her wish to avoid
observation reminded her that she was doing a dishonourable action,
and, standing with the papers in her hand, she hoped she would go out
of the study without reading them. She began to read.

The papers in her hand were his notes for the book he was writing, and
the title caught her eye, "A Western Thibet." "So he is writing the
book he promised me not to write," she said. But she could feel no
anger, so conscious was she of her own shame. And she did not forget
her shame until she remembered that it was her money that was
supporting the agitation. He had been spending a great deal of money
lately--they were rich now; her father had died soon after their
marriage and all his money had come to her, and Ned was spending it on
an anti-religious agitation. She had let Ned do what he liked; she had
not cared what happened so long as she kept his love, and her moral
responsibility became clearer and clearer. She must tell Ned that she
could give him no more money unless he promised he would not say
anything against the priests. He would make no such promise, and to
speak about her money would exhibit her in a mean light, and she would
lose all her influence. Now that they were reconciled she might win him
back to religion; she had been thinking of this all yesterday. How
could she tell him that she would take all her money away from him? Ned
was the last person in the world who would be influenced by a threat.

And looking round the room she asked herself why she had ever come into
it to commit a dishonourable act! and much trouble had come upon her.
But two thousand a year of her money was being spent in robbing the
people of Ireland of their religion! Maybe thousands of souls would be
lost--and through her fault.

Ellen feared money as much as her father had loved it.

"Good Heavens," she murmured to herself, "what am I to do?"
Confession.... Father Brennan. She must consult him. The temptation to
confide her secret became more decisive. Confession! She could ask the
priest what she liked in confession, and without betraying Ned. And it
was not ten o'clock yet. She would be in time for eleven o'clock Mass.
Father Brennan would be hearing confessions after Mass, and she could
get to Dublin on her bicycle in an hour. In three-quarters of an hour
she was at the presbytery, and before the attendant could answer she
caught sight of Father Brennan running down-stairs.

"I only want to speak to you for a f