tablecloths, and handled knives and forks (the humble servants of
half-filled stomachs) without a speck on their decent brightness.
Penitents who kissed the steps of the altar (to use the expressive
Oriental phrase), "eat no dirt." Friends, liberal friends, permitted to
visit the inmates on stated days, saw copies of famous Holy Families in
the reception-room which were really works of Art; and trod on a carpet
of studiously modest pretensions, exhibiting pious emblems beyond
reproach in color and design. The Retreat had its own artesian well; not
a person in the house drank impurity in his water. A faint perfume of
incense was perceptible in the corridors. The soothing and mysterious
silence of the place was intensified rather than disturbed by soft
footsteps, and gentle opening and closing of doors. Animal life was
not even represented by a cat in the kitchen. And yet, pervaded by some
inscrutable influence, the house was not dull. Heretics, with lively
imaginations, might have not inappropriately likened it to an enchanted
castle. In one word, the Catholic system here showed to perfection
its masterly knowledge of the weakness of human nature, and its
inexhaustible dexterity in adapting the means to the end.

On the morning when Mrs. Eyrecourt and her daughter held their memorable
interview by the fireside at Ten Acres, Father Benwell entered one of
the private rooms at The Retreat, devoted to the use of the priesthood.
The demure attendant, waiting humbly for instructions, was sent
to request the presence of one of the inmates of the house, named
Mortleman.

Father Benwell's customary serenity was a little ruffled, on this
occasion, by an appearance of anxiety. More than once he looked
impatiently toward the door, and he never even noticed the last new
devotional publications laid invitingly on the table.