cathedral. It was very dark and silent.

She stood still, remembering the day when, after her husband's first
visit to her, she had come here in the late afternoon and had known the
mingled revelation of divine and human holiness. She stood still,
thinking of it, and wondered intently, looking down.

It was gone, that radiant human image, gone for ever. The son, to whom
her heart now clung, was stern. She was alone. Every prop, every symbol
of the divine love had been taken from her. But, so bereft, it was not,
after the long pause of wonder, in weakness and abandonment that she
stood still in the darkness and closed her eyes.

It was suffering, but it was not fear; it was longing, but it was not
loneliness. And as, in her wrecked girlhood, she had held out her
hands, blessed and receiving, she held them out now, blessed, though
sacrificing all she had. But her uplifted face, white and rapt, was now
without a smile.

Suddenly she knew that someone was near her.

She opened her eyes and saw Augustine standing at some little distance
looking at her. It seemed natural to see him there, waiting to lead her
into the ordeal. She went towards him at once.

"Is it time?" she said. "Am I late?"

Augustine was looking intently at her. "It isn't half-past nine yet," he
said. "I've had my breakfast. I didn't know you had gone out till just
now when I went to your room and found it empty."

She saw then in his eyes that he had been frightened. He took her hand
and she yielded it to him and they went up towards the house.

"I have had such a long walk," she said. "Isn't it a beautiful morning."

"Yes; I suppose so," said Augustine. As they walked he did not take his
eyes off his mother's face.

"Aren't you tired?" he asked.

"Not at all. I slept well."

"Your shoes are quite wet," said Augustine, looking down at them.

"Yes; the meadows were thick with dew."

"You didn't keep to the path?"

"Yes;--no, I remember."--she looked down at her shoes, trying,
obediently, to satisfy him, "I turned aside to look at the cows."

"Will you please change your shoes at once?"

"I'll go up now and change them. And will you wait for me in the
drawing-room, Augustine."

"Yes." She saw that he was still frightened, and remembering how strange
she must have looked to him, standing still, with upturned face and
outstretched hands, in the sycamore wood, she smiled at him:--"I am
well, dear, don't be troubled," she said.

In her r