At that same moment, sounds, as of fleet footsteps, dawned on Mary's ear in the stillness of the night. A minute before, a figure might have been seen flying down the cliffs from the direction of Miss Hallet's dwelling; a panting, sobbing, crying woman: or rather, girl. She darted across the road, nobody being about, and made for the path that would take her by the Grey Nunnery. The ladies turned to her as she came into view. It looked like Jane Hallet. Jane, in her best things, too. She was weeping aloud; she seemed in desperate distress: and not until she was flying past the gate did she see the ladies standing there. Sister Mildred, her head running on what she had heard, glided out of the gateway to arrest and question her. "Jane, what is amiss?" Startled at the sight of the ladies, startled at their accosting her, Jane, to avoid them, made a spring off the pathway into the road. The bank was slippery with the rain, and she tried moreover to clear the running stream below it, just as Mr. Knivett had done. But her foot slipped, and she fell heavily. Sister Mildred stooped over the bank, and held out her hand. Was Jane stunned? No: but just for the minute or two she could not stir. She put one hand to her side as Sister Mildred helped her on to the path. Of no use to try to escape now. "Are you hurt, child?" "I--I think I am, ma'am," panted Jane. "I fell on my side." And she burst into the sobs again. "And now tell me what the matter is, and where you were going to." "Anywhere," sobbed the girl. "My aunt has turned me out of doors?" "Dear me!" cried Sister Mildred. "When did she turn you out of doors?" "Now. When I got in from Stilborough. She--she--met me with reproach and passion. Oh, she is so very violent! She frightened me. I have never seen her so before." "But where were you running to now?" persisted Sister Mildred. "There, don't sob in that way." "Anywhere," repeated Jane, hysterically. "I can sit under a hedge till morning, and, then go to Stilborough. I am too tired to go back to Stilborough now." Sister Mildred, who had held her firmly by the arm all this time, considered before she spoke again. Fearing there might be too much cause to condemn the girl, she yet could not in humanity suffer her to go "anywhere." Jane was an especial favourite with all the Sisters. At least, she used to be. "Come in, child," she said. "We will take care of you until the morning. And then--why we must see what is to be done. Your aunt, so, self-contained and calm a woman, must have had some great cause, I fear, for turning you out." Crying, wailing, sobbing, and in a state altogether of strange agitation, Jane suffered the Sister to lead her indoors, resisting not. Mary Ursula spoke a kind word or two to encourage her. It was no time for reproach: even if the Grey Ladies had deemed it their province to administer it.