“Hither, child!” she beckoned, as Mistress Diana Harcourt, bowing her veiled head, was about to pass on to the chapel. The young woman approached, flinging back the folds from her face. Against the black filmy frame, her hair, even in the dimness of the corridor, took marvellous brightness as of copper and gold. Her countenance shone with a pearl-like fairness; it was wan, as by long vigils; sad were her eyes, as though from secret tears; but serenity enveloped her as fragrance does the rose. Her kinswoman surveyed her an instant with favour. Then she plunged into her huge hanging pocket. “This letter, flung in through a window, tied to a stone; I had nigh forgotten it! ’Tis addressed to you. Had you been of my flock, ’twas my duty to have read it.” Diana glanced at the superscription, announced coldly that it was from their kinsman, Lionel Ratcliffe, and proceeded to burst the seal. But the colour welled to her pale cheeks, and she gave a cry of indignation as she read:— “A man’s patience is not eternal. You have forbidden me sight of you, this month past. My offence—the constancy of my love! You will not, so you tell me, out of your papist cage. Yester-eve our kinswoman threatened me that you would change your religion and take the vows. You have reckoned without me, without the anger of the people. ’Tis the cry that the papists have fired London; I care not, false or true. But no papist shall help to rob me of you! Here is my chance, and I shall seize it. I saved you once, in spite of yourself; now, Diana, I shall save you again from yourself. Have no fear, though every stone in the walls that keep you from me be laid low, no harm shall come to you. I shall be there, and with friends. So you are warned; be wise, bid our obstinate old Coz Anastasia yield you peacefully, unbar the doors, facilitate the search for the papers we come to seek, and I will even do still what may be done for her safety and that of all her silly pack. “If this findeth you open to reason, see that she hang a white cloth from the window over the porch, and soon after unbar the gate. And leave the rest to your faithful and ever-loving cousin, “LIONEL RATCLIFFE.” * * * * * “And he of our blood! Shame!” cried the Abbess, with hot cheeks. “Mother,” said Diana, and her lip trembled in spite of her brave tone, “had you not best yield, even as he says? Alack! ’tis by bringing peril on you I repay your shelter!”