do resent these celibate
views. They are unnatural."

"I shan't interfere. Take her the letter by all means. She must decide
for herself."

Pensee rose from the table, and went up the stairs to the room where
Brigit still knelt by Parflete's dead body.

"Dearest," said Lady Fitz Rewes, "I think you ought to read this letter.
I have had one also. Robert thinks of taking a great step, and
perhaps----"

Her glance met Brigit's.

"No," said Brigit, under her breath: "no."

Then, with trembling hands, she read the letter once, twice, three
times.

"Say something," said Pensee, touching her. "Say something, Brigit."

She smiled and held the letter to the candle flame. It caught fire and
burnt away quickly while she held it.

"Mind your hand--it will catch your hand."

"I don't feel it," said Brigit. She bore the scar of that burn always.

"Say something," implored Pensee.

"He is on his way to Rome. He asks me not to write to him. Castrillon is
dying. They fought a duel."

"But of course you will write--now. You must write."

"Hasn't my love done harm enough already? I will never see him again. I
shall never write to him again."

"You can't mean that. You can't realise what you are saying. People will
like him all the better for fighting Castrillon."

"Oh, it isn't the duel, Pensee. He sees his way clearly. He has always
tried not to see it. I, too, have tried not to see it. But all that is
at an end now."

"And he will renounce his career."

"Everything! Everything!"

Pensee threw up her hands, and left the room. Father Foster was standing
under a gas-jet at the end of the corridor reading his office. He looked
at Lady Fitz Rewes.

"She won't stand in his way?" he asked quietly.

"She won't stand in his way," she answered. "I hope you realise what
that means--to her."

"I hope I can realise what it means to both of them," said he.

CHAPTER XXX

In 1879, a distinguished author who was engaged in writing a history of
the Catholic Movement in England, begged Mr. Disraeli, then Earl of
Beaconsfield, for some particulars, not generally known, of Robert
Orange's life.

He replied as follows:--

HUGHENDEN MANOR, _Nov. 28, 1879_.

MY DEAR F.,--You ask me for an estimate of Monsignor Orange.
Questions are always easy. Let me offer you facts in return. The
Castrillon duel was a nine days' wonder--much discussed and soon
forgotten. Castri