Infinitely to the astonishment of Sister Mildred, somewhat to her scandal, Mr. Harry Castlemaine appeared on the staircase, close upon the descent of the doctor. He must have come into the Nunnery as the latter let himself out. Taking off his hat, he advanced straight to Sister Mildred, the open door at which she was standing no doubt indicating to him the sick-room. "By your leave, Sister Mildred," he said, with a grave and pleasant smile--and passed in. She was too utterly astonished to stop him. But she followed him in, and laid her arresting hand on his arm. "Mr. Harry--Harry Castlemaine, what do you mean by this? Do you think, sir, I can allow it?" "I must speak a word or two to Jane," he whispered in her ear, catching up the trumpet of his own accord. "Dear lady, be charitable, and leave me with her just for a minute, On my honour, my stay shall not much exceed that." And, partly through his persuasive voice, and smile, and hands, for he gently forced her to the door, partly in her own anxiety to obey the doctor's injunction of keeping Jane quiet, and wholly because she felt bewildered and helpless, Sister Mildred found herself outside in the corridor again, the door shut behind her. "My goodness!" cried the perplexed lady to herself. "It's well it's me that's here, and not the younger Sisters." In two minutes, or little more, he came out again; his hand held forth. "Thank you, dear Sister Mildred. I thank you from my heart." "No, I cannot take it," she said, turning pointedly away from his proffered hand. "Are you so offended that I should have come in!" "Not at that: though it is wrong. You know why I cannot touch your hand in friendship, Harry Castlemaine." He stood a moment as though about to reply; but closed his lips without making any. "God bless you, dear lady; you are all very good: I don't know what Greylands would do without you. And--please"--he added, turning back again a step or two. "Please what?" demanded Sister Mildred. "Do not blame her. She does not deserve it. I do." He went softly down the stairs and let himself out. John Bent was standing at his door as Harry came in view of the Dolphin, and the young man crossed over. But, when he got up, John had disappeared indoors. There was no mistaking that the movement was intentional, or the feeling that caused the landlord to shun him. Harry Castlemaine stood still by the bench, evidently very much annoyed. Presently he began to whistle, slowly and softly, a habit of his when in deep thought, and looked up and down the road, as if uncertain which way he should take. A knot of fishermen had gathered round the small boats on the beach, and were talking together less lazily than usual: possibly, and indeed probably, their exciting theme was the morning's news. One of them detached himself from the rest and came up towards the Dolphin, remarking that he was going to "wet his whistle." Mr. Tim Gleeson in a blue nightcap.