How often she had pored over them! Now she pored over them again,
twisting her lips, knitting her white brows.

"No adult baptized Protestant ('Am I a Protestant?--I am baptized!') is
considered to be a convert to the Catholic Church until he is received
into the Church according to the prescribed rite ('There!--it's the
broken glass on the wall.--But if one could just slip in--without fuss or
noise?') ... You must apply to a Catholic priest, who will judge of your
dispositions, and of your knowledge of the Catholic faith. He will give
you further instruction, and explain your duties, and how you have to
act. When he is satisfied ('Father Leadham!--satisfied with me!'), you go
to the altar or to the sacristy, or other place convenient for your
reception. The priest who is with you says certain prayers appointed by
the Church; you in the meantime kneel down and pray silently ('I prayed
when papa died.'"--She looked up, her face trembling.--"Else?--Yes
once!--that night when I went in to prayers.) 'You will then read or
repeat aloud after the priest the Profession of Faith, either the Creed
of Pope Pius IV'--(That's--let me see!--that's the Creed of the Council
of Trent; there's a note about it in one of papa's books." She recalled
it, frowning: "I often think that we of the Liberal Tradition have cause
to be thankful that the Tridentine Catholics dug the gulf between them
and the modern world so deep. Otherwise, now that their claws are all
pared, and only the honey and fairy tales remain, there would be no
chance at all for the poor rational life.")

She drew a long breath, taking a momentary pleasure in the strong words,
as they passed through her memory, and then bruised by them.

"The priest will now release you from the ban and censures of the Church,
and will so receive you into the True Fold. If you do not yourself say