Robin sighed, and turned to the girl, who still sat quiet. But as he
turned she lifted her eyes to him swiftly.
"Good-bye, Mr. Robin," she said.
He pulled himself up.
"You understand, do you not?" she said. "You are to be a priest. You
must remember that always. You are a sort of student already."
She could see him pale a little; his lips tightened. For a moment he
said nothing; he was taken wholly aback.
"Then I am not to come here again?"
Marjorie stood up. She showed no sign of the fierce self-control she was
using.
"Why, yes," she said. "Come as you would come to any Catholic
neighbours. But no more than that.... You are to be a priest."
* * * * *
The spring air was full of softness and sweetness as they stood there.
On the trees behind them and on the roses in front the budding leaves
had burst into delicate green, and the copses on all sides sounded with
the twittering of birds. The whole world, it seemed, was kindling with
love and freshness. Yet these two had to stand here and be cold, one to
the other.... He was to be a priest; that must not be forgotten, and
they must meet no more on the old footing. That was gone. Already he
stood among the Levites, at least in intention; and the Lord alone was
to be the portion of his inheritance and his Cup.
It was a minute before either of them moved, and during that minute the
maid felt her courage ebb from her like an outgoing tide, leaving a
desolation behind.
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