"I suppose he will go next month; he will offer his resignation here to-morrow at the vestry meeting." "Then will begin the strife of tongues," said Missy, with a shudder. "I suppose he will think it his duty to tell these ten solid gentlemen 'with good capon lined,' fresh from their comfortable dinners, why he goes away." "Assuredly not, Missy. St. John is not Quixotic. He has good quiet sense." "He had, mamma. Excuse me. Well, if I may hear it, where is he going, and is it to be unequivocally forever--and--I hope he remains in our own communion? I don't know whether I ought to ask for such low details or not, but I cannot help a certain interest in them. I suppose an ecstasy has no body; but a resolution may have." "Surely, Missy, you will not say things like these to St. John? Save your taunts for me. It would wound him cruelly, and he would not know, as I do, that they spring from your suffering and deep love to him." "Truly, mamma, you are too tender of the feelings of your ascetic. If I wound him, that is a part of what he has undertaken; that is what he ought to be prepared for, and to ask for. You can't put yourself between him and his scourge. Think of it! how the lash will come down on his white flesh; and St. John has always been a little tender of his flesh, mamma. Well--is he Roman or Anglican? For I confess I feel I do not know my brother. Please translate him to me." "I don't know why, having seen no wavering in his faith, you should insult him by supposing he has any intention to forsake it. But let us end this conversation, Missy. I feel too ill to talk further to-night, beyond telling you he hopes to enter an order in England, and that he will be gone, in any event, two years. After that, it is all uncertain. If he is received, he is under obedience. He may be sent to America; he may end his days in India. We may see him often, or we may see him never. It is all quite one to him, I think, and I pray he may not even have a wish." Mrs. Varian ceased speaking, and lay back on her sofa quite white and exhausted. "I suppose I'd better not keep you awake any longer, then," said Missy, rising. "Is there anything I can do for you? Call me if you need me. Good-night." She stooped over her mother and kissed her lightly. She would not touch her hand, for fear she should show how cold hers was, and how it trembled. She went across the room to see if the windows were closed, and then to the fire to see that it was safe to leave for the night, and with another word or two, went out and shut the door. A tempest of remorse for her unkindness came over her when she was alone in her own room. She knew what her mother was suffering, had suffered, and though she reproached her for having influenced her brother's decision, she reproached herself for having added one pang to her already too great sorrow. She had, indeed, cruelly wounded her, and left her to the long night watches without a word of repentance.