go to my study?"

With the composed gentleness that was characteristic of him Father
Robertson assented, and they went downstairs. When they were safely
shut up in the big room, guarded by multitudes of soberly bound volumes,
Canon Wilton said:

"Robertson, I want to talk to you in confidence about my guest, who, as
you say, is a very sweet woman. You could do something for her which I
couldn't do. I have none of your impelling gentleness. You know how to
stir that which dwells in the inner sanctuary, to start it working for
itself; I'm more apt to try to work for it, or at it. Perhaps I can
rouse up a sinner and make him think. I've got a good bit of the
instinct of the missioner. But my dear guest there isn't a sinner,
except as we all are! She's a very good woman who doesn't quite
understand. I think perhaps you might help her to understand. She
possesses a great love, and she doesn't know quite how to handle it, or
even to value it."

The clock struck seven when they stopped talking.

That evening, after dinner, Canon Wilton asked Rosamund to sing. Almost
eagerly she agreed.

"I shall love to sing in the Precincts," she said, as she went to the
piano.

Father Robertson, who had been sitting with his back to the piano,
moved to the other side of the room. While Rosamund sang he watched her
closely. He saw that she was quite unconscious of being watched, and her
unconsciousness of herself made him almost love her. Her great talent he
appreciated fully, for he was devoted to music; but he appreciated much
more the moral qualities she showed in her singing. He was a man who
could not forbear from searching for the soul, from following its
workings. He had met all sorts and conditions of men, and with few
he had not been friends. He had known, knew now, scientists for whose
characters and lives he had strong admiration, and who felt positive
that the so-called soul of man was merely the product of the brain,
resided in the brain, and must cease with the dispersal of the brain at
death. He was not able to prove the contrary. That did not trouble him
at all. It was not within the power of anything or of any one to trouble
this man's faith. He did not mind being thought a fool. Indeed, being
without conceit, and even very modest, he believed himself to be
sometimes very foolish. But he knew he was not a fool in his faith,
which transcended forms, and swore instinctively brotherhood with all
honest beliefs, and even