father's choir--and could recall the exact appearance of the church as
he walked across the aisle to the pulpit. It was illuminated by a sudden
ray of sunlight falling through one of the eastern windows, and she
remembered how it had lighted up the thin, narrow face, bringing a glow
of colour to the dark skin till it seemed like one of the carved saints
she had seen in Romanesque churches on the Rhine. She remembered the
shape of the small head, carried well back, and how she had been
impressed by the slow stride with which he crossed the sanctuary. Then
her thoughts passed to the moment when, standing in the pulpit, he had
looked out on the congregation, seeming to divine the presence of some
great sinner there. She had felt that he was aware of her existence, for
in that moment the thin grey eyes seemed to see her, even to think her,
and they had frightened her, they were so clear, so set on some
purpose--God's or the Church's. She had met him that evening at a
concert, and how well she remembered her father introducing him! He had
spoken to her several minutes; everyone in the room was looking at them,
and she recalled the scene--all the girls, their dresses, and the
expression of their eyes. But she could not recall what Monsignor had
said, only her impressions; the same strange fascination and fear which
she had experienced when Owen came to the concerts long ago--that loud
winter's night, harsh and hard as iron. Owen had stood talking to her
too, and she had been fascinated.... He had admired her singing, and
Monsignor had admired her singing; but she was determined not to sing
until Monsignor had asked her to sing, and when he has asked her to go
to the convent she had gone. It was very strange; she could not account
for it. It was all beyond herself, outside of her, far away like the
stars, and she felt now as she did whenever she looked at the stars. Was
her character essentially weak, and was she liable to all these
influences, these facile assimilations? Was there nothing within her, no
abiding principle, nothing that she could call her own? She walked up
the room, and tried to understand herself--what was she, bad or good,
weak or strong? If she only knew what she was, then she would know how
to act.

There were her sins against faith. She had striven to undermine her
belief in God. She had read Darwin and Huxley for this purpose, and not
in the least to obtain knowledge. As Monsignor has said, "When a
Cath