"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: