"Why did you feel obliged to commit an act of disobedience, to break a promise and run into danger?" asked the lady. "Tell me." Then, as I did not answer—"Speak at once, my Lucille. Was it not because you were afraid that Desireè would laugh at you?" "Yes, Reverend Mother," I answered, feeling very small indeed in my own eyes. "Ah, my child, that is the very worst kind of cowardice. 'The fear of man bringeth a snare,' the Scripture saith. How are you to go through life, or what account will you have to give in at the last great day if, even within the shelter of these sacred walls you can be drawn to sin and danger by dread of the laugh of a person whom you neither love nor respect. You will meet many people in this world who will laugh at you for desiring to do right and refusing to go with a multitude to do evil. Such people are the devil's own instruments for the ensnaring of timid souls, and, unless you are prepared to withstand them, there is no telling to what crime or folly you may not be driven. Aimeè erred through her affection to you, and she was very wrong, but I think your fault was the worse of the two." She paused a little, I fancy to observe the effect of her words. Amabel was dissolved in tears; but I stood with red cheeks, twisting the corner of my apron and looking, I dare say, as I felt, a very naughty, obstinate little girl indeed. "I shall say no more at present," said the lady, after a few minutes' silence. "And as you have already suffered severely, I shall lay but one penance upon you, and that is, to go with Mother Prudentia and myself and see the danger you have escaped." "Please, dear, Reverend Mother, don't make Amabel go!" I ventured to say, feeling how she trembled. In my own heart, I was rather pleased with the idea of seeing the place again. "I want to go if Lucille does," sobbed Amabel. "You shall both go," answered the lady. "Have no fear. There is no danger to one who knows the way and how far to go. Stay here till I return." She left us alone for a few minutes. Amabel fell on her knees before the crucifix. I did the same, and repeated the prayers after her, but my heart was not in them. I was decidedly elated at the prospect of our adventure. It was not long before the lady returned accompanied by Mother Prudentia. Each of the ladies carried a lantern, and Mother Prudentia had our cloaks on her arm. The Superior led the way, not that we had gone before, but through the upper corridor and several disused apartments, where the shutters were all closed and the air smelt strongly of the wool, the oil, and cheese which were stored in the rooms below. At last we came into the older part of the house, descended the great stairs which Mother Bursar had so strictly forbidden us to go up, and found ourselves in the painted hall, from which we descended the stone stairs to the little vestibule. I observed by the way that a strong new lock had already been put upon this door.