with her conversion,
which"--and she raised her voice bravely--"I pray God to accomplish. She
has, of course, asked me questions now and then; and I have answered
them--that is all."

"And I," said Mistress Margaret, "plead guilty to the same charge, and to
no other. You are not yourself, dear boy, at present; and indeed I do not
wonder at it; and I pray God to help you; but you are not yourself, or
you would not speak like this to your mother."

Hubert rose to his feet; his face was white under the tan, and the ruffle
round his wrist trembled as he leaned heavily with his fingers on the
table.

"I am only a plain Protestant now," he said bitterly, "and I have been
with Protestants so long that I have forgotten Catholic ways; but----"

"Stay, Hubert," said his mother, "do not finish that. You will be sorry
for it presently, if you do. Come, Margaret." And she moved towards the
door; her son went quickly past and opened it.

"Nay, nay," said the nun. "Do you be going, Mary. Let me stay with the
lad, and we will come to you presently." Lady Maxwell bowed her head and
passed out, and Hubert closed the door.

Mistress Margaret looked down on the table.

"You have given me a glass, dear boy; but no wine in it."

Hubert took a couple of quick steps back, and faced her.

"It is no use, it is no use," he burst out, and his voice was broken with
emotion, "you cannot turn me like that. Oh, what have you done with my
Isabel?" He put out his hand and seized her arm. "Give her back to me,
Aunt Margaret; give her back to me."

He dropped into his seat and hid his face on his arm; and there was a sob
or two.

"Sit up and be a man, Hubert," broke in Mistress Margaret's voice, clear
and cool.

He looked up in amazement with wet indignant eyes. She was looking at
him, smiling tenderly.

"And now, for the second time, give me half a glass of wine, dear boy."

He poured it out, bewildered at her self-control.

"For a man that has been round the world," she said, "you are but a
foolish child."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you never thought of a way of yet winning Isabel," she asked.

"What do you mean?" he repeated.

"Why, come back to the Church, dear lad; and make your mother and me
happy again, and marry Isabel, and save your own soul."

"Aunt Margaret," he cried, "it is impossible. I have truly lost my faith
in the Catholic religion; and--and--you would not have me a hypocrite."

"Ah! ah!" said the nun, "you c