affections, so that it returned on her souring, and made of her a fiend. It is but too easy for the masterful Man to thus drive away for ever the guardian angel of the woman, and leave her the possessed of devils.
Of the other two women, one—who was known to her associates as Sister Eliza—was a stout, motherly-looking person with a jovial expression. She kept a boarding-house in Bayswater, which generally contained all sorts of intriguing, or, at least, mysterious foreigners, spies, or Nihilists—it was difficult to say which.
Now, this woman, though of so simple and innocent a countenance, and apparently so unobservant of her boarders, so free from foolish curiosity, contrived to know all their ways, and made use of this knowledge at times in a manner that would have astonished them.
A mercenary spy and a faithless confidant to others, she was faithful to Catherine King, whom she had long known, and for whom she had acquired that sort of unreasoning affection that all women, even the hardest of them, are liable to, be it for a man, or for one of their own sex, or even for a pet cat.
So, seeing that she was a woman, this inconsistency in the character of this treacherous creature is not strange.
Loving her idol, she fell into her ways, became an ardent follower of her in her visionary schemes, and prudent to excess in all her other relations, would be ready to commit any rash act to further the aim of the sisterhood when commanded to do so by her chief. With her cunning and caution, she was of the greatest use to the Society. She was not so mad as the others, was endowed with less genius, but then she was so far more sensible.
The third woman was a lean, spectacled, ugly blue-stocking, who had gradually drifted into all this devilry, simply because there was nothing else she could do. Her ugliness had driven her into the sisterhood. She was not so useful as the others, not having the eloquence and persuasive power of honest, mad Catherine King; the winning bonhommie of the intriguing and clever boarding-house keeper; or the ready devilishness of Susan Riley, which won over many to the cause, for under certain circumstances women are fascinated by devilishness even in their own sex.
No; she of the spectacles, with her ugliness and awkward ways, was far from being a successful gainer over of disciples; but she was earnest, discreet, clever, and above all, wealthy, and all her wealth was at the disposition of the Society.
"Eliza," Catherine King was saying as she poured herself out some tea, "things are beginning to look hopeful: we can trust these five at any rate to educate girls for our purpose, and that is a good beginning."
"I am not so sure of that," replied the boarding-house keeper. "I have no doubt about the first three of the sisters on your list; but we cannot be too cautious. Let us wait a few months longer before we tell everything to the last two: they are good women, but I must say I should like to keep my eye on them for some time yet."
"You surely can have no suspicions."
"I have not as to their honesty," continued sister Eliza, "but I have still as to their prudence. They don't know the world well enough yet. They will find plenty of disciples, hundreds who will agree with all our theories. But will they know when these disciples are ripe, and can be trusted with the secret? … and we must have no failures.
"It is no easy matter to work up a girl until you know thoroughly whether you can tell her all with safety, or must put her aside at once as useless. It requires a lot of tact—have those two sisters got that tact? I am not sure. Think of the danger of telling all to a girl too soon.
"Why, nine out of ten of the second circle, who profess so much and mean it too, would look rather strange if you were to say, 'Now you are to go and practice what you have been so long preaching.' The scheme looks perfect as long as it's only a question of talking, but when it comes to doing, what a lot of ugly holes one can pick in it at once. I know them, I tell you."
"It will be a question of time," said Catherine, thoughtfully. "I think you are right, Eliza; but it must succeed: there must be thousands brave enough to act up to their convictions; and how much could be done with only one hundred!"
"Now, that girl living with me," continued the boarding-house keeper, "is a good scholar. I have been educating her and watching her for three years, ever since I persuaded you to admit her into the second circle. I think she is safe. With your leave I will now tell her the secret of the aim—she is ready for it."
"My leave! of course," replied Mrs. King. "Who knows better than you when a girl's mind is ripe? The sooner we begin the better, now that the machinery is complete. Look in how many quarters we have interest! Why, nothing will be easier than to scatter the girls through the associations of nurses—to have them trained in the hospitals."
"Yes," said Eliza, "I was looking through my little book to-day We have enough correspondents and fools whom we have taken in, to get us as many characters for our nurses as we want. I can guarantee now to obtain places for our girls in the biggest houses in England, through my innocent agents. You should look into my book of introductions, and my collections of genuine characters. I think I deserve credit for them."
"You have worked that department of yours very cleverly, sister Eliza," broke in another voice: that of the woman who was young, and had been a mother, a voice not unpleasant in tone, but very much so in its suggestion, for it had a hard ring in it, of suppressed spite and jubilant malice.
It was as the voice of a female Mephistopheles, an enemy of mankind generally; but she could hide this expression when she liked, and speak like an angel of love and pity.
"Sisters," continued the strange woman, "I have formed a purpose. Though I am one of the six inner, and so properly should confine myself to training girls, yet, first because I wish it, secondly, because I am the only one of you six young and prepossessing enough to do so, I intend to be an actor myself in this drama. I am now applying to enter an association of nurses. I shall want some assistance from you in the way of introductions and references, oh, ingenious Eliza! and then I'll start the game myself."
"You shall have them in two days," replied sister Eliza.
"And by the way," continued sister Susan, with a gleam in her eye, and a low cold laugh, "by the way, sister Catherine, are the little Malthusians all ready?"
"They are," replied the chief in a voice of calm seriousness that contrasted with the jarring levity of the former speaker's manner. "Sister Jane has brought some to me. You all know the history of the stuff do you not?"
"I have not heard it," said the blue-stocking.
"Jane is a native of Demerara. She is, as you can see, of mixed breed; yet her mother was not of negro blood, but an Indian woman belonging to a tribe that lives far up in the unknown forests of the interior.
"These Indians are a tall and handsome people that hold no commerce with the white man. Jane's father was an old Colonial Dutchman, whose estate was unjustly forfeited by a decision of the Court of the oppressors in Georgetown.
"A ruined, disheartened man, he went up to explore the interior, possibly in search of the precious metals which are known to exist there. He lived with the Indians for years—took the Cacique's daughter as his wife. Jane is the child of this union. She stayed some years among her mother's people, indeed until her father discovered the gold that restored his fortunes and brought him to England.
"Now, she was taught a secret by these Indians that is only confided to the eldest born daughter of each family, according to a custom that is looked upon as religiously binding.
"This
