Then Catherine said, "That is dangerous--now is it necessary?"

Sister Eliza raised her eyes in wonder. What was the Chief hesitating about? what doubt could there be?

"Necessary! of course," said Susan. "We cannot allow her to leave us and betray us to her lover the doctor."

"She is no traitor," exclaimed Catherine indignantly; "whatever happened she would never betray us."

"I am not so sure of that," said Sister Eliza. "Mary is no traitor; she is devoted to you, Sister Catherine, and to the Cause. I know all that.

But now consider the facts: She loves this doctor. She is surrounded by a religious family. May she not, too, come to accept this religion in time? Why, she is sure to do so! The influence of those she loves, and with whom alone she a.s.sociates, must mould her opinions. Now, when she _has_ become religious, do you think she will quietly read in the papers the accounts of our doings--murders as she will call them, and do nothing--hold her tongue? Of course not! Religion will command her to save the children by betraying us. It cannot be otherwise. However much she loves you, Sister Catherine, let her once come to look on our Cause as wrong, duty will force her to tell all. That religion which enjoins its followers to abandon wives and children for its sake, will not allow your safety to stand in its way. You must not leave her at Farnham."

Too well did Catherine know how true all this was, but in her anxiety to be strictly neutral and unprejudiced, she would not allow herself to be convinced yet, she would even plead for the girl, and endeavour to find any arguments that might tell in her favour.

Susan spoke next with tones of ill-concealed malice. "I tell you, Sister Catherine, that this Mary among the b.u.t.tercups and babies down there at Farnham, cannot but be a fearful danger to us. b.u.t.tercups and babies are frightfully demoralizing to soft-hearted novices like that weak girl.

Sister Eliza is right. There are but two alternatives. She must give up her doctor. She must leave his people in the country, and come back to us in London, or she must be removed. She is weak--she is in love--weakness and love make religion and treason."

Catherine shook her head as she answered, "You know well, Sister Susan, even as you speak, that the first of your alternatives is quite out of the question. To come back to us would kill her. She will never do our work. She is unfit for it. She is not of the proper stuff. We must, whatever we do, absolve her of her engagements. We must abandon all hope of her becoming one of us again."

"Abandon your favourite pupil!" exclaimed Sister Eliza, "but is it really as bad as this? Are you sure she cannot be brought back?"

"You know, Sister, what it must mean to me to abandon her," replied Catherine. "You must know. But I see no remedy. It is useless to force her. If I asked her, she might, but I doubt it, return to us, only to die of a broken heart."... She paused till she could command her emotion, and till the pain at her heart subsided, then commenced again in a calm and proud voice: "Now that I have heard your opinions I will tell you all. Sister Eliza, what you have just foretold as likely to happen, has happened. Not only is Mary in love with the doctor, but her love and her new a.s.sociations _have_, as you said they would, made her look with horror on our Cause. She _has_, in her weakness of mind, forgotten all the teachings of years; she _has_ accepted the religious creed of fools; she _has_" ... but she paused suddenly, her fury was carrying her away; with a great effort of will she calmed herself once more and concluded, "Such being the state of things, I ask you, Sisters, what must be done?"

Sister Eliza replied in a serious voice: "There can be no mercy shown in this case, we cannot risk the whole of this glorious fabric we have built up with such toil and care, we cannot endanger our great Cause for one weak girl's sake. She must die."

"I agree with you," said Catherine slowly and still quite calmly.

"She must die," said Susan with a slight ring of exultation in her cold voice.

Catherine rung the bell and the maid brought up a fresh supply of green tea.

There was a silence for some minutes--during which the Chief looked broodingly into the ashes of the now extinct fire.

Susan broke the silence. "The next question is--how--"

Catherine started from her black reverie. "How what?"

"How the deserter is to be removed with the greatest safety and expedition."

Catherine shuddered visibly, then she spoke again--"Sisters, you have never known me weak or vacillating or cowardly."

"Had you been so, you would not have gained the confidence of such a Sisterhood as this is," replied Sister Eliza.

"No! I thought I was above all foolish weakness, but I find I am not so.

This is the first time that we have had to take away life for the Cause, but do not imagine that I shall ever again behave in this manner. I confide this to you two, for you will understand me--you will not consider I have forfeited my right to be the Chief of the Sisterhood, because on one exceptional occasion I cannot be altogether as I would be. Think of it!--This girl has lived with me so long. I believed I had in her one who would have been of the very highest service to the Cause--I am disappointed--I feel this more than you suppose. Now, I wish to have nothing personally to do with the--the removal of this girl,"

she could not bring herself to utter Mary's name now. "Arrange it among yourselves. Tell me when it is all over. I do not feel strong enough to go into this matter--besides, it is not necessary I should. But after this," and she raised her voice to tones of haughty determination, "no one will ever see me weak again. Unpitying stern justice should be the only sentiment of one who aspires to lead such a Cause as ours."

