all in one, coursing in the blood of a young and kingly race.

"You wish not to convince others, but to be convinced," Bernard said,
"and yet it is not in your nature to yield yourself to any conviction.
What would you of me? I can preach to them that will hear me, not to
those that come to watch me and to smile at my sayings as if I were a
player in a booth at a fair. Why do you come here to-night? Can I give
you faith as a salve, wherewith to anoint your blind eyes? Can I
furnish you the girdle of honesty for the virtue you have not? Shall I
promise repentance for you to God, while you smile on your next lover?
Why have you sought me out?"

"If I had known that you had no leisure, and the Church no room for any
but the altogether perfect, I would not have come."

She leaned back in the window-seat and folded her arms, drawing the
thin dark stuff of her cloak into severe straight lines and shadows, in
vivid contrast with the radiant beauty of her face. Her straight and
clear-cut brows lowered over her deep eyes, and her lips were as hard
as polished coral.

Bernard looked at her again long and earnestly, understanding in part,
and in part guessing, that she had suffered a secret disappointment on
that day and had come to him rather in the hope of some kind of mental
excitement than with any idea of obtaining consolation. To him, filled
as he was with the lofty thoughts inspired by the mission thrust upon
him, there was something horrible in the woman's frivolity--or
cynicism. To him the Cross meant the Passion of Christ, the shedding of
God's blood, the Redemption of mankind. To her it was a badge, an
ornament, the excuse for a luxurious pilgrimage of fair women living