She nodded. Involuntarily she began a little angry beating with her foot that he knew well. It was always the protest of her pride, when she could not prevent the tears from showing themselves. He controlled himself. He turned his chair so as to come within an easy talking distance. "Will you pardon me," he said quietly, "if I ask for more information? Did you only determine on this last night?" "I think so." He hesitated. "It is a serious step, Miss Fountain! You should not take it only from pity for Augustina--only from a wish to give her comfort in dying!" She turned away her face a little. That penetrating look pierced too deeply. "Are there not many motives?" she said, rather hoarsely--"many ways? I want to give Augustina a happiness--and--and to satisfy many questions of my own. Father Leadham is bound to teach, is he not, as a priest? He could lose nothing by it." "Certainly he is bound," said Helbeck. He dropped his head, and stared at the carpet, thinking. "He would recommend you some books, of course." The same remembrance flew through both. Absently and involuntarily, Helbeck shook his head, with a sad lifting of the eyebrows. The colour rushed into Laura's cheeks. "It must be something very simple," she said hurriedly. "Not 'Lives of the Saints,' I think, and not 'Catechisms' or 'Outlines.' Just a building up from the beginning by somebody--who found it hard, _very_ hard, to believe--and yet did believe. But Father Leadham will know--of course he would know." Helbeck was silent. It suddenly appeared to him the strangest, the most incredible conversation. He felt the rise of a mad emotion--the beating in his breast choked him. Laura rose, and he heard her say in low and wavering tones: "Then I will write to him to-morrow--if you think I may." He sprang to his feet, and as she passed him the fountains of his being broke up. With a wild gesture he caught her in his arms. "Laura!" It was not the cry of his first love for her. It was a cry under which she shuddered. But she submitted at once. Nay, with a womanly tenderness--how unlike that old shrinking Laura--she threw her arm round his neck, she buried her little head in his breast. "Oh, how long you were in understanding!" she said with a deep sigh. "How long!" "Laura!--what does it mean?--my head turns!" "It means--it means--that you shall never--never again speak to me as you did yesterday; that either you must love me or--well, I must just die!" she gave a little sharp sobbing laugh. "I have tried other things--and they can't--they can't be borne. And if you can't love me unless I am a Catholic--now, I know you wouldn't--I must just _be_ a Catholic--if any power in the world can make me one. Why, Father Leadham can persuade me--he must!" She drew away from him, holding him, almost fiercely, by her two small hands. "I am nothing but an ignorant, foolish girl. And he has persuaded so many wise people--you have often told me. Oh, he must--he must persuade me!"