came so insistent towards dinner-time that I made pretence
of being ill (which was not very difficult) to retire to my room, where
the cockney chambermaid wrung handkerchiefs out of vinegar and laid them
on my forehead to relieve my headache--though she increased it, poor
thing, by talking perpetually.

Next morning the landlady came up to say that if, as she assumed from my
name, I was Irish and a Catholic, I might like to receive a visit from a
Sister of Mercy who called at the house at intervals to attend to the
sick.

I thought I saw in a moment that this was a subterfuge, but feeling that
my identity was suspected I dared not give cause for further suspicion,
so I compelled myself to agree.

A few minutes later, having got up and dressed, I was standing with my
back to the window, feeling like one who would soon have to face an
attack, when a soft footstep came up my corridor and a gentle hand
knocked at my door.

"Come in," I cried, trembling like the last leaf at the end of a
swinging bough.

And then an astonishing thing happened.

A young woman stepped quietly into the room and closed the door behind
her. She was wearing the black and white habit of the Little Sisters of
the Poor, but I knew her long, pale, plain-featured face in an instant.

A flood of shame, and at the same time a flood of joy swept over me at
the sight of her.

It was Mildred Bankes.

EIGHTY-FIRST CHAPTER

"Mary," said Mildred, "speak low and tell me everything."

She sat in my chair, I knelt by her side, took one of her hands in both
of mine, and told her.

I told her that I had fled from my husband's house because I could not
bear to remain there any longer.

I told her that my father had married me against my will, in spite of
my protests, when I was a child, and did not know that I had any right
to resist him.

I told her that my father--God forgive me if I did him a wrong--did not
love me, that he had sacrificed my happiness to his lust of power, and
that if he were searching for me now it was only because my absence
disturbed his plans and hurt his pride.

I told her that my husband did not love me either, and that he had
married me from the basest motives, merely to pay his debts and secure
an income.

I told her, too, that not only did my husband not love me, but he loved
somebody else, that he had been cruel and brutal to me, and therefore
(for these and other reasons) I could not return to him under an