exquisite lines on the _Nuns of the Perpetual Adoration_ came
back to him:

"_They saw the glory of the world displayed,_
_They saw the bitter of it and the sweet._
_They knew the roses of the world would fade_
_And be trod under by the hurrying feet._
_Therefore they rather put away desire...._"

That was what he wanted, to merge himself into the great silent poetry
of the Catholic life. The Protestant creed could never give him what he
wanted. There was too much tolerance, too much sheltering of the
individuality; he wanted a complete, an utter surrender. He passed the
entire holidays in the world of ideas; he read nothing but poetry, or
what dealt with poetry. He tried to recapture the wonderful
full-blooded enjoyment of that last summer term. But for all that he
found material thoughts stealing in on his most sacred moments. A chance
phrase, a word even, and there would suddenly rise before him the
spectre of his own failure. And he was forced to realise that as yet he
was unfit to lay down the imperious burden of his own personality. The
hold of life was too strong. He still wanted the praise of the populace,
"the triumph and the roses and the wine."

Well, there was one more term; let him make the most of the roses while
he could. In this state of indecision he returned for what was to be his
last term.

* * * * *

A big programme of First Eleven matches had been arranged; and the first
game was at Downside on the second Saturday of the term. Fernhurst won
with ease, and Gordon knocked up forty-two. The match was over before
tea; and, as the side had not to go back till six o'clock, they spent
the interval in walking round the grounds.

Few schools are situated in more perfect surroundings than Downside.
There are wide gardens and flowery walks. Rhododendrons were flaming red
and white, a hedge of gorse shone gold. It was a Roman Catholic school,
and now and then a noble Calvary rose out of the flowers. The Abbey
watched over the place. Monks in long black robes moved about slowly,
magisterially. Gordon went up to one of them and spoke to him shyly.

"A wonderful place this, sir."

"Yes; it is the right sort of place to train a boy in. Surround him with
beautiful things, make a real perception of beauty the beacon light of
his life, when he is young, and he will be safe. For there are so many
things that are beautiful and poisonous like iridescent fu