courage and reduced her to silence.

She soon recovered so far as to be piqued. She gave her whole attention
to Francis, and, on parting with her guests, she courtesied coldly to
Leonard, and said to Francis, "Ah, my dear friend, I foresee I shall
miss you terribly."

I am afraid this pretty speech was intended as a side cut at Leonard.

"But on the impassive ice the lightnings play."

Her new confessor retired, and left her with a sense of inferiority,
which would have been pleasing to her woman's nature if Leonard himself
had appeared less conscious of it, and had shown ever so little approval
of herself; but, impressed upon her too sharply, it piqued and mortified
her.

However, like a gallant champion, she awaited another encounter. She so
rarely failed to please, she could not accept defeat.

Father Francis departed.

Mrs. Gaunt soon found that she really missed him. She had got into a
habit of running to her confessor twice a week, and to her director
nearly every day that he did not come of his own accord to her.

Her good sense showed her at once she must not take up Brother Leonard's
time in this way. She went a long time, for her, without confession; at
last she sent a line to Leonard asking him when it would be convenient
to him to confess her. Leonard wrote back to say that he received
penitents in the chapel for two hours after matins every Monday,
Tuesday, and Saturday.

This implied, first come, first served; and was rather galling to Mrs.
Gaunt.

However, she rode one morning, with her groom behind her, and had to
wait until an old woman in a red cloak and black bonnet was first
disposed of. She confessed a heap. And presently the soft but chill
tones of Brother Leonard broke in with these freezing words: "My
daughter, excuse me; but confession is one thing, gossip about ourselves
is another."

This distinction was fine, but fatal. The next minute the fair penitent
was in her carriage, her eyes filled with tears of mortification.

"The man is a spiritual machine," said she; and her pride was mortified
to the core.

In these happy days she used to open her heart to her husband; and she
went so far as to say some bitter little feminine things of her new
confessor before him.

He took no notice at first; but at last he said one day: "Well, I am of
you mind; he is very poor company compared with that jovial old blade,
Francis. But why so many words, Kate? You don't use to bite twice at