this sudden
meeting had brought back, with a cruel tide of memory, the last time
they met--by the small nursery bed, in that upper chamber at Enderley.

However, this feeling shortly passed away, as must needs be; and we all
three began to converse together.

While he talked, something of the old "Anselmo" came back into Lord
Ravenel's face: especially when John asked him if he would drive over
with us to Enderley.

"Enderley--how strange the word sounds!--yet I should like to see the
place again. Poor old Enderley!"

Irresolutely--all his gestures seemed dreamy and irresolute--he drew
his hand across his eyes--the same white long-fingered, womanish hand
which had used to guide Muriel's over the organ keys.

"Yes--I think I will go back with you to Enderley. But first I must
speak to Mr. Jessop here."

It was about some poor Catholic families, who, as we had before learnt,
had long been his pensioners.

"You are a Catholic still then?" I asked. "We heard the contrary."

"Did you?--Oh, of course. One hears such wonderful facts about
oneself. Probably you heard also that I have been to the Holy Land,
and turned Jew--called at Constantinople, and come back a Mohammedan."

"But are you of your old faith?" John said. "Still a sincere Catholic?"

"If you take Catholic in its original sense, certainly. I am a
Universalist. I believe everything--and nothing. Let us change the
subject." The contemptuous scepticism of his manner altered, as he
inquired after Mrs. Halifax and the children. "No longer children now,
I suppose?"

"Scarcely. Guy and Walter are as tall as yourself; and my daughter--"

"Your daughter?"--with a start--"oh yes, I recollect. Baby Maud. Is
she at all like--like--"

"No."

Neither said more than this; but it seemed as if their hearts warmed to
one another, knitted by the same tender remembrance.

We drove home. Lord Ravenel muffled himself up in his furs,
complaining bitterly of the snow and sleet.

"Yes, the winter is setting in sharply," John replied, as he reined in
his horses at the turnpike gate. "This will be a hard Christmas for
many."

"Ay, indeed, sir," said the gate-keeper, touching his hat.

"And if I might make so bold--it's a dark night and the road's
lonely--" he added, in a mysterious whisper.

"Thank you, my friend. I am aware of all that." But as John drove on,
he remained for some time very silent.

On, across the bleak country, with the snow pe