Jack felt himself somewhat ill at ease at the prospect of a tête-à-tête with Madam Barbara; but the lady chatted on as usual about all sorts of matters. Jack could not help thinking, however, that there was something peculiar in her tone, and once or twice fancied that her eyes rested on him with unusual tenderness.
When the meal was finished and cleared away, Sister Barbara went up to Anne, and Jack sat down to occupy himself with his books. He did not find Horace very congenial to his present feelings, and was just wishing that he dared take out his Bible, when Sister Barbara again entered the room, closing the door after her, and came toward him.
Jack rose, but she made him a sign to be seated, and sat down near him. Jack's heart beat, for he felt that something was coming; but he kept silence and waited to be spoken to.
"Jack," said Sister Barbara, in a low tone, "will you forgive me? I listened to what you said to your sister this afternoon. I came into my room while you were talking, and I could not help listening. Will you forgive me?"
"There is nothing to forgive, dear lady," said Jack, recovering himself, for he was considerably startled. "I said nothing wrong to Anne, nothing I would take back. I know they were dangerous words, but they were true, and I am sure you will never betray me."
"I would not betray you unless I betrayed myself," said Dame Barbara, in a still lower tone. "Jack, I have so longed to hear words like those once more. I have heard them before from the lips of one who paid clearly for them."
Jack felt fairly giddy with astonishment. A new light seemed all at once to dawn upon him, which made clear a hundred little things which had puzzled him.
"Do you mean, from Agnes Harland?" he asked. "Did you hear them from her?"
"Hush!" whispered the lady. "Yes. However you heard the tale, it is true. It was from that poor child, that I learned to know the truth of what you said to Anne this afternoon. After she was secluded from the family, she was very ill and the heart of our prioress was moved with pity for her. She had always a pitiful heart, dear lady, and would fain have saved the poor girl, and got her away to her friends before the matter came out; but it could not be. However, she pitied her as I said, and at last got her moved from the prison cell to a more comfortable place where she could at least see the light of day. Father Barnaby consented on condition that she should see none of the family, and that I alone should attend upon her; for he thought I had grown up in the house, as indeed I had, and that I was too steadfast to be moved. Agnes did not live many weeks; but she lived long enough to tell me wonderful things, and to convince me that she was right; and when she died, she gave me this book, one of those which she had brought from home, and which, being small, she had managed to conceal about her person."
Madam Barbara drew from her bosom a small, thin, and much-worn book, and put it into Jack's hand. Feeling as if he were in a dream, Jack opened it and looked at the titlepage. It was an English translation of Luther's commentary on Galatians, with the text. On the margin was traced in trembling characters, "Fear not them which kill the body," and again, still fainter, "My peace I do give unto you."