“It is very mysterious! You are sure the sisters at the convent know nothing about her?” “No, sir; they would have told me if they had heard anything—there is another sister there who speaks a little English.” “Then I fear that something serious has happened to her,” Dr. Winthrop continued. “I am afraid that she was attacked with cholera after she left here—that, in her thoughtful care for others, she did not wish to carry the disease back to the convent, and so resolved to keep it to herself and remain at the village. She could not have been very ill at first, and so, to quiet suspicion, wrote to you and the mother-superior in her usual cheerful strain. Then—I am afraid, Madame Winter, that—that she must have had a relapse, and——” “Died!” cried Harriet with a shudder. “Oh! that was just the way Mrs. Rochester thought it out, and perhaps it’s true,” and bowing her head upon her hand the woman rocked her body to and fro in an agony of grief pitiful to behold. “Do not despair,” Dr. Winthrop said, trying to comfort her a little; “we will not give up all hope while there is any doubt as to her fate. We must not spend our time in idle grief—we will bestir ourselves, and do all that we can to solve the mystery. If I were only stronger I would start out at once upon the search. But do you go, my good woman, to the village yonder, and ascertain if any one answering Sister Angela’s description has been ill there. If you can learn nothing there, return to the convent, tell them what you have been told here to-day, and ask the sisters’ help in looking up the case. “It is now three o’clock,” he continued, glancing at his watch. “A train leaves here for Paris at six, and that will give you ample time to find out if Sister Angela has been ill at the village; then you can return to the city in season to interview the mother-superior and the sisters at the convent. Now hasten, and be sure to let me know by the morning post what success you have. I would go with you, but this exciting news has so unnerved me I have not the strength; but if I do not get a favorable report from you to-morrow, I will come at once to Paris, in spite of everything, and see what I can do.” Harriet rose as he concluded, and bidding him a brief good-day hastened away, somewhat relieved and comforted, to have her burden so heartily shared by another. Of course, she heard nothing at the village, although she was most persistent and diligent in her inquiries. No one had seen a gray sister there, no one had been ill at the inn since the plague began to subside; surely no one had died there, or it would have been known throughout the place, and the curé notified. So, with a little comfort instilled into her heart by these positive assurances, Harriet went back to Paris, and to the convent of the gray nuns, to consult with the mother-superior.