“Yes; the day after to-morrow at this hour. . . .”

“And why not to-morrow?” interrupted the ardent old man.

“Because I have preparations to make which cannot be done in twelve hours of daylight.”

“Good!  Good!”

“The day after to-morrow at dusk, a large barge—­not one of ours—­will be lying by the bank at the foot of the convent garden.  I will escort the sisters as far as Doomiat on the Lake.  I will send on a mounted messenger to-night, and I will charter a ship for the fugitives by the help of my cousin Columella, the greatest ship-owner of that town.  That will take them over seas wherever the abbess may command.”

“Capital, splendid!” cried Rufinus enthusiastically.  He took up his hat and stick, and the radiant expression of his face changed to a very grave one.  He went up to the young man with solemn dignity, looked at him with fatherly kindliness, and said: 

“I know what woes befell your house through those of our confession, the fellow-believers of these whom you propose to protect with so much prudence and courage; and that, young man, is noble, nay, is truly great.  I find in you—­you who were described to me as a man of the world and not over-precise—­for the first time that which I have sought in vain for many years and in many lands, among the pious and virtuous:  the spirit of willing self-sacrifice to save an enemy of a different creed from pressing peril.—­But you are young, Orion, and I am old.  You triumph in the action only, I foresee the consequences.  Do you know what lies before you, if it should be discovered that you have covered the escape of the prey whom the patriarch already sees in his net?  Have you considered that Benjamin, the most implacable and most powerful hater among the Jacobites, will pursue you as his mortal foe with all the fearful means at his command?”

“I have considered it,” replied Orion.

Rufinus laid his left hand on the young man’s shoulder, and his right hand on his head, saying, “Then take with you, to begin with, an old man’s—­a father’s blessing.”

“Yes, a father’s,” repeated Orion softly.  A happy thrill ran through his body and soul, and he fell on the old man’s neck deeply moved.

For a minute they stood clasped in each other’s arms; then Rufinus freed himself, and set out to seek the abbess.  Orion returned to the women, whose curiosity had been roused to a high pitch by seeing Rufinus disappear through the gate leading to the convent-garden.  Dame Joanna could not sit still for excitement, and Pulcheria answered at random when Orion and Paula, who had an infinity of things to say or whisper to each other, now and then tried to draw her into the conversation.  Once she sighed deeply, and when her friend asked her:  “What ails you, Child?” she answered anxiously: 

“Something serious must be going forward, I feel it.  If only Philippus were here!”