When there suddenly appeared against the blaze in the west a black poke-bonnet, the ugliest of its kind. He pricked up his ears and quickened his steps. How he could think it might be she whom he had just seen to disappear at the convent door, I don’t understand; but his heart began to beat and his steps quickened as if by magic. Nothing short, however, of a novel adaptation of the great Indian juggling trick could have brought Agnes there. She was, on the contrary, safe in the House, superintending the girls who were getting ready for tea, with the sweetest angelic smile upon her face. The girls were hot from their walk, tired and troublesome and noisy; but Agnes bore with them like a saint--did not hear them, indeed, having retired into her private chapel and place of musing. But if it was not Agnes, if indeed it was someone as unlike Agnes as could be conceived, Agnes herself could scarcely have been so desirable to meet. It was the old porteress of the House, the lay Sister who had several times accompanied her on her expeditions to the hospital. A sudden inspiration came to Oswald. There could be nothing improper in addressing her, a perfectly safe person to whom his interest in little Emmy could bear nothing but the most natural and genuine aspect. He hastened up to her with anxious looks and asked how the little patient was, and if any news of her had been received at the House. ‘Oh, bless you, sir, yes!’ said the lay Sister; ‘she’s been very bad, but now she’s better. She won’t be a long liver, that child. She’s very delicate, but come when it will the little lamb is prepared. She is the piousest child I ever came across.’ ‘Do you mean to say she is dying?’ said Oswald, alarmed in spite of himself. ‘Oh, no, sir! Some time, I make no doubt, but not now; but she has been that delicate--you could blow her away with a puff of wind. So she has never come back. Indeed, I hear the teacher of the third division, that’s Miss Burchell--you’ve seen her--the one as always went to the hospital----’ ‘Oh, yes, I have seen her!’ ‘Delicate, too, sir. I’m not easy deceived, and I saw in a moment as she was not fit for the work.’ ‘Is she ill?’ said Oswald, all tremulous and excited, feeling disposed to rush forthwith to the House without rhyme or reason, and carry her off. ‘Oh, no, sir; not at all! But Sister Mary Jane, she’s the Superior----’ ‘Yes, yes; I know.’ ‘She thinks that she’d be the better for a change, and so, as she wants to send some more children to the Sanatorium, she’s made up her mind to send her, for she’d be a deal the better she says of a little sea air herself.’ ‘Ah!’ said Oswald, ‘_she_ who is going to the Sanatorium is Sister Mary Jane?’ ‘Not at all, sir, oh no, the one that is going is Miss Burchell. Sister Mary Jane is the Superior, and she thinks it will do her good and take off her thoughts.’