and he had no difficulty in obtaining
from her any amount of information about the institution. It seemed that
he had by chance come on a festival day, and every one was making
holiday. The children were all out in the fields or the garden; he could
see their schoolrooms and dormitories and refectory. They were all
rather bare, exquisitely clean and airy, full of the most recent
improvements as regarded educational appliances.

"This is the Orphanage building," Sister Agnes explained. "We do not
generally show the class-rooms belonging to the other school; but, as
all the ladies are out, you may see them if you like."

So Hubert peeped into the rooms, occupied by the girl-boarders, who were
on a very different footing from the orphans, and whose surroundings,
though simple, were almost elegant in their simplicity. The furniture
was of good artistic design, the windows were emblazoned in jewel-like
colors, the proportions of the rooms were stately as those of an Oxford
college hall. Hubert smiled a little at the picture of Westwood's ragged
daughter amidst all this magnificence.

Last of all he was shown the chapel, the most beautiful building of the
place, and on this day in particular largely decorated with the choicest
flowers.

As they were coming out, a bell began to ring, and presently they met a
procession of school-girls, all dressed alike in white frocks and broad
hats, on their way to some afternoon service of prayer and praise.
Hubert scanned their faces heedfully as they passed by, but he could not
find one amongst them that reminded him of the thin little countenance,
the gipsy eyes of the convict Westwood's child.

He could not resist the temptation to ask a question.

"Have you not here," he said, "a girl called Jane Wood?"

Sister Agnes gazed at him in astonishment, and the tears suddenly rushed
into her eyes.

"Do you know anything of Jane Wood?" she cried excitedly. "Oh, you ask
for her at a very critical time! She has been with us four years, and we
loved her as our own child; but she ran away from us two days ago, and
we have not seen her since!"

CHAPTER IX.

"What do you mean?" said Hubert, starting in his turn. "The girl gone?"

Sister Agnes was in tears already.

"Let me fetch Sister Louisa or the Reverend Mother to you?" she cried.
"They know all about it--as far as anybody can know anything. You--you
are one of her friends, perhaps? Oh, the dear child--and we loved her so