t to him. Yet he was a man of extremely sensitive feeling,
as well as of shrewd and delicate perceptions. He lived a most
uncomfortable life, and he was quite aware of it. The one person who
should have been his truest friend deliberately nursed baseless enmity
towards him. The only one whom he loved in all the world hated him with
deadly hatred. And there was no cause for it but one--the strongest
cause of all--the reason why Cain slew his brother. He was of God, and
she was of the world. Yet nothing could have persuaded her that he was
not on the high road to perdition, while she was a special favourite of
Heaven.

Clarice found Mistress Underdone much what she had expected--a
good-natured, sensible supervisor. Her position, too, was not an easy
one. She had to submit her sense to the orders of folly, and to sink
her good-nature in submission to harshness. But she did her best,
steered as delicately as she could between her Scylla and Charybdis, and
always gave her girls the benefit of a doubt.

The girls themselves were equally distinct as to character. Olympias
was delicate, with a failing of delicate people--a disposition to
complaining and fault-finding. Elaine was full of fun, ready to barter
any advantage in the future for enjoyment in the present. Diana was
caustic, proud of her high connections, which were a shade above those
of her companions, and inclined to be scornful towards everything not
immediately patent to her comprehension. Roisia, while the most
amiable, was also the weakest in character of the four; she was easily
led astray by Elaine, easily persuaded to deviate from the right through
fear of Diana.

The two priests had also unfolded themselves. The Dominican, Father
Bevis, awoke in Clarice a certain amount of liking, not unmixed with
rather timorous respect. But he was a grave, silent, undemonstrative
man, who gave no encouragement to anything like personal affection,
though he was not harsh nor unkind. The Franciscan, Father Miles, was
of a type common in his day. The man and the priest were two different
characters. Father Miles in the confessional was a stern master; Father
Miles at the supper-table was a jovial playfellow. In his eyes,
religion was not the breath and salt of life, but something altogether
separate from it, and only to be mentioned on a Sunday. It was a bundle
of ceremonies, not a living principle. To Father Bevis, on the
contrary, religion was everyt