He held out his hand.  Romayne refused to let him go.  “Penrose!” he said, “I can’t match your resignation.  Give me something to look forward to.  I must and will see you again.”

Penrose smiled sadly.  “You know that my career in life depends wholly on my superiors,” he answered.  “But if I am still in England—­and if you have sorrows in the future that I can share and alleviate—­only let me know it.  There is nothing within the compass of my power which I will not do for your sake.  God bless and prosper you!  Good-by!”

In spite of his fortitude, the tears rose in his eyes.  He hurried out of the room.

Romayne sat down at his writing-table, and hid his face in his hands.  He had entered the room with the bright image of Stella in his mind.  The image had faded from it now—­the grief that was in him not even the beloved woman could share.  His thoughts were wholly with the brave and patient Christian who had left him—­the true man, whose spotless integrity no evil influence could corrupt.  By what inscrutable fatality do some men find their way into spheres that are unworthy of them?  Oh, Penrose, if the priests of your Order were all like you, how easily I should be converted!  These were Romayne’s thoughts, in the stillness of the first hours of the morning.  The books of which his lost friend had spoken were close by him on the table.  He opened one of them, and turned to a page marked by pencil lines.  His sensitive nature was troubled to its inmost depths.  The confession of that Faith which had upheld Penrose was before him in words.  The impulse was strong in him to read those words, and think over them again.

He trimmed his lamp, and bent his mind on his book.  While he was still reading, the ball at Lord Loring’s house came to its end.  Stella and Lady Loring were alone together, talking of him, before they retired to their rooms.

“Forgive me for owning it plainly,” said Lady Loring—­“I think you and your mother are a little too ready to suspect Father Benwell without any discoverable cause.  Thousands of people go to Clovelly, and Beaupark House is one of the show-places in the neighborhood.  Is there a little Protestant prejudice in this new idea of yours?”

Stella made no reply; she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

Lady Loring went on.

“I am open to conviction, my dear.  If you will only tell me what interest Father Benwell can have in knowing about you and Winterfield—­”

Stella suddenly looked up.  “Let us speak of another person,” she said; “I own I don’t like Father Benwell.  As you know, Romayne has concealed nothing from me.  Ought I to have any concealments from him? Ought I not to tell him about Winterfield?”

Lady Loring started.  “You astonish me,” she said.  “What right has Romayne to know it?”

“What right have I to keep it a secret from him?”

“My dear Stella! if you had been in any way to blame in that miserable matter, I should be the last person in the world to advise you to keep it a secret.  But you are innocent of all blame.  No man—­not even the man who is soon to be your husband—­has a right to know what you have so unjustly suffered.  Think of the humiliation of even speaking of it to Romayne!”