terious spring twilight there came a strange and
ultimate yearning, a craving which nothing she had ever known could
assuage. But those stars--could they tell her nothing? One, large almost
as the moon itself, flamed up in the sky, and a voice within her
whispered that that was her star, that it held the secret of her
destiny. She gazed till her father called to her from the gate; and all
that evening she could think of nothing else. The conviction flowed
within her that the secret of her destiny was there; and as she lay in
bed the star seemed to take a visible shape.

A face rose out of the gulf beneath her. She could not distinguish
whether it was the face of man or woman; it was an idea rather than a
face. The ears were turned to her for her to take the earrings, the
throat was deeply curved, the lips were large and rose-red, the eyes
were nearly closed, and the hair was curled close over a straight, low
forehead. The face rose up to hers. She looked into the subtle eyes, and
the thrill of the lips, just touching hers, awakened a sense of sin, and
her eyes when they opened were frightened and weary. And as she sat up
in her bed, trembling, striving vainly to separate the real from the
unreal, she saw the star still shining. She hid her face in the pillow,
and was only calmed by the thought that it was watching her.

She went into the garden every evening to see it rise, and a desire of
worship grew up in her heart; and thinking of the daffodils, it occurred
to her to lay these flowers on the wall as an offering. Even wilder
thoughts passed through her brain; she could not keep them back, and
more than once asked herself if she were giving way to an idolatrous
intention. If so, she would have to tell the foolish story to her
confessor. But she could hardly bring herself to tell him such
nonsense.... If she didn't, the omission might make her confession a
false one; and she was so much perplexed that it seemed to her as if the
devil took the opportunity to insinuate that she might put off going to
confession. This decided her. She resolved to combat the Evil One.
To-day was Thursday. She would confess on Saturday, and go to Communion
on Sunday.

Till quite lately her confessor had been Father Knight--a tall, spare,
thin-lipped, aristocratic ecclesiastic, in whom Evelyn had expected to
find a romantic personality. She had looked forward to thrilling
confessions, but had been disappointed. The romance his appearance