o the brilliant and tranquil March
day. "Blow, blow, can't you? You've blown all these days, and now when I
want you in my face you lie still."

But the weather stayed serene, and Guy had to run in order to tire the
fury in his mind. He did not stop until he realized by the scampering of
the March hares to right and left of his path how very absurd he must
appear even to the blind heavens.

"Why," he exclaimed, suddenly standing still and addressing a thorn-tree
on the green down. "Why, of course, now I realize the Reformation!"

This sudden apprehension of a tremendous historical fact was rather
disconcerting in the way it brought home to him the uselessness of all
the information that he had for years absorbed without any real response
of recognition. It brought home to him how much he would have to
discover for himself and appalled him with the mockery it made of his
confidence hitherto. How if all those poems he had written were merely
external emotion like his conception of religion until this moment? He
really hoped the manuscript would come back this evening from whatever
publisher had last eyed it disdainfully, so that in the light of this
revelation of his youthfulness he could judge his life's achievement
afresh. It was indeed frightening that in one moment all his comfortable
standards could be struck away from beneath his feet, for if an outburst
of jealousy on account of a priest's interference could suddenly reshape
his conception of history, what fundamental changes in his conception of
art might not be waiting for him a little way ahead?

The spectacle of Pauline's simple creed had hitherto pleasantly
affected his senses; and she had taken her place with the heroines of
romantic poets and painters. It had been pleasant to murmur:

Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips,
Think but one thought of me up in the stars:

and to compare himself with the lover of The Blessed Damozel had been a
luxurious melancholy. Pauline and he had worshiped together in chapels
of Lyonesse, where, if he had knelt beside her with a rather tender
condescension towards her prayers, he had always been moved sincerely by
the decorative appeal they made to him. He had felt a sentimental awe of
her hushed approach to the altar, and he had derived a kind of
sentimental satisfaction from the perfection of her attitude, perhaps,
even more, he had placed upon it a sentimental reliance. Her faith had
been the decorati