ady have done?"

She spoke with a vehement bitterness that made Isabel look at her in
amazement, as the two walked on by the private path to the churchyard
gate. Mary's face was set in a kind of fury, and she went forward with
her chin thrust disdainfully out, biting her lip. Isabel said nothing.

As they reached the gate they heard steps behind them; and turning saw
the minister and Anthony hastening together. Mr. Dent was in his cassock
and gown and square cap, and carried the keys. His little scholarly face,
with a sharp curved nose like a beak, and dark eyes set rather too close
together, was not unlike a bird's; and a way he had of sudden sharp
movements of his head increased the likeness. Mary looked at him with
scarcely veiled contempt. He glanced at her sharply and uneasily.

"Mistress Mary Corbet?" he said, interrogatively.

Mary bowed to him.

"May we see the church, sir; your church, I should say perhaps; that is,
if we are not disturbing you."

Mr. Dent made a polite inclination, and opened the gate for them to go
through. Then Mary changed her tactics; and a genial, good-humoured look
came over her face; but Isabel, who glanced at her now and again as they
went round to the porch at the west-end, still felt uneasy.

As the Rector was unlocking the porch door, Mary surveyed him with a
pleased smile.

"Why, you look quite like a priest," she said. "Do your bishops, or
whatever you call them, allow that dress? I thought you had done away
with it all."

Mr. Dent looked at her, but seeing nothing but geniality and interest in
her face, explained elaborately in the porch that he was a Catholic
priest, practically; though the word minister was more commonly used; and
that it was the old Church still, only cleansed from superstitions. Mary
shook her head at him cheerfully, smiling like a happy, puzzled child.

"It is all too difficult for me," she said. "It cannot be the same
Church, or why should we poor Catholics be so much abused and persecuted?
Besides, what of the Pope?"

Mr. Dent explained that the Pope was one of the superstitions in
question.

"Ah! I see you are too sharp for me," said Mary, beaming at him.

Then they entered the church; and Mary began immediately on a running
comment.

"How sad that little niche looks," she said. "I suppose Our Lady is in
pieces somewhere on a dunghill. Surely, father--I beg your pardon, Mr.
Dent--it cannot be the same religion if you have knocked Our Lady