"I am afraid, Mr. Philip, that he wears his soul without grace," said Patient, determinately. "If he were such another as his grandsire, I would wish no better than to see you in his company. But I am sore afraid that he draws you off, Sir, to places where you should not go." "He never draws me off, Reverend Mother, to any place where I don't choose to go, I assure you. He would find that a hard matter." "The case is scarce bettered by that, Mr. Philip," replied Patient, mournfully. "Nay, rather worsened, I'm thinking. O Mr. Philip! bear with me, Sir, for I have sobbed many a prayer over your cradle, and many a wrestle have I had with the Lord for a blessing on your soul. You little ken, Sir, how even now, whenever I see you go out with that Mr. Colville, I lay the case before the Lord at once. I could not rest else." "My dear old darling!" said Philip, smiling, and very affectionately, "I wish you did not look at me through such very black spectacles. There are better men than I am--many a one; but I hope there are a few worse." "That won't satisfy me, Sir," answered Patient. "I would have Sir Edward and you the two best men in the world." "And we are not!--at least I am not; I am not sure that Ned is not. What a pity!" "Ay, Mr. Philip, a bitterer pity than you'll ken till you come to stand before God. I have watched you for years, Sir, like a mother her babe, trusting to see you quietened and calmed by grace: and to-night you seem to me lighter and gayer than ever. 'Tis no manner of use--no manner of use. 'I have labored in vain; I have spent my strength for nought.'"[22] "Dear Patient," said Celia, as the door closed on Philip, "have you forgotten that verse we read last Sunday--'Though Israel be not gathered, yet shall I be glorious in the eyes of the Lord, and my God shall be my strength.'[23] It comes, you know, just after the text you repeated." "Ou ay, Mrs. Celia," answered Patient, dropping into Scotch, as was usual with her when deeply stirred,--"ou ay, I mind that word. But it was the gathering I wanted, Madam--it was the gathering!" Back in Paris, and once more attired in full court costume, Celia somewhat sadly joined her step-mother. This visit to the Tuileries was even more distasteful to her than that she had paid at St. Germains. The idea of kneeling to kiss the hand of the man who had ordered the Dragonnades, came, she thought, very near the border of absolute wrong; at the same time, she did not feel so certain of the wrong as to make her resist Lady Ingram's order. Her position was exceedingly disagreeable, since, while she could not be sure that she was doing wrong, she felt very doubtful whether she was doing right. Philip tried to rally her upon her sorrowful face, but his banter fell flat, and he looked puzzled and compassionate. "I am ready, my dear," said Lady Ingram as she came in. "But what a face! Do you think that I am taking you to see an execution?"