less his eyes, which were wells of misery. In his overwhelming grief
he almost forgot the girl beside him until a whispered remark upon some
beautiful passage in the music recalled her presence. It did but add
fresh stings to his remorse. Could it be possible that he--a son of a
sainted mother, child of a faithful Catholic race--could have
contemplated marriage with a professed atheist? Had he indeed been
planning to take to wife, to make the mother of his possible children,
one who openly flouted the idea of a personal God--he, who had drunk in
at his mother's breast the burning love of the Faith which is the
birthright of every true son of Ireland?

The pain and the shame which filled his heart were well-nigh
unendurable! Oh, if he could but manage to keep his self-control for
an hour or two! If he could but hold out until he was alone; for at
times it seemed as though he must betray himself--there, in that public
assembly--by crying aloud in his anguish, or even by breaking out into
unmanly weeping.

How he got through that miserable evening he never could recall. He
realized by her coldness on the return journey, and by the
demonstrative encouragement shown to Aston, that he had woefully
offended Violet.

Bernard never played his allotted part in the opera; for to every one's
astonishment he threw up his appointment and left the town, bound no
one knew whither. So the course was clear for Cuthbert Aston, and he
lost no time in making good his opportunity. His engagement to Violet
took no one by surprise, when his only possible rival was out of the
way.