of fine furniture; but as a rule bareness, poverty, and void--nothing
could be more piteous, or, to Mrs. Fountain's memory, more surprising.
For some years before she left Bannisdale, her father had not known where
to turn for a pound of ready money. Yet when she fled from it, the house
and its treasures were still intact.

The explanation of course was very simple. Alan Helbeck had been living
upon his house, as upon any other capital. Or rather he had been making
alms of it. The house stood gashed and bare that Catholic orphans might
be put to school--was that it? Laura hardly listened to Augustina's
plaintive babble as they crossed the hall. It was all about Alan, of
course--Alan's virtues, Alan's charities. As for the orphans, the girl
hated the thought of them. Grasping little wretches! She could see them
all in a sanctimonious row, their eyes cast up, and rosaries--like the
one Augustina was always trying to hide from her--in their ugly little
hands.

They turned down a long stone passage leading to the chapel. As they
neared the chapel door there was a sound of voices from the hall at their
back.

"It's Alan," said Augustina peering, "and Father Bowles!"

She hurried back to meet them, skirts and cap-strings flying. Laura stood
still.

But after a few words with his sister, Helbeck came up to his guest with
outstretched hand.

"I hope we have not kept you waiting for dinner. May I introduce Father