eside the fire-place and
set down there; then he re-arranged the logs on the hearth, so that the
flames began to leap again, showing his strong hands and keen clear-cut
face; then he turned on his knees, seized her two hands in his own, and
lifted them to his lips; then laid them down again on her knee, still
holding them; and so remained.

"Oh! Isabel," he said, "why did you not write?"

She was silent as one who stares fascinated down a precipice.

"It is all over," he went on in a moment, "with the expedition. The
Queen's Grace has finally refused us leave to go--and I have come back to
you, Isabel."

How strong and pleasant he looked in this leaping fire-light! how real!
and she was hesitating between this warm human reality and the chilly
possibilities of an invisible truth. Her hands tightened instinctively
within his, and then relaxed.

"I have been so wretched," she said piteously.

"Ah! my dear," and he threw an arm round her neck and drew her face down
to his, "but that is over now." She sat back again; and then an access of
purpose poured into her and braced her will to an effort.

"No, no," she began, "I must tell you. I was afraid to write. Hubert, I
must wait a little longer. I--I do not know what I believe."

He looked at her, puzzled.

"What do you mean, dearest?'

"I have been so much puzzled lately--thinking so much--and--and--I am
sorry you have become a Protestant. It makes all so hard."

"My dear, this is--I do not understand."

"I have been thinking," went on Isabel bravely, "whether perhaps the
Catholic Church is not right after all."

Hubert loosed her hands and stood up. She crouched into the shadow of the
interior of the high chair, and looked up at him, terrified. His cheek
twitched a little.

"Isabel, this is foolishness. I know what the Catholic faith is. It is
not true; I have been through it all."

He was speaking nervously and abruptly. She said nothing. Then he
suddenly dropped on his knees himself.

"My dearest, I understand. You were doing this for me. I quite
understand. It is what I too----" and then he stopped.

"I know, I know," she cried piteously. "It is just what I have feared so
terribly--that--that our love has been blinding us both. And yet, what
are we to do, what are we to do? Oh! God--Hubert, help me."

Then he began to speak in a low emphatic voice, holding her hands,
delicately stroking one of them now and again, and playing with her
fingers. She w