yet
never been rung in the memory of man: when the Poor Clares have been
without food for twenty-four hours, they may ring this bell, and then
trust to our good people of Antwerp for rushing to the rescue of the
Poor Clares, who have taken such blessed care of us in all our
straits.'

It seemed to me that such rescue would be late in the day; but I did
not say what I thought. I rather turned the conversation, by asking my
landlord if he knew, or had ever heard, anything of a certain Sister
Magdalen.

'Yes,' said he, rather under his breath; 'news will creep out, even
from a convent of Poor Clares. Sister Magdalen is either a great sinner
or a great saint. She does more, as I have heard, than all the other
nuns put together; yet, when last month they would fain have made her
mother-superior, she begged rather that they would place her below all
the rest, and make her the meanest servant of all.'

'You never saw her?' asked I.

'Never,' he replied.

I was weary of waiting for Father Bernard, and yet I lingered in
Antwerp. The political state of things became worse than ever,
increased to its height by the scarcity of food consequent on many
deficient harvests. I saw groups of fierce, squalid men, at every
corner of the street, glaring out with wolfish eyes at my sleek skin
and handsome clothes.

At last Father Bernard returned. We had a long conversation, in which
he told me that, curiously enough, Mr. Gisborne, Lucy's father, was
serving in one of the Austrian regiments, then in garrison at Antwerp.
I asked Father Bernard if he would make us acquainted; which he
consented to do. But, a day or two afterwards, he told me that, on
hearing my name, Mr. Gisborne had declined responding to any advances
on my part, saying he had abjured his country, and hated his
countrymen.

Probably he recollected my name in connection with that of his daughter
Lucy. Anyhow, it was clear enough that I had no chance of making his
acquaintance. Father Bernard confirmed me in my suspicions of the
hidden fermentation, for some coming evil, working among the 'blouses'
of Antwerp, and he would fain have had me depart from out the city; but
I rather craved the excitement of danger, and stubbornly refused to
leave.

One day, when I was walking with him in the Place Verte, he bowed to an
Austrian officer, who was crossing towards the cathedral.

'That is Mr. Gisborne,' said he, as soon as the gentleman was past.

I turned to look at th