indeed, that more of the
gentry in the neighbourhood sympathised with the Catholics than was
supposed, and would have helped them but for the discredit--did help
them, in fact, when they dared; but no one outside the communion knew
how true this report might be, and the fisherfolk loyally held their
peace.

It was natural that Beth as she grew up should be attracted by the
mystery that surrounded the Roman Catholics, and anxious to comprehend
the horror that Protestants had of them. She knew more of them herself
than any of the people whom she heard pass uncharitable strictures
upon them, and knew nothing for which they could justly be blamed. For
the old priest himself she had a great reverence. She had never spoken
to him, but had always felt strongly drawn towards him; and now, when
she overtook him, her impulse was to slip her hand into his, less on
her own account, however, than to show sympathy with him, he seemed so
solitary and so suffering, with his slow step and bent back; and so
good, with his beautiful calm face.

As she approached, lost in her own thoughts, she gazed up at him
intently.

"What is it, my child?" he asked, with a kindly smile. "Can I do
anything for you?"

"I was thinking of the beauty of holiness," Beth answered, and passed
on.

The old man looked after her, too surprised for the moment to speak,
and by the time he had recovered himself, she had turned a corner and
was out of sight.

After Beth went home that evening, and had been duly reproached by her
mother for her selfish conduct, she stole upstairs to Aunt Victoria's
room, and found the old lady sitting with her big Bible on her knee,
looking very sad and serious.

"Beth," she said severely, "have you had any food? It is long past
your dinner-time, and it does not do for young girls to fast too
long."

"I'll go and get something to eat, Aunt Victoria," Beth answered
meekly, overcome by her kindness. "I forgot."

She went down to the pantry, and found some cold pie, which she took
into the kitchen and ate without appetite.

The heat was oppressive. All the doors and windows stood wide open,
but there was no air, and wherever Beth went she was haunted by the
sickly smell which she had first perceived coming up from the mud in
the harbour, and by the lines which seemed somehow to account for
it:--

"... the smell of death
Came reeking from those spicy bowers,
And man, the sacrifice of man,
Mingled