"Twelve o'clock at St. Pancras, and you have the luggage in a cab at the door, you say?" "Yes; and there's no time to lose, for, to be sure, the night is going fast," said Mrs. Drayton. "And he will be there to meet me?" asked Greta. Her eyes, still wet with recent tears, danced with a new-found joy. "Yes, at St. Pancras," said the landlady. Greta's happiness overflowed. She took the old woman in her arms and kissed her wizened cheeks. "Wait a minute--only a minute," she said, and tripped off with the swift glide of a lapwing. But when she was half-way up the stairs her ardor was arrested, and she returned with drooping face and steps of lead. "But why did he not come for me himself?" she asked. "The gentleman is not well--he is ill," said Mrs. Drayton. "Ill? You say he is ill? Then he could not come. And I blamed him for not coming!" "The gentleman is weak, but noways worse; belike he will go straight off and meet you at the station." Greta turned away once again, and went upstairs slowly. At a door on the first landing she tapped lightly, and when a voice answered from within she entered the room. The superior was on her knees at a table. She lifted a calm and spiritual face as Greta approached. "Reverend mother," said Greta, "I am leaving you this moment." "So soon, my daughter?" "My husband has sent for me; he will meet me at the railway station at twelve." "Why did he not come himself?" "He is ill; he has gone direct." "The hour is late and the message is sudden. Are you satisfied?" "I am anxious, reverend mother--" "What is it, my daughter?" "An old gentleman, a clergyman, Mr. Christian, is coming from Cumberland. I have expected him hourly, but he is not yet arrived. I cannot wait; I must rejoin my husband. Will you order that a message be left for the clergyman?" "What is the message, my child?" "Simply that I have returned with my husband by the train leaving St. Pancras at midnight." "The lay sister in the hall shall deliver it." "Who is the sister?" "Sister Grace." There was a silence. "Reverend mother, has Sister Grace ever spoken of the past?" The superior told a few beads. "The past is as nothing to us here, my daughter. Within these walls the world does not enter. In the presence of the Cross the past and the future are one." Greta drew a long breath. Then she stooped and kissed the hand of the superior, and turned softly away. Greta and the landlady passed out through the deep portico, and the same nun who had opened the door closed it behind them. Mrs. Drayton clung to Greta's arm as they went through, and her hand trembled perceptibly. "Who is she?" whispered the landlady, when they were seated in a cab. "Sister Grace," said Greta, and turned her head aside. "I could ha' sworn as she were the mother of my Paul," murmured Mrs. Drayton. Greta faced about, but the landlady saw nothing of the look of inquiry; her eyes, like her thoughts, were far away. CHAPTER XX.