bbed of his mate.

"You give way to your feelings, Asher."

At these words Asher sprang to his feet, yelling:

"Why shouldn't I give way to my feelings? You haven't lost the most
precious thing on God's earth. You never cared for a woman as I do;
perhaps you never cared for one at all. You don't look as if you
did." Owen's face wrinkled; he jibbered at one moment like a
demented baboon, at the next he was transfigured, and looked like
some Titan as he strode about the room, swearing that they should
not get her.

"But it all depends upon herself, Owen; you can do nothing," Harding
said, fearing a tragedy. But Owen did not seem to hear him, he could
only hear his own anger thundering in his heart. At last the storm
seemed to abate a little, and he said that he knew Harding would
forgive him for having spoken discourteously; he was afraid he had
done so just now.

"But, you know, Harding, I have suspected this abomination; the taint
was in her blood. You know those Papists, Harding, how they cringe,
how shamefaced they are, how low in intelligence. I have heard you
say yourself they have not written a book for the last four hundred
years. Now, why do you defend them?"

"Defend them, Asher? I am not defending them."

"Paralysed brains, arrested intelligences." He stopped, choked,
unable to articulate for his haste. "That brute, Monsignor Mostyn--
at all events I can see him, and kick the vile brute." And taken in
another gust of passion, Owen went towards the door. "Yes, I can
have it out with him."

"But, Asher, he is an old man; to lay hands upon him would be ruin."

"What do I care about ruin? I am ruined. They have got her, and her
mind will be poisoned. She will get the abominable ascetic mind. The
pleasure of the flesh transferred! What is legitimate and beautiful
in the body put into the mind, the mind sullied by passions that do
not belong to the mind. That is what papistry is! They will poison
that pure, beautiful woman's mind. That priest has put them up to
it, and he shall pay for it if I can get at him to-night!" Owen broke
away suddenly, leaving Harding and Merat in the dining-room, Harding
regretting that he had accepted Owen's invitation to dinner... If
Asher and Monsignor were to meet that night? Good Lord! ... Owen
would strike him for sure, and a blow would kill the old man.

"Merat, this is very unfortunate.... Not to be able to control one's
temper. You have known him a long time.... I hope