and there, shamed. By plotting and planning, by
assuming our dress, you have succeeded in forcing your undesired
presence into this sacred cloister, where dwells a little company of
women who have left the world, never to return to it again; who have
given up much in order to devote themselves to a life of continual
worship and adoration, gaining thereby a power in intercession which
brings down blessing upon those who still fight life's battles in the
world without.

"But it has meant the breaking of many a tender tie. There are fathers
and brothers dear to them, whom the nuns would love to see again; but
they cannot do so, save, on rare occasions, in the guest-room at the
gate; and then, with the grille between.

"Saving Bishop or Priest, no foot of man may tread our cloisters; no
voice of man may be heard in these cells.

"Yet--by trick and subterfuge--you have intruded. Methinks I scarce
should let you leave this place alive, to boast what you have done."

The Prioress paused.

The figure stood, with folded arms, immovable, leaning against the
wall. There was a quality in this motionless silence such as the
Prioress had not connected with her idea of Mary Seraphine's "Cousin
Wilfred."

This was not a man to threaten. Her threat came back to her, as if she
had flung it against a stone wall. She tried another line of reasoning.

"I know you, Sir Wilfred," she said. "And I know why you are here.
You have come to tempt away, or mayhap, if possible, to force away one
of our number who but lately took her final vows. There was a time,
not long ago, when you might have thwarted her desire to seek and find
the best and highest. But now you come too late. No bride of Heaven
turns from her high estate. Her choice is made. She will abide by it;
and so, Sir Knight, must you."

The rain had ceased. The storm was over. Sunshine flooded the cell.

Once more the Prioress spoke, and her voice was gentle.

"I know the disappointment to you must be grievous. You took great
risks; you adventured much. How long you have plotted this intrusion,
I know not. You have been thwarted in your evil purpose by the
faithfulness of one old woman, our aged lay-sister, Mary Antony, who
never fails to count the White Ladies as they go and as they return,
and who reported at once to me that one more had returned than went.

"Do you not see in this the Hand of God? Will you not bow in penitence
before Him, confessing the