was for him a moment of extraordinary spiritual
elation.

Monsignor Mostyn and Sir Owen had been at school together, and though
they had not met since, they frequently heard of each other. Owen's
ideas of marriage and religion were well known to the priest. He had
heard soon after she had gone away that she had gone with Asher, his old
schoolfellow. He knew the pride that Asher would take in destroying her
faith, and this diabolic project he had determined to frustrate; and
every year when he returned from Rome, he asked if Evelyn was expected
to sing in London that season. As year after year went by, his chance of
saving her soul seemed to grow more remote; but at the bottom of his
heart he believed that he was the chosen instrument of God's grace. That
night at the concert in her father's house, the first words--something
in her manner, the expression in her eyes, had led him to think that the
conversion would be an easy one. But it had come about quicker than he
had expected. And as he stood looking at her, he was aware of an alloy
of personal vanity and strove to stifle it; he thought of himself as the
humble instrument selected to win her from this infamous, this renegade
Catholic, and the trouble so visible in her was confirmation of his
belief that there can be no peace for a Catholic outside the pale of the
Church.

"I have wanted to see you so much," she began hurriedly. "There is a
great deal I want to tell you. But perhaps you have no time now."

"My dear child, I have ample time, I am only too pleased to be of
service to you. I am afraid you are in trouble, you look quite ill."

The kindness of the voice filled her eyes with tears, and she understood
in a moment the relief it would be to tell her troubles to this kind
friend; to feel his kind advice allaying them one by one, and to know
that the sleepless solitude in which she had tried to grapple with them
was over at last. To give her time to recover herself, Monsignor spoke
of a letter he had received that morning from the Superior of the
Passionist Convent.

"I will not trouble you with her repeated thanks for what you have done
for her. She begs me to tell you that she and the sisters unite in
inviting you to spend a few days with them. They suggest that you should
choose your own time."

"Oh, Monsignor, how can I go and stay with them! I thought I should have
died of shame when I went there after the concert with you. Mother
Philippa asked me if