But Susan, who was full of malicious ecstacy this evening, did not feel inclined to spare her Chief all further pain. She was filled with a delicious l.u.s.t for torturing anything that came across her. It was her way when she felt happier than usual, so she said, "But, Sister Catherine, we must at any rate have your advice. This is a very delicate task we have to perform. How are we to get at Mary while she is in the country? It will not be easy. She knows our rules, our methods of doing things. A very slight mistake and we are lost. Who can we send down to do this thing? I would go myself, but she knows me, dislikes me, and would at once divine my object. Now I have a plan by which she can be removed with the very least amount of danger."

Catherine felt sick with disgust and horror, but she could not refuse to listen--it was her duty--_her duty!_ she had to keep that idea constantly before her during the interview, so that she might not fail in this terrible ordeal.

"What is it?" she asked in a feeble voice--she could not bear this torture much longer.

Susan spoke deliberately and without making any effort to gloss over the horror of her proposal.

"There is only one of us that Mary loves and trusts--that is yourself, Sister Catherine; is it not so?"

"It is."

"Well," continued the torturer, "as you alone of us would have any chance of seeing her at Farnham--"

"Impossible," interrupted Catherine with a smothered shriek, as she rose from her chair, her hands clenched, quite forgetting herself beneath the scourges of that devil's tongue.

Susan smiled--"You understand me, Sister Catherine--I do not propose, after what you have said, that you should do the deed. I will do it myself if you will it. But what I mean is this: To effect this removal with safety, Mary must be induced to leave the country--she must be brought to town, to some house, where she can have a relapse, and where we can nurse the invalid." The woman smiled again her evil smile as she watched her Chief writhe beneath the words--"Once in town, in this or some other safe house, I will guarantee to produce a relapse, and that once produced, it would be hardly difficult to administer Sister Jane's preparation, without ever arousing the patient's suspicions. Then we can call in the doctors--even her own dear doctor--without fear. They won't be able to bring her round from that relapse I think."

Sister Eliza, after a little thought said, "I quite agree with Sister Susan. This is the only really safe method before us, and there is absolutely no risk in it if we work carefully. It is true that you alone, Sister Catherine, have sufficient influence over the girl to bring her to London. It will be well for you to write to her. I should suggest you tell her that, seeing how her views have altered for good, you have decided to absolve her from her vows. Ask her to come up and stay with you for a few weeks. Write in affectionate terms. She is sure to come, and she will do so for none else."

"Like Judas Iscariot betraying her with a kiss," said Susan, who could not resist the dear temptation of giving this thrust.

Catherine started as if stung but said nothing. Sister Eliza frowned, and her face flushed with indignation, when she heard this gratuitously unpleasant remark.

"What do you think of my proposal, Sister?" inquired Susan of her Chief, eyeing her furtively.

Catherine pondered in silence for a while. She saw that this was, indeed, the only safe method; she would have liked to have had nothing to do with the execution of this just decree--but that, she said to herself, was cowardice on her part. Her instrumentality was necessary, at any rate to bring the girl to town, so she replied in a low weary voice: "So be it--you are right--but there is one thing"--and her voice trembled--"she must not come to this house--I must be spared that."

"You need not even see her, Sister Catherine," said Eliza. "I know a little furnished villa on the Thames. We can take it for a couple of months. Persuade her to come there for a visit. It is just the place that a convalescent would be taken to. You will only require one servant, I can supply you with one from the Sisterhood. Leave all the rest to Sister Susan and myself; I understand your feelings on this matter--I do not think you need be ashamed of them. It is the first time I have ever seen emotion come in the way of your duty, and you have resisted it n.o.bly, Sister."

"Then," said Sister Susan, "all is settled. The cottage by the Thames shall be hired. Can we get it at once, Sister Eliza?"

"It is ready for immediate occupation: we can enter the day after to-morrow."

"Good; then you will write to Mary," said Susan turning to the Chief.

"The sooner this business is completed the better for us all."

Catherine was not listening; she was staring again into the embers, her brow knitted into a deep frown of pain. The image of her pupil--her Mary whom she was about to sacrifice--rose before her. She yearned to see the girl once more--only once more before she betrayed her to the executioners. She could not strive against this great desire, so she said:

"Sisters, I will not write, I will go myself down to Farnham--I will see her--I will ask her with my own lips to come; she will not refuse then--I know."

"Can you trust yourself?" asked Eliza doubtfully, and scanning the woman's sad face, keenly.

"I should not advise that measure," urged Susan, apprehensively.

But the masterful spirit had come back again to Catherine, and she said sternly and with authority, "I will do as I say, Sisters."

Eliza knew by the tone that the Chief was in no humour to listen to contradiction now, so she rose and said:

"Then all is settled--I will at once take the cottage. Write to me, Sister Catherine, and let me know exactly when Mary is to arrive in town. I will meet her at the station, make some excuse for your absence, and take her with me. I think I can do that better than anyone else. As Susan herself allows, Mary dislikes her, so she had better not appear on the scene at first. We will now leave you. Good-night, Sister! remember _Courage and the Cause_, but I need not repeat that to you. Good-night!"

"Good-night, Sister!" said Susan with a happy smile.