"Yes, good father!" And Morgana left the passion-flowers and moved
slowly back to her seat on the stone-bench--"There is one man! He
was my third and last experience of happiness. When I first met him,
my whole heart gave itself in one big pulsation--but like a wave of
the sea, the pulsation recoiled, and never again beat on the grim
rock of human egoism!" She laughed gaily, and a delicate colour
flushed her face. "But I was happy while the 'wave' lasted,--and
when it broke, I still played on the shore with its pretty foam-
bells."

"You loved this man?" and the priest's grave eyes dwelt on her
searchingly.

"I suppose so--for the moment! Yet no,--it was not love--it was just
an 'attraction'--he was--he IS--clever, and thinks he can change the
face of the world. But he is fooling with fire! I tell you I tried
to help him--for he is deadly poor. But he would have none of me nor
of what he calls my 'vulgar wealth.' This is a case in point where
wealth is useless! You see?"

Don Aloysius was silent.

"Then"--Morgana went on--"Alison is right. The witchery of the
Northern Highlands is in my blood,--never a love for me--alone I am-
-alone I must be!--never a love for a 'fey' woman!"

Over the priest's face there passed a quiver as of sudden pain.

"You wrong yourself, my child"--he said, slowly--"You wrong yourself