The services had not yet commenced.  Salome bent forward with all the interest and curiosity of a recluse, to look, for a moment, upon the strangers.

She gave but one glance through the screen, and then suddenly, with a low cry, she sank back upon her seat.

“What is the matter, my daughter?  Are you ill?” inquired the mother-superior, in a whisper.

Salome lifted up a face ashen pale with dismay, and gasped: 

“I have seen him!  I have seen him!  He is there—­there in the congregation below!”

“Who?” inquired the abbess, in vague alarm.

“My husband?—­yet, no; oh, Heaven! not my husband, but the Duke of Hereward!”

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE STRANGER IN THE CHAPEL.

“The Duke of Hereward in the congregation?” echoed the abbess, with a troubled look.

“Yes, there in the middle aisle, in the third pew from the altar,” replied Salome, in trembling tones.

“No matter. You have nothing to fear, my daughter; you will be protected. He has everything to fear; he is a felon before the law, and he may be prosecuted.  Compose yourself, my child, and give your mind to heavenly subjects.  See, the priest is coming in,” murmured the abbess, who immediately crossed herself, and lowered her eyes in devotion.

Salome, though trembling in every limb, and feeling faint, almost to falling, followed the mother-superior’s example, and tried to concentrate her mind in worship.

The solemn procession of the service entered the chancel—­the priests in their sacerdotal vestments, the boys in their white robes.  The officiating priest took his station before the altar, with his assistants on each side.  And the impressive celebration of the high mass commenced.

But, ah!  Salome could not confine her attention to the service!  Her eyes, guard them carefully as she might, would wander from her missal toward the stalwart form and stately head of the stranger in that third pew front; her thoughts would wander back to the past, forth to the future, or, if they stayed upon the present at all, it was but in connection with that stranger.

Father F——­, the great English priest, preached the sermon, from the text:  “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to men.”  He preached with all the force, fervor and eloquence inspired by the Divine words, and he was heard with rapt attention by all the cloistered nuns and all the common congregation—­by all within the sound of his voice, perhaps, except one—­the most sorrowful one on that glad day.  Salome tried in vain to follow the golden thread of his discourse.

But how little she was able to do, may be known from the deep sigh of relief she heaved when it was all over.

As soon as the benediction was pronounced, the nuns arose to leave their screened choir, and the congregation got up to go out from the chapel.