disorder of the room, making Evelyn feel
uncomfortable by her remarks. Evelyn knew it would be impossible for
Merat to guess the cause of it all. But when she hesitated about what
dress she would wear, declaring against this one and that one, her
choice all the time being fixed on a black crepon, Merat glanced
suspiciously at her mistress; and when Evelyn put aside her rings,
selecting in preference two which she did not usually wear, the maid was
convinced that some disaster had happened, and was ready to conclude
that Ulick Dean was the cause of these sleepless nights.

Evelyn had chosen this dress because she was going to St. Joseph's or
because she supposed she was going there. It did not seem to her that
she could confess to anyone but Monsignor. But why he? one priest would
do as well as another. She was too tired to think.

Her brain was like one of those autumn days when clouds hang low, and a
dimness broods between sky and earth. True that there were the events of
last night--her search for the chloral, the finding of her scapular, her
belief in a special interposition of Providence, and then her resolution
to go to confession. It was all there; she knew it all, but did not want
to think about it. She had been thinking for a week, and this was the
first respite she had had from thought, and she wished this stupor of
brain to continue till four o'clock. That was the time she would have to
be at St. Joseph's. He was generally there at that time.

She had lain down on the sofa after breakfast, hoping to sleep a little;
if she didn't, the time would be very long; but as she dozed, she began
to see the thin, worn face and the piercing eyes, and the intonation of
his voice began to ring in her ears. As she thought or as she dreamed,
the striking of the clock reminded her of the number of hours that
separated them. Only four hours and she would be kneeling at his feet!
Then she felt that she had advanced a stage, and was appreciably nearer
the inevitable end, and lay staring at the sequence of events. She saw
the hours stretching out reaching to him, and she, all the while, was
moving through the hours automatically. All kind of similes presented
themselves to her mind. She asked herself how it was that Monsignor had
come into her life. She had not sought him; she had not wanted him in
her life, but he had come! She remembered the first time she saw
him--that Sunday morning when she went to St. Joseph's to meet her