be truly unselfish. I know how generous
you are. Perhaps you remain here out of all too great kindness towards
my poor Dick and me. You mustn't do that, Julius. You say she is still
living. Consider--is it too late?"

Was it indeed too late? All the frustrated manhood cried aloud in
Julius March. He covered his face with his hands. His carefully
restrained imagination ran riot, presenting enchantments.

And Katherine, watching him, found herself strangely moved. For it was
very startling to see this so familiar figure under so unfamiliar an
aspect--to see Julius March, her everyday companion and assistant, his
reticence, his priestly aloofness, his mild and courtly calm, swept
under by a tide of personal emotion. Lady Calmady was drawn to him by
deepened sympathy. Yet regret arose in her that this man proved to be,
after all, but as other men. She was vaguely disappointed, having
derived more security than she had quite realised from his apparent
detachment and impassibility. And, as an indirect consequence, her
revolt against God suffered access of bitterness. For not only was
He--to her seeing--callous regarding the fate of the many, but He
failed to support those few most devoted to His cause. In the hour of
their trial He was careless even of His own elect.

"Ah! I think it is indeed by no means too late!" she exclaimed.

Julius March let his hands drop at his sides. He gazed at her and her
expression was of wistful mockery--compassionate rather than ironical.
Then he looked away down the length of the chapel. In the warm
afternoon light, the solid and rich brown of the arcaded stalls on
either hand, emphasised the harmonious radiance of the great east
window, a radiance as of clear jewels.--Ranks of kneeling saints, the
gold of whose orioles rose in an upward curve to the majestic image of
the Christ in the central light--a Christ risen and glorified,
enthroned, His feet shining forever upon heaven's sapphire floor.
Before the altar hung three silver-gilt lamps of Italian workmanship,
in the crimson cup of each of which it had so long been Julius's
pleasure to keep the tongue of flame constantly alive. The habits of a
lifetime are not hastily set aside. Gazing on these things, his normal
attitude returned to him. Not that which he essentially was but that
which, by long and careful training of every thought, every faculty, he
had become, authoritatively claimed him. His eyes fell from
contemplation of the glori