if I ever get a word in edgewise," Adrian explained.

"I trust, at least, that you 've been equally taciturn with her," said
Anthony.

"My good Absolute, I am the soul of taciturnity," Adrian boasted,
expanding his chest, and thumping it. "This bosom is a sealed
sanctuary for the confidences of those who confide in me. Besides,
when I 'm with Madame Torrebianca, believe me, we have other subjects
of conversation than the poor Squire o' Craford."

"You see," said Anthony, "for the lark of the thing, I should like, for
the present, to leave her in ignorance of my connection with Sampaolo."

"That's right," cried Adrian. "Dupe, cozen, jockey the trustful young
creature. Do. There 's a great-hearted gentleman. You need n't fear
_my_ undeceiving her. I know my place; I know who holds the
purse-strings; I know which side my bread is buttered on. Motley's my
wear. So long as you pay my wages, you may count upon my connivance."

"I shall see her to-morrow morning at Mass. I wonder whether I am in
love with her," Anthony was thinking.

XI

He gave her holy water at the door of the chapel, and her eyes
acknowledged it with a glance that sent something very pleasant into
his heart.

Then, with an impulse of discretion, to efface himself, he knelt at the
first prie-dieu he came to. But Susanna, instead of going forward,
knelt at the prie-dieu next to his.

The chapel at Craford is a dim, brown little room,--the same room that
in the days of persecution had been a "secret" chapel, where priests
and people worshipped at the peril of their lives. You enter it from
the hall by a door that was once a sliding panel. In the old days
there was no window, but now there is a window, a small one,
lancet-shaped, set with stained glass, opening into the court. Save
for the coloured light that came through this, and the two candles
burning on the altar, the chapel was quite dark. The Mass was said by
an old Capuchin, Father David, from the convent at Wetherleigh; it was
served by Adrian.

You know "the hidden and unutterable sweetness of the Mass."

For Anthony, kneeling there with Susanna, the sweetness of the Mass was
strangely intensified. He did not look at her, he looked at the altar,
or sometimes at his prayer-book; but the sense that she was beside him
possessed every atom of his consciousness. Her kneeling figure, her
white profile, her hair, her hat, her very frock,--he could see them,
somehow, witho