he screen, and then suddenly, with a low
cry, she sank back upon her seat.

"What is the matter, my daughter? Are you ill?" inquired the
mother-superior, in a whisper.

Salome lifted up a face ashen pale with dismay, and gasped:

"I have seen him! I have seen him! He is there--there in the congregation
below!"

"Who?" inquired the abbess, in vague alarm.

"My husband?--yet, no; oh, Heaven! not my husband, but the Duke of
Hereward!"

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE STRANGER IN THE CHAPEL.

"The Duke of Hereward in the congregation?" echoed the abbess, with a
troubled look.

"Yes, there in the middle aisle, in the third pew from the altar,"
replied Salome, in trembling tones.

"No matter. _You_ have nothing to fear, my daughter; you will be
protected. _He_ has everything to fear; he is a felon before the
law, and he may be prosecuted. Compose yourself, my child, and give your
mind to heavenly subjects. See, the priest is coming in," murmured the
abbess, who immediately crossed herself, and lowered her eyes in
devotion.

Salome, though trembling in every limb, and feeling faint, almost to
falling, followed the mother-superior's example, and tried to concentrate
her mind in worship.

The solemn procession of the service entered the chancel--the priests
in their sacerdotal vestments, the boys in their white robes. The
officiating priest took his station before the altar, with his assistants
on each side. And the impressive celebration of the high mass commenced.

But, ah! Salome could not confine her attention to the service! Her eyes,
guard them carefully as she might, would wander from her missal toward
the stalwart form and stately head of the stranger in that third pew
front; her thoughts would wander back to the past, forth to the future,
or, if they stayed upon the present at all, it was but in connection with
that stranger.

Father F----, the great English priest, preached the sermon, from the
text: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to
men." He preached with all the force, fervor and eloquence inspired by
the Divine words, and he was heard with rapt attention by all the
cloistered nuns and all the common congregation--by all within the sound
of his voice, perhaps, except one--the most sorrowful one on that glad
day. Salome tried in vain to follow the golden thread of his discourse.

But how little she was able to do, may be known from the deep sigh of
relief she heaved when it