at call themselves by His name
-- that call day by day upon His name, and make their boast that they
hold the faith whole and undefiled?"

Raymond shook his head. He had no words with which to answer. He was
beginning slowly yet surely to feel his eyes opened to the evil of the
world -- even that world of piety and chivalry of which such bright
dreams had been dreamed. His fair ideals were being gradually dashed and
effaced. Something of sickness of heart had penetrated his being, and he
had said in the unconscious fashion of pure-hearted youth, "Vanity of
vanities! is all around but vanity?" and he had found no answer to his
own pathetic question.

As an almost necessary consequence of all this had his thoughts turned
towards the holy, dedicated life of the sons of the Church; and though
it was with a strong sense of personal shrinking, with a sense that the
sacrifice would be well-nigh bitterer than the bitterness of death, he
had asked himself if it might not be that God had called him, and that
if he would be faithful to the love he had ever professed to hold, he
ought to rise up without farther delay and offer himself to the
dedicated service of the Church.

And now Father Paul, who had always seemed to read the very secrets of
his heart, appeared about to answer this unspoken question. Greatly had
Raymond longed of late to speak with him again. Father Anselm was a good
and a saintly man, but he knew nothing of the life of the world. To him
the Church was the ark of refuge from all human ills, and gladly would
he have welcomed within its fold any weary or world-worn soul. But with
Father Paul it was different. He had lived in the world; he had sinned
(if men spoke truth), and had suffered bitterly. One look in his face
was enough to tell that; and having lived and sinned, repented and
suffered, he was far more able to offer counsel to one tempted and
sometimes suffering, though perhaps in a very different fashion.

The Father's eyes were bent upon the faint glow in the sky, seen through
the open casement. His words were spoken quietly, yet with an
earnestness that was almost terrible.

"My son," he said, "I have come back but recently from lands where it
seems that holiness should abound -- that righteousness should flow
forth as from a perpetual fountain, where the Lord should be seen
walking almost visibly in the midst of His people. And what have I seen
instead? Luxury, corruption, unspeakable abominations