eals all
the mastery which the authoress commands of the language and mystery of
the emotions. The image of the infidel child had stolen into the
strong, stern man's heart, and, next to the master passion of his life,
his sombre religion, completely dominated him. They become engaged, to
the almost inexpressible scandal of the household, from the sour old
housekeeper up to Father Bowles, with his "purring inanities"--a
wonderful creation--and the courtly Father Leadham, a Jesuit and a
Cambridge "convert". But Helbeck holds out, trusts bravely to "the
intercession of saints" and the attractiveness of Catholic worship, and
thus some days of unclouded sunshine enter into his dark and troublous
life. Like the gentleman he is, he makes no attempt at proselytism,
and gives his word that by no speech or act of others shall his future
wife be molested.

They spend a few weeks at the sea, where Bannisdale and all it
represents is forgotten. Laura has grown to love and lean upon this
strong, resolute man. She enjoys an almost unique experience in
triumphing over a life which had been believed to be inaccessible to
woman's influence. But the sunshine is soon overcast. They are back
again in that atmosphere of depression which Bannisdale exhales, and
the agony begins. The poor girl sees the life from the inside, so to
speak, and the hopelessness of it all dawns upon her like a desolation.
Never could she bring herself to say and do the things she sees and
hears about her; a voice she cannot still seems to rise from the depths
of her being, defying her to go back on her past and forget the life
and example of her father. "You dare not, you dare not," it kept
saying to her. No, the system would hang like a pall of death between
her and her love: she could never possess his heart. Half of it, more
than half, would be given to that ideal of gloom he worshipped as the
Cross, which he correctly interpreted as the essence of the Catholic
teaching. When, finally, Helbeck stands by the account given of the
life of the Jesuit saint, Francis Borgia, who cheerfully surrenders his
wife, disposes of his eight little children and then goes off to Rome
"to save his soul" by becoming a Jesuit, the cup is full. Her lover
tells her the story of his own life, how he had been brought to his
present ideals--a story of exceeding great pathos, which utterly
overcomes the sensitive, shrinking girl by his side--but it was the
end. Half-hyste