ied to admit that Beatrice might be disposed of in some other way,
but the difficulties seemed to be insurmountable. To effect such a
disappearance Unorna must find some safe place in which the wretched
woman might drag out her existence undiscovered. But Beatrice was
not like the old beggar who in his hundredth year had leaned against
Unorna's door, unnoticed and uncared for, and had been taken in and had
never been seen again. The case was different. The aged scholar, too,
had been cared for as he could not have been cared for elsewhere, and,
in the event of an inquiry being made, he could be produced at any
moment, and would even afford a brilliant example of Unorna's charitable
doings. But Beatrice was a stranger and a person of some importance
in the world. The Cardinal Archbishop himself had directed the nuns to
receive her, and they were responsible for her safety. To spirit her
away in the night would be a dangerous thing. Wherever she was to be
taken, Unorna would have to lead her there alone. Unorna would herself
be missed. Sister Paul already suspected that the name of Witch was more
than a mere appellation. There would be a search made, and suspicion
might easily fall upon Unorna, who would have been obliged, of course,
to conceal her enemy in her own house for lack of any other convenient
place.

There was no escape from the deed. Beatrice must die. Unorna could
produce death in a form which could leave no trace, and it would be
attributed to a weakness of the heart. Does any one account otherwise
for those sudden deaths which are no longer unfrequent in the world?
A man, a woman, is to all appearances in perfect health. He or she was
last seen by a friend, who describes the conversation accurately, and
expresses astonishment at the catastrophe which followed so closely upon
the visit. He, or she, is found alone by a servant, or a third person,
in a profound lethargy from which neither restoratives nor violent
shocks upon the nerves can produce any awakening. In one hour, or a
few hours, it is over. There is an examination, and the authorities
pronounce an ambiguous verdict--death from a syncope of the heart. Such
things happen, they say, with a shake of the head. And, indeed, they
know that such things really do happen, and they suspect that they do
not happen naturally; but there is no evidence, not even so much as
may be detected in a clever case of vegetable poisoning. The heart has
stopped beating, and