gentle temper has its resolute
side. The zeal of the first martyrs to Christianity is the zeal that
burns in that noble nature. The Mission has been the dream of his
life--it is endeared to him by the very dangers which we dread. Persuade
Arthur to desert the dear and devoted colleagues who have opened their
arms to him? I might as soon persuade that statue in the garden to
desert its pedestal, and join us in this room. Shall we change the sad
subject? Have you received the book which I sent you with my letter?"

Romayne took up the book from his desk. Before he could speak of it
some one called out briskly, on the other side of the door: "May I come
in?"--and came in, without waiting to be asked. Mrs. Eyrecourt, painted
and robed for the morning--wafting perfumes as she moved--appeared in
the study. She looked at the priest, and lifted her many-ringed hands
with a gesture of coquettish terror.

"Oh, dear me! I had no idea you were here, Father Benwell. I ask ten
thousand pardons. Dear and admirable Romayne, you don't look as if
you were pleased to see me. Good gracious! I am not interrupting a
confession, am I?"

Father Benwell (with his paternal smile in perfect order) resigned
his chair to Mrs. Eyrecourt. The traces of her illness still showed
themselves in an intermittent trembling of her head and her hands. She
had entered the room, strongly suspecting that the process of conversion
might be proceeding in the absence of Penrose, and determined to
interrupt it. Guided by his subtle intelligence, Father Benwell
penetrated her motive as soon as she opened the door. Mrs. Eyrecourt
bowed graciously, and took the offered chair. Father Benwell sweetened
his paternal smile and offered to get a footstool.

"How glad I am," he said, "to see you in your customary good spirits!
But wasn't it just a little malicious to talk of interrupting a
confession? As if Mr. Romayne was one of Us! Queen Elizabeth herself
could hardly have said a sharper thing to a poor Catholic priest."

"You clever creature!" said Mrs. Eyrecourt. "How easily you see through
a simple woman like me! There--I give you my hand to kiss and I will
never try to deceive you again. Do you know, Father Benwell, a most
extraordinary wish has suddenly come to me. Please don't be offended. I
wish you were a Jew."

"May I ask why?" Father Benwell inquired, with an apostolic suavity
worthy of the best days of Rome.

Mrs. Eyrecourt explained herself with the mod