A face rose out of the gulf beneath her.  She could not distinguish whether it was the face of man or woman; it was an idea rather than a face.  The ears were turned to her for her to take the earrings, the throat was deeply curved, the lips were large and rose-red, the eyes were nearly closed, and the hair was curled close over a straight, low forehead.  The face rose up to hers.  She looked into the subtle eyes, and the thrill of the lips, just touching hers, awakened a sense of sin, and her eyes when they opened were frightened and weary.  And as she sat up in her bed, trembling, striving vainly to separate the real from the unreal, she saw the star still shining.  She hid her face in the pillow, and was only calmed by the thought that it was watching her.

She went into the garden every evening to see it rise, and a desire of worship grew up in her heart; and thinking of the daffodils, it occurred to her to lay these flowers on the wall as an offering.  Even wilder thoughts passed through her brain; she could not keep them back, and more than once asked herself if she were giving way to an idolatrous intention.  If so, she would have to tell the foolish story to her confessor.  But she could hardly bring herself to tell him such nonsense....  If she didn’t, the omission might make her confession a false one; and she was so much perplexed that it seemed to her as if the devil took the opportunity to insinuate that she might put off going to confession.  This decided her.  She resolved to combat the Evil One.  To-day was Thursday.  She would confess on Saturday, and go to Communion on Sunday.

Till quite lately her confessor had been Father Knight—­a tall, spare, thin-lipped, aristocratic ecclesiastic, in whom Evelyn had expected to find a romantic personality.  She had looked forward to thrilling confessions, but had been disappointed.  The romance his appearance suggested was not borne out; he seemed unable to take that special interest in her which she desired; her confessions were barren of spiritual adventure, and after some hesitations her choice dropped upon Father Railston.  In this selection the law of contrast played an important part.  The men were very opposites.  One walked erect and tall, with measured gait; the other walked according to the impulse of the moment, wearing his biretta either on one side of the head or the other.  One was reserved; the other voluble in speech.  One was of handsome and regular features; the other’s face was plain but expressive.  Evelyn had grown interested in Father Railston’s dark, melancholy eyes; and his voice was a human voice vibrant with the terror and suffering of life.  In listening to her sins he seemed to remember his own.  She had accused herself of impatience at the circumstances which kept her at home, of even nourishing, she would not say projects, but thoughts, of escape.

“Then, my child, are you so anxious to change your present life for that of the stage?”