"I hope you will sleep well to-night," said Monsignor, kindly, noticing
the signs of physical exhaustion in Evelyn as she stood mechanically
drawing down her veil and putting on her gloves. "A good conscience is
the best of all narcotics." Evelyn smiled through her tears, but could
not trust herself to speak. "But I don't really like you living alone in
Park Lane. It is too great a strain on your nerves. Could you not go to
your father's for a time?"

"Yes, perhaps, I don't know. Dear father would like to have me."

He told her that the Mass he was to say to-morrow he would offer up for
her; and as she drove home her joy grew more intense, and in a sort of
spiritual intoxication she identified herself with the faith of her
childhood. Life again presented possibilities of infinite perfection,
and she was astonished that the difficulties which she had thought
insuperable had been so easily overcome.

All that evening she thought of God and his sacraments, and remembering
the moment when his grace had descended upon her and all had become
clear, she perforce believed in a miracle--a miracle of grace had
certainly happened.

She looked forward to the moment when her maid would leave the room, and
she would throw herself on her knees and lose herself in prayer, as she
had lost herself when she knelt beside Monsignor, and he absolved her
from sin. But when the door closed she was incapable of prayer, she only
desired sleep. Her whole mind seemed to have veered. She had exaggerated
everything, conducted herself strangely, hysterically, and her prayers
were repeated without ardour, almost indifferently.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

But the next day she could not account to herself for the extraordinary
relief she had derived from her confession. For years she had battled
with life alone, with no light to guide her, blown hither and thither by
the gusts of her own emotions. But now she was at peace, she was
reconciled to the Church; she would never be alone again. The struggle
of her life still lay before her, and yet in a sense it was a thing of
the past. She felt like a ship that has passed from the roar of the surf
into the shelter of the embaying land, and in the distance stretched the
long peacefulness of the winding harbour.

The solution of her monetary obligations to Sir Owen still perplexed
her. She regretted not having laid the matter before Monsignor, and
looked forward to doing so. She could hear his clear, e