Admitted to the Nunnery, the little sufferer was carried up to one of the small beds always kept in readiness. Sister Mildred herself, who was great in burns, came to her at once, directing two of the Sisters what was to be done. The sobbing mother, Nancy Gleeson, who was a great simpleton but had a hard life of it on the whole, asked whether she might not stay and watch by Polly for the night: but the Ladies recommended her to go home to her other children and to leave Polly to them in all confidence. Sister Mildred pronounced the burns, though bad to look at and very painful, not to be attended with danger: should the latter arise, she promised Nancy Gleeson to send for her at once. So Nancy went away pacified, the crowd attending her; and the good Ladies were left to their charge and to the night-watch it entailed. But Sister Mary Ursula had recognized, among the women and girls pressing round the gate, the face of Jane Hallet. She recognized the dress also, as the one she had seen before that night. Meanwhile John Bent reached the coastguard station. After chatting with the sick woman's husband, Henry Mann, who happened to be off duty and at home, John departed again with his empty basket. He chanced to be on the side opposite the Friar's Keep; for that path led direct from the preventive station--just as the two Sisters, Ann and Rachel, had taken it rather more than an hour earlier. John Bent, quite unconscious of what had happened to them, walked along leisurely, his mind full of the interview just held with Miss Castlemaine. In passing the Friar's Keep he cast his eyes up to it. Few people passed it at night without casting up their eyes--for the fascination that superstition has for most of us is irresistible. Were we told that a ghost was in the next lane, a large percentage of us would run off to see it. Even as John looked, a faint light dawned on the casement from within: and there came into view the figure, bearing its lamp. It was probably just at that selfsame moment that the eyes of Madame Guise, gazing stealthily from the window of Mr. Castlemaine's study, were regaled with the same sight. John Bent did not like it any more than madame did; any more than the Sisters did. He took to his heels, and arrived at the Dolphin in a state of cold chill indescribable. CHAPTER XIX. JANE HALLET. Greylands lay, calm and monotonous, basking under the morning sun. There were no signs of any of the commotion that had stirred it the previous night: no crowding people surrounding a sad little burden; no women's cries; and John Bent's propriety had come back to him. Greylands had heard the news from one end to the other--the Grey Monk had been abroad again. It had appeared to two of the Sisters and to the landlord of the Dolphin.