n! . . . Perhaps you never heard of Patrick!"
The frivolous words burned his brain.

O God! Believe in Patrick! His breath came and went. He could hardly
refrain from pressing his lips to the tiny leaves he was wearing on his
breast.

An Irishman, indeed, he was; but how unworthy of the name! He, a child
of that dear land which Patrick's blessed feet had trodden--he, a son
of that race to whom the saint's words of grace had made known the
Truth--what was he now? A renegade! A false deserter from the ranks
of his faithful countrymen! He had been ashamed of his nationality!
He had ceased to practise or to cherish the faith which Patrick had
brought to the Isle of Saints!

The curtain fell upon the second act, and he had to be ready to listen
to frivolities and to respond. He did it with a bad grace, as he well
knew. Indeed, he would gladly have been far away--hidden in the dark
corner of some deserted church, where freely and unrestrainedly he
might pour forth penitential tears, and beg forgiveness of the Father
he had so wantonly offended.

"How deadly dull you are to-night!" cried his companion. "I believe
Cuthbert Aston, glum as he looks, would have been more entertaining!
What can be the matter with you?"

Her banter failed to provoke the always ready apology--usually so
charmingly proffered.

He could only mutter something about an awful headache; luckily
Violet's attention was drawn for the moment to an acquaintance who
caught her eye, and there was a speedy change of subject. Did he ever
see such execrable taste as that girl's dress? It was positively
hideous! The colors did not suit either the wearer or each other,
etc., etc.

It was a relief when the curtain rose once more. The music and the
action of the piece engrossed the attention of Violet; to Bernard they
were God-sent helps. His mind could range back over the past without
restraint, while outwardly he appeared absorbed in the play.

What torrents of self-reproach swept over him as he retraced the
wanderings of his misspent years--misspent as regarded the service of
his Creator, however prosperous in the eyes of the world! The past
came back like a dream. His innocent childhood, spent under the
vigilant care of a saintly mother; his boyhood, with its keener
joys--all tempered by religion; his school-days, his college
career--both dominated by faith; in minute detail the pictures passed
before his mental vision as he sat there, s