rcibly detained, as she would call it; or if she
could sound a fire alarm and make a spectacular escape at two in the
morning, before the whole world, what could be said about it?"

"Isn't it rather late in history for such things?" said Monsignor.

"A good trick is as good to-day as a thousand years ago. I can picture
you explaining to the American citizen, amid the howls of McMeeter and
the purring speeches of the Bishop, how Sister Claire came to be in the
convent from which her friends rescued her."

"It would be awkward enough I admit. You think, then, that she ... but
what could be her motive?"

"Notoriety, and the sympathy of the people. I would like to trip her up
in this scheme, and hurl her once for all into the hell which she seems
anxious to prepare for other people. You Catholics are altogether too
easy with the Claires and the McMeeters. Hence the tears of the
Everards."

"We are so used to it," said the priest in apology. "It would be
foolish, however, not to heed your warning. Go to the convents of the
city from me, and put them on their guard. Let them dismiss all
strangers and keep out newcomers until the danger appears to be over."

The most careful search failed to reveal a trace of Sister Claire's
hiding-place among the various communities, who were thrown into a fever
of dread by the warning. The journals kept up their crescendo of inquiry
and information. One must look for that snake, Arthur thought, not with
the eyes, but through inspiration. She hid neither in the clouds nor in
Arizona, but in the grass at their feet. Seeking for inspiration, he
went over the ground a second time with Sister Magdalen, who had lost
flesh over the shame of her dealings with Claire, the Everard troubles,
and the dread of what was still to come. She burned to atone for her
holy indiscretions. The Park Square convent, however, held no strangers.
In the home attached to it were many poor women, but all of them known.
Edith Conyngham the obscure, the mute, the humble, was just then
occupying a room in the place, making a retreat of ten days in charge of
Sister Magdalen. At this fact Arthur was seized by his inspiration.

"She must give up her retreat and leave the place," he said quietly,
though his pulse was bounding. "Make no objection. It's only a case of
being too careful. Leave the whole matter to me. Say nothing to her
about it. To-night the good creature will have slipped away without
noise, and she can f