n he caught sight of Fay's face he realised that she
was in jeopardy.

All other preoccupations fell from him instantly. He welcomed them
gravely, almost in silence.

The sisters sat down close together on a sofa. Fay's trembling hand put
up her long black veil, and then sought Magdalen's hand, which was ready
for it.

There was a short silence. Magdalen looked earnestly at her sister.

Fay's face became suddenly convulsed.

"Fay is in great trouble," said Magdalen. "She has come to tell you
about it. She has suffered very much."

"I can see that," said the Bishop.

"I wish to confess," said Fay in a smothered voice.

"That is a true instinct," said the Bishop. "God puts it into our hearts
to confess when we are unhappy so that we may be comforted. When we come
to see that we have done less well than we might have done--then we need
comfort."

Fay looked from him to Magdalen with wide, hardly human eyes, like some
tiny trapped animal between two executioners.

The Bishop's heart contracted.

Poor, poor little thing!

"Would you like to see me alone, my child?" he said, seeing a faint
trembling like that of a butterfly beginning in her. "All you say to me
will be under the seal of confession. It will never pass my lips."

It was Magdalen's turn to become pale.

"Shall I go?" she said, looking fixedly at her sister.

"Yes," said Fay, her eyes on the floor.

Magdalen went slowly to the door, feeling her way as if half blind.

"Come back," shrieked Fay suddenly. "Magdalen, come back. I shall never
say it all, I shall keep back part unless you are there to hold me to
it. Come back. Come back."

Magdalen returned and sat down. The Bishop watched them both in silence.

"I have confessed once, already," said Fay in a low hurried voice,
"under the promise of silence. Magdalen promised not to say, and I told
her everything, weeks ago. I thought I should feel better then, but it
wasn't any good. It only made it worse."

"It is often like that," said the Bishop. "We try to do something right
but not in the best way, and just the fact of trying shows us there is
a better way--only harder, so hard we don't know how to bring ourselves
to it. Isn't that what you feel?"

"Yes."

"But there is no rest, no peace till we come to it."

"No," whispered Fay. "Never any rest."

"That is God's Hand drawing you," said the Bishop, his mind seeming to
embrace and support Fay's tottering soul. "There are things He wan