had spoken--that "working of some complete change in his habits of
thought"--had found its way to him at last, after the wife's simple
devotion had failed, through the subtler ministrations of the priest.

Some men, having Father Benwell's object in view, would have taken
instant advantage of the opening offered to them by Romayne's unguarded
enthusiasm. The illustrious Jesuit held fast by the wise maxim which
forbade him to do anything in a hurry.

"No," he said, "your life must not be the life of our dear friend. The
service on which the Church employs Penrose is not the fit service for
you. You have other claims on us."

Romayne looked at his spiritual adviser with a momentary change of
expression--a relapse into the ironical bitterness of the past time.

"Have you forgotten that I am, and can be, only a layman?" he asked.
"What claims can I have, except the common claim of all faithful members
of the Church on the good offices of the priesthood?" He paused for a
moment, and continued with the abruptness of a man struck by a new idea.
"Yes! I have perhaps one small aim of my own--the claim of being allowed
to do my duty."

"In what respect, dear Romayne?"

"Surely you can guess? I am a rich man; I have money lying idle,
which it is my duty (and my privilege) to devote to the charities and
necessities of the Church. And, while I am speaking of this, I must own
that I am a little surprised at your having said nothing to me on the
subject. You have never yet pointed out to me the manner in which I