I heard
him preach upon the young man who came to our Saviour."
"Tell me," she said, looking down at what she could see of his face.
"It was liker an angel than a man," he said quietly. "I could not take
my eyes off him from his first word to the last. And all were the same
that were there."
"Was he eloquent?"
"Aye; you might call it that. But I thought it to be the Spirit of God."
"And it was then you made up your mind to join the Society?"
"There was no rest for me till I did. 'And Christ also went away
sorrowful,' were his last words. And I could not bear to think that."
Marjorie was silent through pure sympathy. This young man spoke a
language she understood better than that which some of her friends
used--Mr. Babington, for instance. It was the Person of Jesus Christ
that was all her religion to her; it was for this that she was devout,
that she went to mass and the sacraments when she could; it was this
that made Mary dear to her. Was He not her son? And, above all, it was
for this that she had sacrificed Robin: she could not bear that he
should not serve Him as a priest, if he might. But the other talk that
she had heard sometimes--of the place of religion in politics, and the
justification of this or that course of public action--well, she knew
that these things must be so; yet it was not the manner of her own most
intimate thought, and the language of it was not hers.
The two went together so a few paces, without speaking.
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