trong, emotion.

"Oh, Monsieur Androvsky!" she said. "Do go over and see him. Make
friends with him. Never mind yesterday. I want you to be friends with
him, with everyone here. Let us make Beni-Mora a place of peace and good
will."

Then she went across the verandah quickly to her room, and passed in,
closing the window behind her.

_Dejeuner_ was brought into her sitting-room. She ate it in solitude,
and late in the afternoon she went out on the verandah. She had made
up her mind to spend an hour in the church. She had told Father Roubier
that she wanted to think something out. Since she had left him the
burden upon her mind had become heavier, and she longed to be alone in
the twilight near the altar. Perhaps she might be able to cast down the
burden there. In the verandah she stood for a moment and thought how
wonderful was the difference between dawn and sunset in this land. The
gardens, that had looked like a place of departed and unhappy spirits
when she rose that day, were now bathed in the luminous rays of the
declining sun, were alive with the softly-calling voices of children,
quivered with romance, with a dreamlike, golden charm. The stillness
of the evening was intense, enclosing the children's voices, which
presently died away; but while she was marvelling at it she was
disturbed by a sharp noise of knocking. She looked in the direction from
which it came and saw Androvsky standing before the priest's door. As
she looked, the door was opened by the Arab boy and Androvsky went in.

Then she did not think of the gardens any more. With a radiant
expression in her eyes she went down and crossed over to the church. It
was empty. She went softly to a _prie-dieu_ near the altar, knelt down
and covered her eyes with her hands.

At first she did not pray, or even think consciously, but just rested in
the attitude which always seems to bring humanity nearest its God.
And, almost immediately, she began to feel a quietude of spirit, as
if something delicate descended upon her, and lay lightly about her,
shrouding her from the troubles of the world. How sweet it was to have
the faith that brings with it such tender protection, to have the trust
that keeps alive through the swift passage of the years the spirit of
the little child. How sweet it was to be able to rest. There was at this
moment a sensation of deep joy within her. It grew in the silence of
the church, and, as it grew, brought with it presently a growi