handed to her, then closer, and the colour rose again to her
sensitive face.

"But _Monsieur_ has written treble the amount," she murmured.

"Will you accept the balance," he said hurriedly, "in the name of
my ward, for any purpose that you may think fit? There is one
stipulation only--I do not wish her to know that there has been
any monetary transaction between us." His voice was almost curt,
and the Nun found herself unable to question a condition which,
though manifestly generous, she deemed quixotic. She could only
bend to his decision with mingled thankfulness and apprehension.
Despite the problem of the girl's future she had it in her heart
to wish that this singular claimant had never presented himself.
His liberality was obvious but--. She locked the slip of paper
away in the bureau with a feeling of vague uneasiness. But for
good or ill the matter was out of her hands. She had said all that
she could say. The rest lay with God.

"I do accept it," she said, "with all gratitude. It will enable us
to carry out a scheme that has long been our hope. Your generosity
will more than pave the way. I will send Gillian to you now."

She left him, more embarrassed than he had been at first, more
than ever dreading the task before him. He waited with a nervous
impatience that irritated himself.

Turning to the window he looked out into the dusk. The old trees
in the courtyard were almost indistinguishable. The rain dripped
again steadily, splashing the creeper that framed the casement. A