s kingdom
shall never pass away. Her soul had kindled like a flame, and she had
praised God, crying to herself, "Thy kingdom shall last for ever and
ever." It had seemed to her that her soul had acquired kingship over all
her faculties, over all her senses, for the time being it had ruled her
utterly; and so delicious was its subjection that she had not dared to
move lest she should lose this sweet peace. Her lips had murmured an Our
Father, but so slowly that the Sanctus bell had rung before she had
finished it. Nothing troubled her, nothing seemed capable of troubling
her, and the torrent of delight which had flowed into and gently
overflowed her soul had intoxicated and absorbed her until it had seemed
to her that there was nothing further for her to desire.

She remembered that when Mass was over she had risen from her knees
elated, feeling that she had prayed even as the nuns prayed, and she had
retired to her room, striving to restrain her looks and thoughts so that
she might prolong this union with God.

To remember this experience gave her courage. For she could not doubt
that the intention of so special a favour was to convince her that she
would not be lacking in courage when the time came to deny herself to
Owen Asher. At the same time she was troubled, and she feared that she
was not quite sincere with herself. She would easily resist him now; but
in six months' time, in a year? Besides, she would meet other men; her
thoughts even now went out towards one. Ah! wretched weakness,
abominable sin! She was filled with contempt for herself, and yet at the
bottom of her heart, like hope at the bottom of Pandora's box, there was
tolerance. Her sins interested her; she would not be herself without
them, and this being so, how could she hope to conquer herself?

Saturday and Sunday were monotonous and anxious days. She had begun to
wonder what was in the newspapers, and she had written to say that her
carriage was to come to fetch her on Monday at three o'clock.

There had not been a gleam of light since early morning, only a gentle
diffused twilight, and the foliage in the garden was almost human in its
listlessness; a flat grey sky hung about the trees like a shroud. Mother
Philippa and Mother Mary Hilda were walking with her about the
grass-grown drive. They were waiting for the Reverend Mother, who had
gone to fetch a medal for Evelyn. She heard her chestnuts champing their
bits ready to take her back to Londo