"Be advised, madam. Resistance can do no good, and will bring only heavier calamity on yourself and your flock. Be advised, and follow your visitor's counsel." "I thank you, sir, for your words, which I see are kindly meant," said the prioress; "but I must have little time to consider the matter. How long can you give me?" He called back his brother commissioner, and after consultation, in which he seemed to press some point which the other yielded unwillingly, he turned and said: "Till to-morrow at this hour, madam." "I thank you," said the lady once more—and passed out of the door. I closed my instrument, not without a sob, as I thought I might never touch it again, and followed the reverend mother. It was now the time for dinner, but the bell had not been rung. The sisters were standing talking together in excited groups, and many an angry and contemptuous glance was cast at the two traitors. The prioress at once restored order, and bade the portress ring the bell for dinner. "Let us have no misorder—no relaxation of discipline on what may perhaps be our last day in this blessed inclosure," said she. "Slandered we have been and may be, but let us keep our own consciences clear and unstained. That comfort no one can take from us." It was a feast day, and our cheer was better than common, but nobody felt like eating. The ceremonies of the table went on as usual, however, and the reader's voice never faltered. After dinner came recreation, and then the tongues were let loose again. "Well, for my part, I care not what becomes of me after this," said Sister Sacristine. "I have lived too long." "Do not say that, sister," returned Mother Bridget, gently. "We cannot say what gracious purpose may yet be in store for us." "Don't talk of gracious purposes!" said the Sacristine, angrily. "Here have I been serving the blessed Magdalene all these years, wearing my fingers to the bone cleaning of her shrine with wash leather and hartshorn salts and what not, and this is what I get by it. And to see the holy relics carried off and dispersed after all my care." The poor old lady burst into tears and wept bitterly, and more than one joined her. As for me, I stole away to a favorite place of retirement—a little shrine or oratory in the orchard, half hidden by trees and thick, clustering ivy. Here I was used to keep certain books of my own—a Latin Imitation and Psalter, and a prayer book which I had brought from my old home at Peckham Hall. I hoped for a little solitude to collect my thoughts, but I was disappointed. As I drew near, I heard men's voices in the building, and recognized them for those of the old Scotch gardener and Mr. Lethbridge, the younger commissioner. "So this is the jaw-bone of St. Lawrence, is it?" said the latter; and peeping through a crack, I saw with horror that he was tossing it up and down in his hand. "It looks more like a pig's jaw to me."