had determined to speak to her mother on this (for her) all-important subject—­the conformity of her outer life to her inner life.  The power to prevail upon herself to do what she thought wrong merely because she did not wish to wound other people’s feelings was dying in her.  Sooner or later she would have to break away; and as the hour approached when they should go to Mass to meet Captain Hibbert, the desire to be allowed to stay away became almost irresistible; and at the last moment it was only a foolish fear that such a declaration might interfere with her sister’s prospects that stayed the words as they rose to her lips.  She picked up her gloves, and a moment after found herself in the brougham—­packed into it, watching the expressionless church-going faces of her family.

From afar the clanging of a high-swinging bell was heard, and the harsh reverberations, travelling over the rocky town-lands, summoned the cottagers to God.  The peasants stepped aside to let the carriage pass.  Peasants and landlords were going to worship in the same chapel, but it would seem from the proclamations pasted on the gate-posts that the house of prayer had gone over into the possession of the tenantry.

‘Now, Arthur—­do you hear?—­you mustn’t look at those horrid papers!’ Mrs. Barton whispered to her husband.  ’We must pretend not to see them.  I wonder how Father Shannon can allow such a thing, making the house of God into—­into I don’t know what, for the purpose of preaching robbery and murder.  Just look at the country-people—­how sour and wicked they look!  Don’t they, Alice?’

‘Goodness me!’ said Olive, ’who in the world can those people be in our pew?’

Mrs. Barton trembled a little.  Had the peasants seized the religious possessions of their oppressors?  Dismissing the suspicion, she examined the backs indicated by Olive.

’Why, my dear, it is the Goulds; what can have brought them all this way?’

The expected boredom of the service was forgotten, and Olive shook hands warmly with Mrs. Gould and May.

‘Why, you must have driven fifteen miles; where are your horses?’

’We took the liberty of sending the carriage on to Brookfield, and we are coming on to lunch with you—­that is to say, if you will let us?’ cried May.

‘Of course, of course; but how nice of you!’

’Oh! we have such news; but it was courageous of us to come all this way.  Have you seen those terrible proclamations?’

’Indeed we have.  Just fancy a priest allowing his chapel to be turned into a political—­political what shall I call it?’

‘Bear-garden,’ suggested May.

’And Father Shannon is going to take the chair at the meeting; he wouldn’t get his dues if he didn’t.’

’Hush, hush! they may hear you; but you were saying something about news.’

‘Oh! don’t ask me,’ said Mrs. Gould; ‘that’s May’s affair—­such work!’

‘Say quickly! what is it, May?’