“I have not seen the man yet, either this morning or this evening,” said the elder lady, as she drew the younger’s arm within her own.

“No, you have never seen him.  I have no one’s eyes but my own to test the matter.  You have never seen him, and that is another reason why I think of the man as ghostly or unreal,” whispered Salome.

They were now in the long passage leading from the chapel to the cells.

“I will take you again to your own little room in the Infants’ Asylum,” murmured the lady, as she turned with her protegee into the rectangular passage leading to the asylums.

She took Salome to the door of the house, gave her a benediction, and left her.

“Out there I have trouble, here I shall have peace,” muttered the young woman, as she entered the children’s dormitory, where every tiny cot was now occupied by a little, sleeping child.

Salome prepared to retire, and in a few moments she also was at rest, with her little Marie Perdue in her arms.

Christmas had come on Saturday that year.  The next day being Sunday, there was another high mass to be celebrated in the chapel.

Salome, as usual, joined the nuns’ procession to the choir, where the sisterhood, as was their custom, took their seats some few minutes before the entrance of the priest and his attendants.

With a heart almost pausing in its pulsations, Salome bent forward to peer through the screen upon the congregation, to see if by any chance the Duke of Hereward (or his ghost) sat among them.

With a half-suppressed cry, she recognized his form, seated in the opposite corner of the church, from the spot he had last occupied.

“He shifts his place every time he appears,” she said to herself.

And now, being determined that other eyes should see him as well as her own, she touched the abbess’ arm and whispered: 

“Pray look before the priest enters.  There is the Duke of Hereward (or his ghost) sitting quite alone in the corner pew, on the left hand side of the altar.  Do you see him now?”

The abbess followed the direction with her eyes, and answered: 

“No, I do not see any one there.”

“Why, he is sitting alone in the left hand corner pew.  Surely, you must see him now?” said Salome, bending forward to look again at the stranger.

The next instant she sank back in her seat, nearly fainting.

The pew was empty!

“There is really no one there, my child.  Your eyes have deceived you,” murmured the abbess, gently.

“He was there a moment since, but he has vanished!  Oh! mother, what is the meaning of this?” gasped the girl, turning pale as death.

“The meaning is that your nervous system is shattered, and you are the victim of optical illusions.  Or else—­if there was a man really in that pew—­he may have passed out through that little corner door leading to the vestry.  But hush! here comes the priest,” said the abbess, as the procession entered the chancel, preceded by the solemn notes of the organ.