The priest did not believe in forcing open the portals to the secret chambers of the human heart. He respected the individual soul and its workings as a part of the divinely organized human. He believed that, in time, Aileen would come to him of her own accord and seek the help she so sorely needed. Meanwhile, he determined to await patiently the fulness of that time. He had waited already six years. * * * * * He was looking over and arranging some large photographs of cathedrals--Cologne, Amiens, Westminster, Mayence, St. Mark's, Chester, and York--and the detail of nave, chancel, and choir. One showed the exquisite sculpture on a flying buttress; another the carving of a choir-stall canopy; a third the figure-crowded facade of a western porch. Here was the famous rose window in the Antwerp transept; the statue of one of the apostles in Naumburg; the nave of Cologne; the conglomerate of chapels about the apse of Mayence; the Angel's Pillar at Strasburg--they were a joy in line and proportion to the eye, in effect and spirit of purpose to the understanding mind, the receptive soul. Father Honore was revelling in the thought of the men's appreciative delight when he should show them these lovely stones--across-the-sea kin to their own quarry granite. His semi-monthly talks with the quarrymen and stone-cutters were assuming, after many years, the proportions of lectures on art and scientific themes. Already many a professor from some far-away university had accepted his invitation to give of his best to the granite men of Maine. Rarely had they found a more fitting or appreciative audience. "How divine!" he murmured to himself, his eyes dwelling lovingly--at the same time his pencil was making notes--on the 'Prentice Pillar in Roslyn Chapel. Then he smiled at the thought of the contrast it offered to his own chapel in the meadows by the lake shore. In that, every stone, as in the making of the Tabernacle of old, had been a free-will offering from the men--each laid in its place by a willing worker; and, because willing, the rough walls were as eloquent of earnest endeavor as the famed 'Prentice Pillar itself. "I'd like to see such a one as this in our chapel!" He was talking to himself as was his way when alone. "I believe Luigi Poggi, if he had kept on in the sheds, would in time have given this a close second." He took up the magnifying glass to examine the curled edges of the stone kale leaves. There was a knock at the door. He hastily placed the photographs in a long box beside the table, and, instead of saying "Come in," stepped to the door and opened it. Aileen stood there. The look in her eyes as she raised them to his, and said in a subdued voice, "Father Honore, can you spare me a little time, all to myself?" gave him hope that the fulness of time was come. "I always have time for you, Aileen; come in. I'll start up the fire a bit; it's growing much colder."