passed a church--a Roman Catholic church, of course--the doors of which
were still open. Some poor women were kneeling at their prayers in the
dim light. "Wait a minute," said Romayne. "I am in a vile temper. Let me
try to put myself into a better frame of mind."

I followed him into the church. He knelt down in a dark corner by
himself. I confess I was surprised. He had been baptized in the Church
of England; but, so far as outward practice was concerned, he belonged
to no religious community. I had often heard him speak with sincere
reverence and admiration of the spirit of Christianity--but he never,
to my knowledge, attended any place of public worship. When we met
again outside the church, I asked if he had been converted to the Roman
Catholic faith.

"No," he said. "I hate the inveterate striving of that priesthood
after social influence and political power as cordially as the fiercest
Protestant living. But let us not forget that the Church of Rome has
great merits to set against great faults. Its system is administered
with an admirable knowledge of the higher needs of human nature. Take
as one example what you have just seen. The solemn tranquillity of that
church, the poor people praying near me, the few words of prayer by
which I silently united myself to my fellow-creatures, have calmed
me and done me good. In _our_ country I should have found the church
closed, out of service hours." He took my arm and abruptly changed the
subject. "How will you occupy yourself," he asked, "if my aunt receives
me to-morrow?"

I assured him that I should easily find ways and means of getting
through the time. The next morning a message came from Lady Berrick,
to say that she would see her nephew after breakfast. Left by myself,