had to leave off fighting or go without food altogether.  A great strange bird rose out of the bushes, and flew away in slow, heavy flight.  Monsignor thought it was a woodcock; and there were birds whose names no one knew, migrating birds come from thousands of miles, from regions where the snow lies for months upon the ground; and Evelyn and the prelate and the nuns watched them all until the frosty air reminded the prelate that loitering was dangerous.  Sister Mary John walked on ahead, feeding the birds, forgetful of Monsignor and Evelyn; a nun saying her rosary stopped to speak to the Prioress; Evelyn and Monsignor went on alone, and when they came towards St. Peter’s Walk no one was there, and the moment had come, Evelyn felt, to speak of her project to return to the stage in order to redeem the convent from debt.

“You didn’t answer me, Monsignor, when I said that I would have to consult you regarding my return to the stage.”

“Well, my dear child, the question whether you should go back to the stage couldn’t be discussed in the presence of the nuns.  Your motives I appreciate; I need hardly say that.  But for your own personal safety I am concerned.  I won’t attempt to hide my anxiety from you.”

“But it is possible to remain on the stage and lead a virtuous life.”

“You have told me yourself that such a thing isn’t possible; from your own mouth I have it.”

Evelyn did not answer, but stood looking at the prelate, biting her lips, annoyed, finding herself in a dilemma.

“The motive is everything, Monsignor.  I was speaking then of the stage as a vanity, as a glorification of self.”

“The motive is different, but the temptations remain the same.”

“I’m afraid I can’t agree with you.  The temptation is in oneself, not in the stage, and when oneself has changed... and then many things have happened.”

“You are reconciled to the Church, it is true, and have received the Sacraments—­”

“More than that, Monsignor, more than that.”  But it was a long time before he could persuade her to tell him.  “You don’t believe in miracles?”

“My dear child, my dear child!”

After that it was impossible to keep herself from speaking, and she told how, at Thornton Grange, in the middle of the night, she had heard the nuns singing the Veni Creator.

“The nuns told me, Monsignor, their prayers would save me, and they were right.”

“But you aren’t sure whether you were dreaming or waking.”

“But my experience was shared by Sir Owen Asher, who told me next morning that he had thought of coming to my room and was restrained.”

“Did he say that he, too, heard voices?”

She had to admit that Owen had not said that he had heard voices, only that a restraint had been put upon him.

“The restraint need not have been a miraculous one.”

“You think he didn’t want to come to see me?  I beg your pardon, Monsignor.”