aid her hands with a blind instinct upon the altar, and felt a
healing touch upon their palms. Henceforth--and Catherine Nagle was
fated to live many long years--she remained persuaded that it was then
there had come to her a shaft of divine light piercing the dark recesses
of her soul. For it was at that moment that there came to her the
conviction, and one which never faltered, that Charles Nagle had done no
injury to James Mottram. And there also came to her then the swift
understanding of what others would believe, were there to be found in
the private chapel of Edgecombe Manor that which now lay on the ground
behind her, close to her feet.

So understanding, Catherine suddenly saw the way open before her, and
the dread thing which she must do if Charles were to be saved from a
terrible suspicion--one which would undoubtedly lead to his being taken
away from her and from all that his poor, atrophied heart held dear, to
be asylumed.

With steps that did not falter, Catherine Nagle went behind the altar
into the little sacristy, there to seek in the darkness an altar-cloth.

Holding the cloth up before her face she went back into the lighted
chapel, and kneeling down, she uncovered her face and threw the cloth
over what lay before her.

And then Catherine's teeth began to chatter, and a mortal chill overtook
her. She was being faced by a new and to her a most dread enemy, for
till to-night she and that base physical fear which is the coward's foe
had never met. Pressing her hands together, she whispered the short,
simple prayer for the Faithful Departed that she had said so often and,
she now felt, so unmeaningly. Even as she uttered the familiar words,
base Fear slunk away, leaving in his place her soul's old companion,
Courage, and his attendant, Peace.

She rose to her feet, and opening wide her eyes forced herself to think
out what must be done by her in order that no trace of Charles's
handiwork should remain in the chapel.

Snuffing out the wicks, Catherine lifted the candlesticks from the
ground and put them back in their accustomed place upon the altar. Then,
stooping, she forced herself to wrap up closely in the altar-cloth that
which must be her burden till she found James Mottram's headless body
where Charles had left it, and placing that same precious burden within
the ample folds of her cloak, she held it with her left hand and arm
closely pressed to her bosom....

With her right hand she gathered