"We have both sinned," he went on; "we did not understand one another;
and I feared we should part so. That we have not, we have to thank
you--"

His old voice broke suddenly; and Beatrice heard him draw a long sobbing
breath. She knew she ought to speak, but her brain was bewildered with
the want of sleep and the long struggle; she could not think of a word
to say; she felt herself on the verge of hysteria.

"You have done it all," he said again presently. "She took all that Mr.
Carleton said patiently enough, he told me. It is all your work.
Mistress Atherton--"

She looked up questioningly with her bright tired eyes.

"Mistress Atherton; may I know what you said to her?"

Beatrice made a great effort and recovered her self-control.

"I answered her questions," she said.

"Questions? Did she ask you of the Faith? Did she speak of me? Am I
asking too much?"

Beatrice shook her head. For a moment again she could not speak.

"I am asking what I should not," said the old man.

"No, no," cried the girl, "you have a right to know. Wait, I will tell
you--"

Again she broke off, and felt her own breath begin to sob in her throat.
She buried her face in her hands a moment.

"God forgive me," said the other. "I--"

"It was about your son Ralph," said Beatrice bravely, though her lips
shook.

"She--she asked whether I had ever loved him at all--and--"

"Mistress Beatrice, Mistress Beatrice, I entreat you not to say more."

"And I told her--yes; and, yes--still."

CHAPTER V

THE MUMMERS

It was a strange meeting for Beatrice and Ralph the next morning. She
saw him first from the gallery in chapel at mass, kneeling by his
father, motionless and upright, and watched him go down the aisle when
it was over. She waited a few minutes longer, quieting herself,
marshalling her forces, running her attention over each movement or word
that might prove unruly in his presence; and then she got up from her
knees and went down.

It had been an intolerable pain to tell the dying woman that she loved
her son; it tore open the wound again, for she had never yet spoken that
secret aloud to any living soul, not even to her own. When the question
came, as she knew it would, she had not hesitated an instant as to the
answer, and yet the answer had materialised what had been impalpable
before.

As she had looked down from the gallery this morning she knew that she
hated, in theory, every detail of his outlook on l