on; all
the gods are part of one faith."

"But what do you believe ... seriously?"

"Everything except Atheism, and unthinking contentment. I believe in
Christianity, but I am not so foolish as to limit myself to
Christianity; I look upon Christianity as part of the truth, but not the
whole truth. There is a continuous revelation: before Christ Buddha,
before Buddha Krishna, who was crucified in mid-heaven, and the Gods of
my race live too."

She longed to ask Ulick so many questions that she could not frame one,
so far had the idea of a continuous revelation carried her beyond the
limits of her habitual thoughts; and while she was trying to think out
his meaning in one direction, she lost a great deal of what he said
subsequently, and her face wore an eager, puzzled and disappointed look.
That she should have been the subject of this young man's thoughts, that
she should have suggested his opera of Grania, and that he should have
at last succeeded, by means of an old photograph, in imagining some sort
of image of her, flattered her inmost vanity, and with still brightening
eyes she hoped that he was not disappointed in her.

"When did you begin to write opera? You must come to see me. You will
tell me about your opera, and we will go through the music."

"Will you let me play my music to you?"

"Yes, I shall be delighted."

At that moment she remarked that Ulick's teeth were almost the most
beautiful she had ever seen, and that they shone like snow in his dark
face.

"Some afternoon at the end of the week. We're friends--I feel that we
are. You are father's friend; you were his friend when I was away. Tell
me if he missed me very much. Tell me about him. I have been longing to
ask you all the time. What is he doing? I have heard about his choir. He
has got some wonderful treble voices."

"He is very busy now rehearsing the 'Missa Brevis.' It will be given
next Sunday. It will be splendidly done ... You ought to come to hear
it."

"I should like to, of course, but I am not certain that I shall not be
able to go to St. Joseph's next Sunday. How did you and father become
acquainted?"

"Through an article I wrote about the music of St. Joseph's. Mr. Innes
said that it was written by a musician, and he wrote to the paper."

"Asking you to come to see him?"

"Yes. Your father was the first friend I made in London."

"And that was some years ago?"

"About four years ago. I had come over from Ireland with a