“You needn't trouble yourself, ma'am,” said Glory, opening the door to go. “Why so?” said the matron. Glory stood at her full height and answered: “Because if you said that of me there is nobody in the world would believe you!” Her box had been brought down to the hall, and the porter, who wished to be friendly, was cording it. “May I leave it in your care, porter, until I am able to call for it?” “Certingly, nurse. Sorry you're goin'. I'll miss your face, too.” “Thank you. I'll call for my letters also.” “There's one just come.” It was from Aunt Anna, and was full of severe reproof and admonition. Glory was not to think of leaving the hospital; she must try to be content with the condition to which God had called her. But why had her letters been so few of late? and how did it occur that she had never told them about Mr. Storm? He had gone for good into that strange Brotherhood, it seemed. Not Catholic, and yet a monastery. Most extraordinary! They were all eagerly waiting to hear more about it. Besides, the grandfather was anxious on Glory's account. If half they heard was true, the dangers of London---- The house-surgeon came down to say good-bye. He had always been as free and friendly as Sister Allworthy would allow. They stood a moment at the door together. “Where are you going to?” he asked. “Anywhere--nowhere--everywhere; to 'all the airts the wind can blaw.'” It was a clear, bright morning, with a light, keen frost. On looking out, Glory saw that flags were flying on the public buildings. “Why, what's going on?” she said. “Don't you know? It's the ninth of November--Lord Mayor's Day.” She laughed merrily. “A good omen. I'm the female Dick Whittington! Here goes for it! Good-bye, hospital nursing.--By-bye, doctor.” She dropped him a playful curtsy at the bottom of the steps, and then tripped along the street. “What a girl it is!” he thought. “And what is to become of her in this merciless old London?” She had taken less than a score of steps from the hospital when blinding teardrops leaped from her eyes and ran down her cheeks; but she only dropped her veil and walked on boldly. SECOND BOOK. _THE RELIGIOUS LIFE._ I. The Society of the Holy Gethsemane, popularly called the Bishopsgate Fathers, was one of the many conventual institutions of the English Church which came as a sequel to the great upheaval of religious feeling known as the Tractarian or Oxford movement. Most of them gave way under the pressure of external opposition, some of them broke down under the strain of internal dissension, and a few lived on as secret brotherhoods, in obedience to a rule which was never divulged by their members, who were said to wear a hair shirt next the skin and to scourge themselves with the lash of discipline.