"Anywhere," sobbed the girl. "My aunt has turned me out of doors?"
"Dear me!" cried Sister Mildred. "When did she turn you out of doors?"
"Now. When I got in from Stilborough. She--she--met me with reproach and passion. Oh, she is so very violent! She frightened me. I have never seen her so before."
"But where were you running to now?" persisted Sister Mildred. "There, don't sob in that way."
"Anywhere," repeated Jane, hysterically. "I can sit under a hedge till morning, and, then go to Stilborough. I am too tired to go back to Stilborough now."
Sister Mildred, who had held her firmly by the arm all this time, considered before she spoke again. Fearing there might be too much cause to condemn the girl, she yet could not in humanity suffer her to go "anywhere." Jane was an especial favourite with all the Sisters. At least, she used to be.
"Come in, child," she said. "We will take care of you until the morning. And then--why we must see what is to be done. Your aunt, so, self-contained and calm a woman, must have had some great cause, I fear, for turning you out."
Crying, wailing, sobbing, and in a state altogether of strange agitation, Jane suffered the Sister to lead her indoors, resisting not. Mary Ursula spoke a kind word or two to encourage her. It was no time for reproach: even if the Grey Ladies had deemed it their province to administer it.
Jane was shown to a room. One or two beds were always kept made up in the Grey Nunnery. Sister Betsey, invariably cheerful and pleasant with all the world, whether they were good or bad, poor or rich, went in with Jane and stayed to help her undress, chatting while she did it. And so the evening came to an end, and the house was at length steeped in quietness.
But in the middle of the night an alarm arose. Jane Hallet was ill. Her room was next to that of Sisters Ann and Phoeby they heard her moaning, and hastened to her.