"What is it? Where does it come from?" I whispered into the ear of
Sister Agnes.

"It is Father Spiridion playing the organ in the west gallery."

"And who is Father Spiridion?"

"A good man and my friend. Presently you shall be introduced to him."

No word more was spoken till the playing ceased. Then Sister Agnes took
me by the hand and we went towards the west gallery. Father Spiridion
saw us, and paused on the top of the stairs.

"This is the child, holy father, of whom I have spoken to you once or
twice; the child, Janet Hope."

The father's shrewd blue eyes took me in from head to foot at a glance.
He was a tall, thin and slightly cadaverous-looking man, with high
aquiline features; and with an indefinable something about him that made
me recognise him on the spot as a gentleman. He wore a coarse brown robe
that reached nearly to his feet, the cowl of which was drawn over his
head. When Sister Agnes had spoken he laid his hand gently on my head,
and said something I could not understand. Then placing his hand under
my chin, he said, "Look me straight in the face, child."

I lifted my eyes and looked him fairly in the face, till his blue eyes
lighted up with a smile. Then patting me on the cheek, he said,
addressing Sister Agnes, "Nothing shifty there, at any rate. It is a
face full of candour, and of that innocent fearlessness which childhood
should always have, but too often loses in an evil world. I dare be