Anne shivered again. "That I never knew. I did venture to ask once of Mother Paula, but she only crossed herself and shook her head. She may yet be alive in some lonely cell, or her bones may be mouldering in the vault below the convent. I dare not ask or think." "What did they say to you?" asked Jack. "Father Barnabas was very hard upon me, and gave me many severe penances. I know not what might have been done, had the prioress not stood my friend. But she was a tender-hearted lady; more than that, she was a daughter of my lord, and a person of weight and authority, so she had her own way. She sent me home at last for a change, as she said, that I might recover my health and see somewhat of the world before taking the veil." "Now, Jack, you know what nobody else knows outside the convent wall. You know why my life is one long prayer and penance. I would I could make it more so than it is. I would have gone a pilgrimage on foot—ay, on my knees to the Holy City, had not my father forbidden, if so might win forgiveness for myself and my friend. I would sleep in my grave every night—I do lie on ashes upon hard boards—I would perform the vilest offices for the poor or the sick; but when think of what Father Barnabas said—that he feared lest the lowest depths of purgatory should be too good for such as she—" Again Anne bowed her head and wept bitterly. Jack would have given the world to comfort his sister, but he knew not what to say. He saw no comfort himself. He had been brought up to think heresy the worst of sins, beyond even the purifying fires of purgatory. Yet as he heard Anne's tale, and thought of the fair Agnes Harland betrayed by her friend, however innocently, perhaps to a horrible death, perhaps to a living grave worse than any death. As he saw, and understood at a glance, the whole explanation of Anne's conduct—her prayers and tears, and the penances which were wearing out her young life—his whole heart and mind rose in furious rebellion against the faith in which he had grown up. His soul demanded freedom from this intolerable yoke, while at the same time he saw no way of escape. He turned, and groaned in anguish. "I have done wrong to tell you this story," said Anne, recalled to some degree of calmness by her brother's agitation. "I have worried and excited you; but oh, dear Jack, if you will only take warning!" "I am not likely to need the warning," said Jack, with a faint smile, "since I know not how or where I am like to get a sight of the Bible; unless, indeed, I become a priest, and that," said Jack, with sudden vehemence, "I will never do. I will rather keep sheep all my days, or go for a ship's boy, like Davy Brent."