n. The tragedy of a child over a
broken doll is not less poignant than the anguish of a worshipper over a
broken idol, or of a king over a ruined realm. Thus the conflict of
Isabel during those past autumn and winter months was no less august than
the pain of the priest on the rack, or the struggle of his innocent
betrayer to rescue him, or the misery of Lady Maxwell over the sorrows
that came to her in such different ways through her two sons.

Isabel's soul was tender above most souls; and the powers of feeling pain
and of sustaining it were also respectively both acute and strong. The
sense of pressure, or rather of disruption, became intolerable. She was
indeed a soul on the rack; if she had been less conscientious she would
have silenced the voice of Divine Love that seemed to call to her from
the Catholic Church; if she had been less natural and feminine she would
have trampled out of her soul the appeal of the human love of Hubert. As
it was, she was wrenched both ways. Now the cords at one end or the other
would relax a little, and the corresponding relief was almost a shock;
but when she tried to stir and taste the freedom of decision that now
seemed in her reach, they would tighten again with a snap; and she would
find herself back on the torture. To herself she seemed powerless; it
appeared to her, when she reflected on it consciously, that it was merely
a question as to which part of her soul would tear first, as to which
ultimately retained her. She began to be terrified at solitude; the
thought of the coming night, with its long hours of questioning and
torment until the dawn, haunted her during the day. She would read in her
room, or remain at her prayers, in the hopes of distracting herself from
the struggle, until sleep seemed the supreme necessity: then, when she
lay down, sleep would flap its wings in mockery and flit away, leaving
her wide-awake staring at the darkness of the room or of her own eyelids,
until the windows began to glimmer and the cocks to crow from farm
buildings.

In spite of her first resolve to fight the battle alone, she soon found
herself obliged to tell Mistress Margaret all that was possible; but she
felt that to express her sheer need of Hubert, as she thought it, was
beyond her altogether. How could a nun understand?

"My darling," said the old lady, "it would not be Calvary without the
darkness; and you cannot have Christ without Calvary. Remember that the
Light of the Wor