sink so low. It was so easy to live in tune with Truth beside my
mother; but she was Truth's high-priestess; she never swerved from
the straight path.

I went to church last Sunday; there's a confession! Another such act
of cowardice, and I am lost. It never entered my head, of course, to
go the first Sunday I was here; and as it so happened that I had a
headache that day, no comment was made upon my absence. But on
Saturday the vicar said something about "to-morrow"; Uncle George
invited himself to dinner after service; and when Aunt Caroline
asked me, at breakfast on Sunday, what hat I was going to put on, I
replied, "The small one," and followed her like a lamb. I don't know
what to do now. This afternoon, the good little old lady asked me to
call with her on a friend whose father died last week, and I went,
Heaven knows why. I was well served out. There they sat a mortal
hour, blowing their noses and praising their God, until I could have
shrieked. When I had safely seen Aunt Caroline home, I set off for a
long walk in the gloaming; the silent earth was stretched in peace
beneath the deepening sky, the moon rose among great clouds that
floated like dragons' ghosts upon the blue. And I cried out within
myself for very pain that I who had perception of these things
should live so lying and so false a life. Perhaps I am not quite
myself yet; so much sorrow came to me at once that all my strength
has left me. But it is cowardly to make excuses.

I hear you: "There you go, old wise-bones! Here's a storm in a
tea-cup! It's much better to behave properly _out_side anyway, than
to hurt people's feelings and make them think worse of you than they
need, by showing them what a wicked infidel you are. Besides, what
does it matter?"