and absorbed.

"What a singular-looking man!" she thought, studying Winthorpe. "What an
ascetic-looking man! He looks like an early Christian martyr. He looks
like a priest. I believe he _is_ a priest. English priests," she
remembered, "when they travel, often dress as laymen. Yes, he is a
priest, and a terribly austere one--I shouldn't like to go to him for
confession. But in spite of his austerity, he seems to be
extraordinarily happy about something just at present. That light in his
eyes,--it is almost a light of ecstasy. It is a light I have never seen
in any eyes, save those of priests and nuns."

Winthorpe, while that "almost ecstatic" light shone in his eyes, had
been speaking.

Now, as he paused, John, with a glance of gay astonishment, halted, and
turned so as to face him. John's lips moved, and it was perfectly plain
that he was exclaiming, delightedly, "Really? _Really_?"

Winthorpe joyously nodded: whereupon John held out both hands, got hold
of his friend's, and, his pink face jubilant, shook them with tremendous
heartiness.

"The priest has received advancement--he is probably to be made a
bishop," inferred Maria Dolores; "and Signor Prospero is congratulating
him."

The men resumed their walk; but for quite a minute John kept his hand on
Winthorpe's shoulder, and again and again gently patted it, murmuring,
"I am so glad, so immensely glad." Maria Dolores was quite sure that