"_You_ will not venture to make a merit of it," said Helbeck gravely. "For we serve the same ends--only you perceive them more clearly--and follow them more persistently than I." "I have stronger aids--and shall have to answer for more!" said Williams, in a low voice. "And I owe it all to you--my friend and rescuer." "You use a great deal too strong language," said Helbeck, smiling. Williams threw him an uncertain look. The colour mounted in the young man's sickly cheek. He approached the Squire. "Mr. Helbeck--I know from something a common friend told me--that you think--that you have said to others--that my conversion was not your doing. You are mistaken. I should like to tell you the truth. May I?" Helbeck looked uncomfortable, but was not ready enough to stave off the impending confidence. Williams fixed him with eyes now fully lifted, and piercingly bright. "You said little--that is quite true. But it was what you did, what I saw as I worked here beside you week after week that conquered me. Do you remember once rebuking me in anger because I had made some mistake in the chapel work? You were very angry--and I was cut to the heart. That very night you came to me, as I was still working, and asked my pardon--you! Mr. Helbeck of Bannisdale, and I, a boy of sixteen, the son of the wheelwright who mended your farm carts. You made me kneel down beside you on the steps of the sanctuary--and we said the Confiteor together. Don't say you forget it!" Helbeck hesitated, then spoke with evident unwillingness. "You make a great deal of nothing, my dear Edward. I had treated you to one of the Helbeck rages, I suppose--and had the grace to be ashamed of myself." "It made me a Catholic," said the other emphatically, "so I naturally dwell upon it. Next day I stole a 'Garden of the Soul' and a book of meditations from your study. Then, on the pretext of the work, I used to make you tell me or read me the stories of the saints--later, I often used to follow you in the morning when you went to Mass. I watched you day by day, till the sense of something supernatural possessed me. Then you noticed my coming to Mass--you asked Father Bowles to speak to me--you seemed to shrink--or I thought so--from speaking yourself. But it was not Father Bowles--it was not my first teachers at St. Aloysius it was you--who brought me to the faith!" "Well, if so, I thank God. But I think your humility----" "One moment," said the Jesuit hurriedly. "There is something on my mind to say to you--if I might be allowed to say it--if the gratitude, the strong and filial gratitude, which I feel towards you--for that, and much, much else," his voice shook, "might be my excuse----" Helbeck was silent. Laura to her dismay heard the sound of steps. Mr. Williams had walked to the open door of the drawing-room and closed it. What was she to do? Indecision--a wilful passion of curiosity--held her where she was.