Mrs. Fountain felt the burning of a strange jealousy. Her vanity and her
heart were alike sore. She remembered how she had trembled before Alan in
his strict youth--how she had apostatised even, merely to escape the
demands which the intensity of Alan's faith made on all about him. And
now this little chit of twenty, her own stepdaughter, might do and say
what she pleased. She would be mistress of Alan, and of the old house.
Alan's sister might creep into a corner, and pray!--that was enough for
her.

And yet she loved Laura, and clung to her! She felt the humiliation of
her secret troubles and envies. Her only comfort lay in her recovered
faith; in the rosary to which her hands turned perpetually; in her
fortnightly confession; in her visits to the sacrament. The great
Catholic tradition beat through her meagre life, as the whole Atlantic
may run pulsing through a drifting weed.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, near the entrance gate of the park, on a wooded knoll that
overlooked the park wall and commanded the road beyond, Laura Fountain
was sitting with the dogs--waiting for Helbeck.

He had been at Whinthorpe all day, on some business in which she was
specially interested. The Romney lady was not yet sold. During May and
June, Laura had often wondered why she still lingered on the wall. An
offer had actually been made--so Augustina said. And there was pressing
need for the money that it represented--that, every sojourner in
Bannisdale must know. And yet, there still she hung.

Then, with the first day of her engagement, Laura knew why. "You saved