er gay-colored
balls, and laughing with delight.

"Whose child is that?" asked the gentleman, in a voice that thrilled to
the heart of Salome.

She forgot herself, and looked up quickly, but the form of Sister
Francoise, standing, concealed the figure of the speaker, who seemed
to be stooping over the child.

"Ay! wha's bairn is it?" inquired another voice, that fell with ominous
familiarity on her ear, as she turned her head a little and saw the
female visitor, a tall, handsome blonde, with bold, blue eyes and a
cataraet of golden hair falling on her shoulders.

Sister Francoise did not understand the language of the woman, and turned
with a helpless and appealing look to the gentleman, who still speaking
French with the slightly defective English accent, replied:

"Madame asks whose child is that?"

"Oh, pardon! We do not know, Monsieur. It was left at our doors on the
eighteenth of December last," replied Sister Francoise.

"A very fine child! Its name?"

"Marie Perdue."

"'Marie Perdue?' What? 'Marie Perdue?' What's 'Perdue?'" querulously
inquired the tall, blonde beauty.

"'Thrown away,' 'lost,' 'abandoned,'" answered the gentleman, in a low
voice.

As he spoke he stood up and turned around.

Salome uttered a low, half-suppressed cry, and covered her face with both
hands.

The abbess impulsively looked up to see what was the matter, and--echoed
the cry!

There was dead silence in the room for a minute, and then Salome lifted
up her head and cautiously looked around.

The visitors had gone, and the children, who with child-like curiosity
had suspended their play to gaze upon the strangers, were now
re-commencing their noise with renewed vehemence.

Salome still trembling in every limb, turned toward her companion.

The abbess sat with clasped hands, lowered eyelids, and face as pale as
death.

Salome, too much absorbed in her own emotion to notice the strange
condition of the abbess, touched her on the shoulder and eagerly
whispered:

"Mother, did you observe the visitors?"

"Yes," breathed the lady, in a very low tone, without lifting her
eyelids.

"Did you notice--_the man_?" Salome continued.

"I did," murmured the abbess, in an almost inaudible voice, as she
devoutly made the sign of the cross.

"Do you know who he was?"

"_I do._"

"He was like our Christmas visitor in the chapel! He was the Duke of
Hereward!"

"Nay," said the abbess, in a stern solemn voice. "He was not th