ll: we at least serve the same God. Surely you will not cast me off
for this?"

"Cast you off?" she said; and she laughed piteously and sharply; and then
was grave again. Then she suddenly cried,

"Oh, Anthony, swear to me you are not mocking me."

"My darling," he said, "why should I mock you? I have made the Exercises,
and have been instructed; and I have here a letter to Mr. Barnes from the
priest who has taught me; so that I may be received to-night, and make my
Easter duties: and Geoffrey is still at the door holding Roland to take
me to Cuckfield to-night."

"To Cuckfield!" she said. "You will not find Mr. Barnes there."

"Not there! why not? Where shall I find him? How do you know?"

"Because he is here," she went on in the same strange voice, "at the
Hall."

"Well," said Anthony, "that saves me a journey. Why is he here?"

"He is here to say mass to-morrow."

"Ah!"

"And--and----"

"What is it, Isabel?"

"And--to receive me into the Church to-night."

* * * *

The brother and sister walked up and down that soft spring evening after
supper, on the yew-walk; with the whispers and caresses of the scented,
breeze about them, the shy dewy eyes of the stars looking down at them
between the tall spires of the evergreens overhead; and in their hearts
the joy of lovers on a wedding-night.

Anthony had soon told the tale of James Maxwell and Isabel had nearly
knelt to ask her brother's pardon for having ever allowed even the shadow
of a suspicion to darken her heart. Lady Maxwell, too, who had come down
with her sister to see Isabel about some small arrangement, was told; and
she too had been nearly overwhelmed with the joy of knowing that the lad
was innocent, and the grief of having dreamed he could be otherwise, and
at the wholly unexpected news of his conversion; but she had gone at last
back to the Hall to make all ready for the double ceremony of that night,
and the Paschal Feast on the next day. Mistress Margaret was in Isabel's
room, moving about with a candle, and every time that the two reached the
turn at the top of the steps they saw her light glimmering.

Then Anthony, as they walked under the stars, told Isabel of his great
hope that he, too, one day would be a priest, and serve God and his
countrymen that way.

"Oh, Anthony," she whispered, and clung to that dear arm that held her
own; terrified for the moment at the memory of what had been