SITUATED in a distant quarter of the vast western suburb of London,
the house called The Retreat stood in the midst of a well-kept garden,
protected on all sides by a high brick wall. Excepting the grand
gilt cross on the roof of the chapel, nothing revealed externally the
devotional purpose to which the Roman Catholic priesthood (assisted by
the liberality of "the Faithful") had dedicated the building.

But the convert privileged to pass the gates left Protestant England
outside, and found himself, as it were, in a new country. Inside
The Retreat, the paternal care of the Church took possession of him;
surrounded him with monastic simplicity in his neat little bedroom; and
dazzled him with devotional splendor when his religious duties called
him into the chapel. The perfect taste--so seldom found in the modern
arrangement and decoration of convents and churches in southern
countries--showed itself here, pressed into the service of religion,
in every part of the house. The severest discipline had no sordid
and hideous side to it in The Retreat. The inmates fasted on spotless
tablecloths, and handled knives and forks (the humble servants of
half-filled stomachs) without a speck on their decent brightness.
Penitents who kissed the steps of the altar (to use the expressive
Oriental phrase), "eat no dirt." Friends, liberal friends, permitted to
visit the inmates on stated days, saw copies of famous Holy Families in
the reception-room which were really works of Art; and trod on a carpet
of studiously modest pretensions, exhibiting pious emblems beyond
reproach in color and design. The Retreat had its own artesian well; not
a person in the house drank impurity in his water. A faint perfume of
incense was perceptible in the corridors. The soothing and mysterious
silence of the place was intensified rather than disturbed by soft
footsteps, and gentle opening and closing of doors. Animal life was
not even represented by a cat in the kitchen. And yet, pervaded by some
inscrutable influence, the house was not dull. Heretics, with lively
imaginations, might have not inappropriately likened it to an enchanted
castle. In one word, the Catholic system here showed to perfection
its masterly knowledge of the weakness of human nature, and its
inexhaustible dexterity in adapting the means to the end.

On the morning when Mrs. Eyrecourt and her daughter held their memorable
interview by the fireside at Ten Acres, Father Benwell entered o