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God bless and prosper you! Good-by!"
In spite of his fortitude, the tears rose in his eyes. He hurried out of
the room.
Romayne sat down at his writing-table, and hid his face in his hands.
He had entered the room with the bright image of Stella in his mind.
The image had faded from it now--the grief that was in him not even the
beloved woman could share. His thoughts were wholly with the brave
and patient Christian who had left him--the true man, whose spotless
integrity no evil influence could corrupt. By what inscrutable fatality
do some men find their way into spheres that are unworthy of them? Oh,
Penrose, if the priests of your Order were all like you, how easily I
should be converted! These were Romayne's thoughts, in the stillness of
the first hours of the morning. The books of which his lost friend had
spoken were close by him on the table. He opened one of them, and turned
to a page marked by pencil lines. His sensitive nature was troubled to
its inmost depths. The confession of that Faith which had upheld Penrose
was before him in words.


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