ence
with----"

He stopped short.

"Pray finish the sentence."

"Well, I haven't much patience with those who want to linger, and look
back, and cheat time. One must get along."

Pensee felt annoyed, and began to talk coldly about the housing of the
poor, and winters which she had spent in Florence.

"Here are your letters," exclaimed her companion suddenly.

She turned them over with languid interest, murmuring unconsciously to
herself the names of her correspondents.

"From dear Ethel. Why is she in Edinburgh? I hope her father isn't ill
again. Alice. Uncle. Mrs. Lanark. Mary Butler. Prince d'Alchingen. That
tiresome Miss Bates. Mr. Seward." She paused and flushed deeply.
"Robert."

Then she turned to Father Foster with shining eyes.

"This letter," said she, "is from Mr. Orange. Don't you admire his
handwriting?"

"A beautiful hand, certainly."

"I wonder what he has to say, and why he is abroad. Isn't that a foreign
stamp?"

"The post-mark is Paris."

"So it is. Will you excuse me if I read it."

She broke the seal, and read the contents, while every vestige of colour
left her face.

"I can't make it out," she said; "there must be another letter for
Brigit. Will you look?"

He untied the packet, and recognised presently Orange's handwriting on
an envelope.

"You seem rather displeased," said Pensee; "you think this is all very
strange. It--it isn't a common case."

"No case is common."

"Well, you must help me to decide whether I ought to give her this
letter at once. I can't take so much responsibility."

"Neither can I. She is a perfectly free woman now, at any rate."

He did not approve of the situation, and he made no attempt to conceal
his feelings. His face became set. Pensee thought she detected a certain
reprimand in the very tone of his voice.

"It isn't a common case," she repeated again. "He says he is on his way
to Rome--to the Jesuits--for a long Retreat, if they will take him. If
he knew--what has happened--he might change his mind."

"What! you would have him turn back?"

"Oh, don't be so hard."

"I am not hard," he added more gently. "But would this woman, if she
really loved him, wish him to turn back? And, if there is anything in
him, could he ever be happy in any stopping short of the fullest
renunciation--once resolved on that renunciation?"

"Ah, don't put it that way to her. She has had so much trouble already.
Your Church seems so selfish. Forgive me, but I