er goes up to it. Bad luck
to thim, they've the eshcapes front an' back, spoilin' the look av a
fine house: but it's all paid for in the rint. Glory be to God, the
avenue's empty--all but. But it should ha' been the back--it should ha'
been the back!"

Two children were playing in the gutter. But for these the avenue was
deserted, and the hush of a Sabbath afternoon hung over it all. Sister
Ursula put the medicine-bottle carefully into the pocket of her gown.
Her face was as white as her coif.

"'Tis not for me," said the caretaker's wife, shaking her head sadly.
"I'm so's to be round, or I'd go wid ye. Those ladders do be runnin'
powerful straight up an' down. 'Tis scandalous to think--but in a fire,
an' runnin' wid their night clothes, they'd not stop to think. Go away,
ye two little imps, there! The bottle's in your pocket? You'll not lose
good hold av the irons. What is ut?--oh!"

Sister Ursula retreated into the cellar, dropped on her knees, and was
praying--praying as Lady Godiva prayed before she mounted her palfrey.
The caretaker's wife had barely time to cross herself, and follow her
example, when she was on her feet again, and her feet were on the lowest
rungs of the ladder.

"Hould tight," said the caretaker's wife. "Oh, darlint, wait till Mike
comes! Come down, now!--the good angels be wid you. There should have
been a way at the back. Walk tinderly an' hould tight. Heaven above sind
there'll be no wind! Oh, why wasn't his ugly rooms at the back, where
'tis only yards an' bedroom windows!"

The voice grew fainter and stopped. Sister Ursula was at the level of
the first floor windows when the two children caught sight of her,
raising together a shrill shout. The devil that delights in torturing
good nuns inspired them next to separate and run the one up and the
other down the avenue, yelling, "O--oh! There's a nun up the
fire-escape! A nun on the fire-escape!" and, since one word at least was
familiar, a score of heads came to windows in the avenue, and were much
interested.

In spite of her prayers, Sister Ursula was not happy. The
medicine-bottle banged and bumped in her pocket as she gripped the iron
bars hand over hand and toiled aloft. "It is for the sake of a life,"
she panted to herself. "It is a good work. He might die if I did not
come. Ah! it is terrible." A flake of rust from the long disused irons
had fallen on her nose. The rungs were chafing her hands, and the
minutes were flying. The ro