m of the Prioress's robe. Then,
rising, she said--with unwonted solemnity and restraint: "The Lord
defend you, Reverend Mother, from foes, seen and unseen," and, followed
by another blinding flash of lightning, she left the cell.

CHAPTER IX

THE PRIORESS SHUTS THE DOOR

The Prioress waited until the old lay-sister's shuffling footsteps died
away.

Then she passed out into the long, stone passage, leaving her own door
open wide.

Into each cell the Prioress went.

In each she found a kneeling nun, absorbed in her devotions. In no
cell were there two white figures. So simple were the fittings of
these cells, that no place of concealment was possible. One look, from
the doorway, sufficed.

Outside the cell of Sister Seraphine the Prioress paused, hearing words
within; then entered swiftly. But Sister Seraphine was alone, reciting
aloud, for love of hearing her own voice.

The Prioress now moved toward the heavy door in the archway leading
into the cloisters. It opened inwards, and had been left standing
wide, by Mary Antony. Indeed, in summer it stood open day and night,
for coolness.

As the Prioress walked along the dimly lighted passage, she could see,
through the open door, sheets of rain driving through the cloisters.
The storm-clouds had burst, at last, and were descending in floods.

The Prioress stood in the shelter of the doorway, looking out into the
cloisters. The only places she could not view, were the entrance to
the subterranean way, and the flight of steps leading thereto. She
would have wished to examine these; but it seemed scarcely worth
passing into the driving rain, now sweeping through the cloister
arches. After all, whatever possible danger lurked down those steps,
the safety of the Convent would be assured if she closed this door,
between the passage and the cloisters, and locked it.

Stepping back into the passage, she seized the heavy door and swung it
to, noting as she did so, how far too heavy it was for the feeble arms
of old Mary Antony, and deciding for the future to allot the task of
closing it to a young lay-sister, leaving to Mary Antony merely the
responsibility of turning the key in the lock.

This the Prioress was herself proceeding to do, when something impelled
her to turn her eyes to the angle of wall laid bare by the closing of
the door.

In that dark corner, motionless, with shrouded face, stood a tall
figure, garbed in the dress of the nuns of th