lled her heartless obstinacy 'a vocation.' My poor father's loving
resistance was worn out; he slowly drew nearer and nearer to death, from
the day when she left us. Let me do her justice, if I can. She has not
only never regretted entering the convent--she is so happily absorbed
in her religious duties that she has not the slightest wish to see her
mother or me. My mother's patience was soon worn out. The last time I
went to the convent, I went by myself. I shall never go there again.
She could not conceal her sense of relief when I took my leave of her.
I need say no more. Arguments are thrown away on me, Mr. Penrose,
after what I have seen and felt. I have no right to expect that the
consideration of my happiness will influence you--but I may perhaps ask
you, as a gentleman, to tell me the truth. Do you come here with the
purpose of converting my husband?"

Penrose owned the truth, without an instant's hesitation.

"I cannot take your view of your sister's pious devotion of herself to
a religious life," he said. "But I can, and will, answer you truly. From
the time when I first knew him, my dearest object has been to convert
your husband to the Catholic Faith."

Stella drew back from him, as if he had stung her, and clasped her hands
in silent despair.

"But I am bound as a Christian," he went on, "to do to others as I would
they should do to me."

She turned on him suddenly, her beautiful face radiant with hope, her
hand trembling as it caught him by the arm.

"Speak plainly!" she cried.

He obeyed her to the letter.

"The happiness of my friend's wife, Mrs. Romayne, is sacred to me
for his sake. Be the good angel of your husband's life. I abandon the
purpose of converting him."

He lifted her hand from his arm and raised it respectfully to his lips.
Then, when he had bound himself by a promise that was sacred to him,
the terrible influence of the priesthood shook even that brave and lofty
soul. He said to himself, as he left her, "God forgive me if I have done
wrong!"

CHAPTER III.

WINTERFIELD RETURNS.

TWICE Father Benwell called at Derwent's Hotel, and twice he was
informed that no news had been received there of Mr. Winterfield. At the
third attempt, his constancy was rewarded. Mr. Winterfield had written,
and was expected to arrive at the hotel by five o'clock.

It was then half-past four. Father Benwell decided to await the return
of his friend.

He was as anxious to deliver the papers