ne
else; what will become of him?"

"The Chancellor is my difficulty," said White gravely.

"Make him a Knight-Templar," said Willis.

"The Duke's a queer hand," said White, still thoughtfully: "there's no
knowing what he'll come to. A Knight-Templar--yes; Malta is now English
property; he might revive the order."

The ladies both laughed.

"But you have not completed your plan, Mr. White," said Miss Bolton:
"the heads of houses have got wives; how can they become monks?"

"Oh, the wives will go into convents," said White: "Willis and I have
been making inquiries in the High Street, and they are most
satisfactory. Some of the houses there were once university-halls and
inns, and will easily turn back into convents: all that will be wanted
is grating to the windows."

"Have you any notion what order they ought to join?" said Miss
Charlotte.

"That depends on themselves," said White: "no compulsion whatever must
be put on them. _They_ are the judges. But it would be useful to have
two convents--one of an active order, and one contemplative: Ursuline
for instance, and Carmelite of St. Theresa's reform."

Hitherto their conversation had been on the verge of jest and earnest;
now it took a more pensive tone.

"The nuns of St. Theresa are very strict, I believe, Mr. White," said
Miss Bolton.

"Yes," he made reply; "I have fears for the Mrs. Wardens and Mrs.
Principals who at their age undertake it."

They had got home, and White politely rang the bell.

"Younger persons," said he tenderly, "are too delicate for such a
sacrifice."

Louisa was silent; presently she said, "And what will you be, Mr.
White?"

"I know not," he answered; "I have thought of the Cistercians; they
never speak."

"Oh, the dear Cistercians!" she said; "St. Bernard wasn't it?--sweet,
heavenly man, and so young! I have seen his picture: such eyes!"

White was a good-looking man. The nun and the monk looked at each other
very respectfully, and bowed; the other pair went through a similar
ceremony; then it was performed diagonally. The two ladies entered their
home; the two gentlemen retired.

We must follow the former upstairs. When they entered the drawing-room
they found their mother sitting at the window in her bonnet and shawl,
dipping into a chance volume in that unsettled state which implies that
a person is occupied, if it may be so called, in waiting, more than in
anything else.

"My dear children," she said as they entere