religious disposition.

The vicar in charge of the church on the cliff--he of the musical voice,
Mr. Borthwick by name--became aware at once of Evadne's regular
attendance. He was a young man, very earnest, very devout, worn thin with
hard work, but happy in that he had it to do, and with that serene
expression of countenance which comes of the habit of conscientious
endeavour. As a matter of course, with such men at the present time, he
sought solace in ritual. His whole nature thrilled to the roll of the
organ, to the notes of a grateful anthem, to the sight and scent of his
beautiful flowers on the altar, and to the harmony of colour and
conventional design on the walls of his little church. He spent his life
and his substance upon it, doing what he could to beautify it himself, in
the name of the Lord, and finding in the act of worship a refinement of
pleasure difficult of attainment, but possible and precious. And while all
that sufficed for him, he honestly entertained the idea of celibacy as a
condition necessary for the perfect purification of his own soul, and
desirable as giving him a place apart which would help to maintain and
strengthen his influence with his people. A layman may remain a bachelor
without attracting attention, but a priest who abjures matrimony insists
that he makes a sacrifice, and deserves credit for the same. He says that
the laws of nature are the laws of God, yet arranges his own life in
direct opposition to the greatest of them. He can give no unanswerable
reason for maintaining that the legitimate exercise of one set of natural
functions is less holy than the exercise of the others, but that is what
he believes, and curiously inconsistent as the conclusion is, the Rev.
Henry Borthwick had adopted this view emphatically at the outset of his
clerical career, and had announced his intention of adhering to it for the
rest of his life. But, just as the snow under the cool and quiet stars at
dusk might feel full force in itself to vow to the rising moon that it