He writhed upon the rack. He hated himself for all that he would not allow himself to think. Somehow Father Vassall crept into his mind, sitting in his old arm-chair at the presbytery in his ancient cassock, smoking a cigarette, looking at him with kindly eyes through the smoke. "Concubinage is a regular thing in Spain," said a clear, scholarly voice, with just that suspicion of veiled triumph in it that had goaded the boy to madness in the train. "She has g-g-gentle fingers that nevertheless d-d-draw men to God." Father Vassall had quoted the words once, with his little stammer that somehow did away with all suspicion of effeminacy. The specks of light ceased to dance before Paul's closed eyes. It was as if he was in a very wide room. He grew still. His mind settled down to the great question. Did God really will that men should come to Him that way? What if he took a step forward? "Faith is a step in the dark." In the dark? But this was light! That glare over the footlights, that searching limelight, that had been darkness. In an audible whisper, his face hidden in his hands upon his bed, Paul made his experiment. "Hail Mary" (he whispered) "full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus." