"
And so Isabel, in a timid peace at last, from her first act of Catholic
faith, fell asleep.
She awoke to find the winter sun streaming into her room, and Mistress
Margaret by her bedside.
"Dear child," said the old lady, "I would not wake you earlier; you have
had such a short night; but James leaves in an hour's time; and it is
just nine o'clock, and I know you wish to see him."
When she came down half an hour later she found Mistress Margaret waiting
for her outside Lady Maxwell's room.
"He is in there," she said. "I will tell Mary"; and she slipped in.
Isabel outside heard the murmur of voices, and in a moment more was
beckoned in by the nun.
James Maxwell was sitting back in a great chair, looking exhausted and
white. His mother, with something of the same look of supreme suffering
and triumph, was standing behind his chair. She smiled gravely and
sweetly at Isabel, as if to encourage her; and went out at the further
door, followed by her sister.
"Mistress Isabel," said the priest, without any introductory words, in
his broken voice, and motioning her to a seat, "I cannot tell you what
joy it was to see you at mass. Is it too much to hope that you will seek
admission presently to the Catholic Church?"
Isabel sat with downcast eyes. His tone was a little startling to her. It
was as courteous as ever, but less courtly: there was just the faintest
ring in it, in spite of its weakness, as of one who spoke with authority.
"I--I thank you, Mr.
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