r for the time high above that gloomy cloudland of
her being, rife with weird shapes and muffled voices. That Beauty is
solace of life, and Love the end of being,--this faith she would cling
to in spite of all; she grasped it with the desperate force of one who
dreaded lest it should fade and fail from her. Beauty alone would not
suffice; too often it was perceived as a mere mask, veiling horrors;
but in the passion and the worship of love was surely a never-failing
fountain of growth and power; this the draught that would leave no
bitter aftertaste, its enjoyment the final and all-sufficient answer to
the riddle of life. Rossetti put into utterance for her so much that
she had not dared to entrust even to the voice of thought. Her spirit
and flesh became one and indivisible; the old antagonism seemed at an
end for ever.

Such dreamings as these naturally heightened Maud's dislike for the
kind of life her mother led, and she longed unspeakably for the time of
her return to London. They had been at Brighton already nearly a month,
when a new circumstance was added to her discomfort. As she walked with
her mother one day, they met their acquaintance, Mr. Budge. This
gentleman dined with them that evening at Mrs. Enderby's invitation,
and persuaded the latter to join a party he had made up for an
excursion on the following day. Maud excused herself. She did not like
Mr. Budge, and his demeanour during the evening only strengthened her
prejudice. He was unduly excited and fervent, and allowed himself a
certain freedom in his conversation with Mrs. Enderby which Maud
resented strongly.

When they were once more in London, Maud did not win back the former
quiet of mind. Waymark came again as usual, but if anything the
distance between him and herself seemed more hopeless. He appeared
preoccupied; his talk, when he spoke with her, was of a more general
kind than formerly; she was conscious that her presence did not affect
him as it had done. She sank again into despondency; books were
insipid, and society irritated her. She began the habit of taking long
walks, an aimless wandering about the streets and parks within her
reach. One evening, wending wearily homewards, she was attracted by the
lights in a church in Marylebone Road, and, partly for a few minutes'
rest, partly out of a sudden attraction to a religious service, she
entered. It was the church of Our Lady of the Rosary. She had not
noticed that it was a Roman Cathol