ut looking; his eye preserved a permanent vision of them.
Yet they did not distract his thoughts from the altar. He followed
with devout attention the Act that was being consummated there; the
emotion of her presence merged with and became part of the emotion of
the Mass. They were offering the Holy Sacrifice side by side, they
were offering it together, they were sharing the Sacred Mystery. It
seemed to him that by this they were drawn close to each other, and
placed in a new relation, a relation that was far beyond the mere
acquaintanceship of yesterday, that in a very special and beautiful way
was intimate. The priest crossed the sanctuary, and they stood
together for the Gospel; the bell was rung, and together they bowed
their heads for the Elevation. They knelt side by side in body, but in
spirit was it not more than this? In spirit, for the time, were they
not absolutely at one?--united, commingled, in the awe and the wonder,
the worship and the love, of the Presence that had come, that was
filling the dim and silent little chapel with a light eyes were not
needed to see, with a music ears were not needed to hear, that had
transformed the poor little altar into a painless Calvary, whence were
diffused all peace, all grace, all benediction? They knelt side by
side, adoring together, breathing together the air that was now in very
deed the air of Heaven. And it seemed to Anthony as if the Presence
smiled upon them, and sanctioned and sanctified the thing that was in
his heart.

"Domine, non sum dignus," solemnly rose the voice of the priest,
"Domine, non sum dignus . . ."

It was the supreme moment.

They went forward, and side by side knelt at the rail of the sanctuary.

XII

Alas, the uncertain glory of an English June. That night the weather
changed. Monday was grey and cold, the beginning of a cold grey week,
a week of rain and wind, of low skies and scudding clouds; the
sad-coloured sea flecked with angry white, the earth sodden; leaves,
torn from their trees, scurrying down the pathways; and Adrian, of all
persons, given over to peevishness and lamentations.

"Oh, I brazenly confess it--I 'm a fair-weather friend," he said, as he
looked disconsolately forth from the window of his business-room, (a
room, by the bye, whereof the chief article of furniture was a
piano-a-queue). "Bring me sunshine and peaches, and I 'll be as sweet
as bright Apollo's lute strung with his hair. But this sor