has guessed it."

Brother Copas leaned on his staff pondering a sudden suspicion.

"Look here," he said; "those anonymous letters--"

"I have not," said Nurse Branscome, "a doubt that Nurse Turner wrote
them."

"You have never so much as hinted at this."

"I had no right. I have no right, even now; having no evidence.
You would not show me the letter, remember."

"It was too vile."

"As if I--a nurse--cannot look at a thing because it is vile!
. . . I supposed that you had laid the matter aside and forgotten
it."

"On the contrary, I have been at some pains--hitherto idle--to
discover the writer. . . . Does Nurse Turner, by the way, happen to
start her W's with a small curly flourish?"

"That you can discover for yourself. The Nurses' Diary lies in the
Nunnery, in the outer office. We both enter up our 'cases' in it,
and it is open for anyone to inspect."

"I will inspect it to-morrow," promised Brother Copas. "Now--this
Hospital being full of evil tongues--I cannot well ask you to eat an
_al fresco_ supper with me, though"--he twinkled--"I suspect we
both carry the constituents of a frugal one under our cloaks."

They passed through an archway into the great quadrangle, and there,
having wished one another good night, went their ways; she
mirthfully, he mirthfully and thoughtfully too.

Next morning Brother Copas visited the outer office of the Nunnery
and carefully inspected the Nurses' Diary. Since every week contains
a Wednesday, there were capital W's in plenty.

He took tracings of half a dozen and, armed with these, sought Nurse
Turner in her private room.

"I think," said he, holding out the anonymous letter, "you may have
some light to throw on this. I have the Master's authority to bid
you attend on him and explain it."

He fixed the hour--2 p.m. But shortly after mid-day Nurse Turner had
taken a cab (ordered by telephone) and was on her way to the railway
station with her boxes.

CHAPTER XXI.

RECONCILIATION.

"I am not," said the Bishop, "putting this before you as an argument.
I have lived and mixed with men long enough to know that they are
usually persuaded by other things than argument, sometimes by better.
. . . I am merely suggesting a _modus vivendi_--shall we call it a
truce of God?--until we have all done our best against a common
peril: for, as your Petition proves you to be earnest Churchmen,
so I may conclude that to all of us in this room our Cathedral s