Now some one comes; they hear the rustle of skirts, and know it is no man who advances.

“Steady, boy,” warns Philander, knowing the sensation produced in John’s quivering, expectant heart; “steady it is now, and keep your wits bright.”

“Steady it is,” replies John, who knows it is only right he should brace up.

Then the party advancing enters the apartment, and looking up the two men behold one who is garbed in a peculiar habit, the insignia of an order; a heavy black gown, corded at the waist, with a white flowing collar, and a strange bonnet both black and white, the size of which is astonishing.

Her face they do not see, as a gauze vail hides it from mortal view.

In this city of orders, where the nations of the world seem to vie with each other in creating strange commanderies, it is nothing to meet with such a garb.

John Craig is a gentleman; he rises from his chair and bows; ditto Philander, who keeps a little in his rear, as becomes a sensible, well-behaved “shadow.”

The dress of the woman gives John an idea she is at the head of some charitable organization which has set rules for dress and duty, although his knowledge of such matters is not most profound.

“Madame, pardon this intrusion,” he says, at the same time wondering whether she is English, French, or a native of Malta.

Her reply comes in a low voice, and tells him she is as familiar with the English language as himself, no matter what her nationality.

“It is no intrusion, Doctor Craig.  I have been expecting you.”

“Indeed; you surprise me, madame, since I sent no word of my coming.”

“Ah! a little bird sent me the news.”

“Do you know why I enter your abode without an invitation, madame?”

“You seek news, Doctor Craig.”

“That is true.”

“News of one who has long been lost; news concerning a member of our holy order; the dear sister who has consecrated her life to charity, and who, under my fostering care, has long since redeemed her past—­Sister Magdalen.”

The words almost unnerve John; he has a feeling that perhaps Heaven means to be kind and allow him the bliss he craves.

“Ah! madame, you know my secret.  It is true.  I would find her, would hear from her own lips the story of the past.  I believe you can help me.  She has occupied this house.”

“That very chair upon which you are seated sustained her fainting form one afternoon when she came in.  I thought she was dying.  In her hand she carried a paper, an American daily.  I glanced at it to see if I could learn the truth, and saw it there as plain as day.  She had read a notice of a fire in Chicago where a young man named John Craig, said to be a medical student, perished.”

“Did she see that account?  It was cruel.  The next day’s paper refuted the lie, and explained how he escaped,” says John, warmly.