THE HARVEST IS REAPED.

ON their way through the streets, Father Benwell talked as persistently
of the news of the day as if he had nothing else in his thoughts.
To keep his companion's mind in a state of suspense was, in certain
emergencies, to exert a useful preparatory influence over a man of
Romayne's character. Even when they reached his lodgings, the priest
still hesitated to approach the object that he had in view. He made
considerate inquiries, in the character of a hospitable man.

"They breakfast early at The Retreat," he said. "What may I offer you?"

"I want nothing, thank you," Romayne answered, with an effort to control
his habitual impatience of needless delay.

"Pardon me--we have a long interview before us, I fear. Our bodily
necessities, Romayne (excuse me if I take the friendly liberty of
suppressing the formal 'Mr.')--our bodily necessities are not to be
trifled with. A bottle of my famous claret, and a few biscuits, will not
hurt either of us." He rang the bell, and gave the necessary directions
"Another damp day!" he went on cheerfully. "I hope you don't pay the
rheumatic penalties of a winter residence in England? Ah, this glorious
country would be too perfect if it possessed the delicious climate of
Rome!"

The wine and biscuits were brought in. Father Benwell filled the glasses
and bowed cordially to his guest.

"Nothing of this sort at The Retreat!" he said gayly. "Excellent water,
I am told--which is a luxury in its way, especially in London. Well, my
dear Romayne, I must begin by making my apologies. You no doubt thought
me a little abrupt in running away with you from your retirement at a
moment's notice?"

"I believed that you had good reasons, Father--and that was enough for
me."

"Thank you--you do me justice--it was in your best interests that I
acted. There are men of phlegmatic temperament, over whom the wise
monotony of discipline at The Retreat exercises a wholesome influence--I
mean an influence which may be prolonged with advantage. You are not one
of those persons. Protracted seclusion and monotony of life are morally
and mentally unprofitable to a man of your ardent disposition. I
abstained from mentioning these reasons, at the time, out of a feeling
of regard for our excellent resident director, who believes unreservedly
in the institution over which he presides. Very good! The Retreat has
done all that it could usefully do in your case. We must think next of
how to