e Order of the White
Ladies of Worcester.

Perhaps the habit of silence is never of greater value than in moments
of sudden shock and horror.

One cry from the Prioress would have meant the instant opening of many
doors, and the arrival, on flying feet, of a score of frightened nuns.

Instead of screaming, the Prioress stood silent and perfectly still;
while every pulse in her body ceased beating, during one moment of
uncontrollable, cold horror. Then, with a leap, her heart went on;
pounding so loudly, that she could hear it in the silence. Yet she
kept command of every impulse which drove to sound or motion.

Before long her pulses quieted; her heart, beating steadily, was once
again the well-managed steed upon which her high courage could ride to
victory.

And, all the while, her eyes never left the white figure; knowing it
knew itself discovered and observed.

Her hand was still upon the key.

She turned it, and withdrew it from the lock.

A deafening crash of thunder shook the walls. A swirl of wind and rain
beat on the door.

When the last echo of the thunder had died away, the Prioress spoke;
and that calm voice, sounding amid the storm, fell on the only ears
that heard it, like the Voice of Power on Galilee, which bid the
tempest cease, and the wild waves be still.

"Who art thou, and what doest thou here?"

The figure answered not.

"Art thou a ghostly visitor come back amongst us, from the Realm of the
Unseen?"

The figure made no sign. "Art thou then flesh and blood, and mortal as
ourselves?"

Slowly the figure bowed its head.

"Now I adjure thee by our blessed Lady to tell me truly. Art thou, in
very deed a holy nun, a member of our sacred Order? Answer me, yea or
nay?"

The figure shook its head.

The Prioress advanced a step, passed the key into her left hand and,
slipping her right beneath her scapulary, took firm grip of the dagger
at her girdle.

"Then, masquerader in our sacred dress," she said, "to me you have to
answer for double sacrilege: the wearing of these robes, and your
presence here, unbidden. I warn you that your life has never hung by
frailer thread than now it hangs. Your only hope of safety lies in
doing as I bid you. Pass before me along this passage until you reach
a chamber on the right, of which the door stands open. Enter, and
place yourself against the wall on the side farthest from the door.
There I will speak with you."

With the shuffling