister Cleophee felt convinced that something must be done.

"Ah, my Sister, if I could do anything!" the Mother-Superior said, with
the velvet Southern Irish inflection in the breathing aspirate, and the
soft melodious cadence that made her pure, cultivated utterance so
exquisite. The voice broke and faltered, and a spasm of mother-anguish
wrung the firm mouth, and as a slow tear dimmed each of her underlids and
splashed on the white _guimpe_ she put out her hand blindly, and the
sympathetic little Frenchwoman took it in both her own.

"Reverend Mozer, you can do zis. You can bring Monsieur le Docteur to see
Lynette. You can 'ave his advice upon 'er case, and you can----"

Another fusillade of rifle-fire, sweeping from the west over Gueldersdorp,
brought a repetition of the faint moaning cry from below. Saxham consulted
the Reverend Mother with a look. She bent her head in silent assent. He
hitched the horse's bridle to what had been the gatepost of the
railway-official's front-garden, as she signed to him to descend the
ladder leading to th