Sister Ursula herself was the younger daughter of a peer of the realm. In her girlhood she had made a marriage, unfortunate in a worldly point of view, and had completed her folly by afterwards forming an attachment for an officer, with whom she eloped. Few, however, would have traced in that calm, cold face the record of strong passions and improprieties, if the lady herself had not, with a curious persistency, insisted on making no secret of her own sin; her theory being that one who had herself been a sinner, and sadly acquainted with the world’s sorrows and temptations, was better qualified to deal with fellow-sinners than the most irreproachable of female saints. During the night the wanderer snatched a troubled sleep, starting up at times to listen to the wind which shook the windows, and to gaze wildly round the dark room; but towards morning she slept quite soundly. She was awakened by the loud ringing of a bell in the hall below; and, opening her eyes, she saw the four companions of her chamber busy dressing. No sooner had she awakened than Adèle, who had been watching her, came over and said gently, in French:-- ‘I am glad you have slept, mademoiselle.’ Jane Peartree thanked her, and, rising on her elbow, looked round her, as if preparing to rise also. ‘Ah! but you must not rise,’ continued the other. ‘It is very early, and Sister Ursula says you are to keep your bed. Shall I fetch you a cup of tea?’ Jane Peartree did not reply. She was looking around her in a vain search for the clothes she had worn the previous day, and of these there was no sign. ‘I must get up,’ she said impatiently. ‘Call the lady--tell her I wish to go. I have a long journey before me, and I cannot remain any longer in this place.’ But even as she spoke her head swam round, and she sank shivering back upon her pillow. On her cheeks there were two hectic spots, her eyes seemed wild and wandering, and the left pupil of one was widely dilated. A minute afterwards Sister Ursula entered the room, and, after a quiet good morning to the other women, bent over the occupant of the bed. ‘Good-morning, Jane,’ she said, smiling. Jane Peartree looked up; as she did so her face flushed and her teeth chattered in her head. ‘Please let me have my things,’ she cried. ‘I wish to go away.’ ‘So soon?’ ‘Yes. They are following me. It will kill me if they find me. I am quite well. Quick! Let me go, for God’s sake!’ Sister Ursula did not reply, but stooping over the bed took the girl’s hand and placed her fingers upon the pulse, which she found bounding with all the force of violent fever. ‘Take my advice,’ she said gravely, ‘and stay with us to-day; to-morrow, perhaps, you will be strong enough to go.’ ‘I am quite strong. I must go now. You have no right to detain me!’ cried the wanderer; and as she spoke she sat up, looking wildly and even angrily at her protectress. But it was only for a moment. Her head swam again, and she sank back shuddering.