ements of those around her. And the majority of those around never
suspected that the work and the amusement alike had no interest for her,
nor would ever have any: that she "could never think as she had thought,
or be as she had been, again."

One person only perceived the truth, and that was because he was cast in
a like mould. Bruno saw too plainly that the hope expressed by the
Countess that "Magot was getting nicely over her disappointment" was not
true,--never would be true. In his case the amaranth had been grafted
in, and the plant was blossoming again. But there was no such hope for
her, at least as yet.

Beatrice was unable to enter into Margaret's feelings, not so much
through want of capacity as of experience. Eva was equally unable,
being naturally at once of a more selfish and a less concentrated
disposition: her mind would have been more easily drawn from her
sorrow,--an important item of the healing process. Doucebelle came
nearest; but as she was the most selfless of all, her grief in like case
would have been rather for the sufferings of Richard than for her own.

Beatrice soon carried the relic question to her father for decision;
though with some trepidation as to what he would say. If he should not
agree with her, she would be sorely disappointed. Bruno's smile half
reassured her.

"So thou canst not believe in the genuineness of these relics?" said he.
"Well, my child, so that thou hast full faith in Christ and His
salvation, I cannot think it much matters whether thou believest a
certain piece of stuff to be the veil of Saint Clare or not. Neither
Saint Clare nor her veil is concerned in thine eternal safety."

"But Doucebelle seems almost shocked. She does believe in them."

"Perhaps it will not harm her--with the like proviso."

"But, Father!--the honour in which they hold these rags and bones seems
to me like idolatry!"

"Then be careful thou commit it not."

"But _you_ do not worship such things?"

"Dear child, I find too much in Christ and in this perishing world, to
have much time to think of them."

Beatrice was only half satisfied. She would have felt more contented
had Bruno warmly disclaimed the charge. It was at the cost of some
distress that she realised that what were serious essentials to her were
comparatively trivial matters to him. The wafts of polluted air were
only too patent to her, which were lost in the purer atmosphere, at the
altitude where Bruno s