And Evelyn could not find words to express her gratitude.

That evening she sat with her father.  He was busy stringing a lute, and they had not spoken for some time; they often spent quite long whiles without speaking, and only occasionally they raised their eyes to see each other.  The sensation of the other’s presence was sufficient for their happiness.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

It being Saturday, there was choir practice at St. Joseph’s, and when Evelyn returned her father had left, and she breakfasted alone.  After breakfast she sat absorbed in the mysteries of the Sacrament she had received.  But in the middle of her exaltation doubt intervened, and Owen’s arguments flashed through her mind.  She strove to banish them; it was terrible that she should think such things over again, and on the morning of her Communion.  Her spiritual joy was blighted; she could only hope that these dreadful thoughts were temptations of the devil, and that she was in no wise responsible.  She stood in the middle of the room, asking herself if she had not in some slight measure yielded to them.  No direct answer came to her question, but the words, “When I’m a bad woman I believe, when I’m a good woman I doubt,” sounded clear and distinct in her brain, and she remained thinking a long while.

Her father came in after lunch.  And while she spoke about his trebles and his altos, she was thinking how she should tell him that she was going away that afternoon.

“You’re very silent.”

“I was at Holy Communion this morning.”

“This morning?  I thought you were going to Communion on Sunday?”

“Yes, so I was, but I received a letter from Owen Asher saying he intended to see me.  I took it to Monsignor; he said it was necessary that I should not see Owen, and he advised me to go and stay with the Sisters at Wimbledon.  That is why I went to Communion this morning; I wanted Monsignor to give me Communion.  Father, I cannot remain here, I should be sure to meet him.”

“He will not come here.”

“No, but he’ll be waiting in the street.”

“When are you going?”

“This afternoon,” she answered, and handed him Owen’s letter.  He glanced at it, and said—­

“He seems very fond of you.”

The answer shocked her, and nothing more was said on the subject.  A little later she asked him about the trains.  She did not know how she was to get from Dulwich to Wimbledon.  Neither were very apt in looking out the trains, and eventually it was Agnes who discovered the changes that would have to be made.  She would have to go first to Victoria, and then she would have to drive from Victoria to Waterloo, and this seemed so complicated and roundabout that she decided to drive all the way in a hansom.  Dulwich and Wimbledon could not be more than ten miles apart.

“I must go upstairs now, father, and pack my things.”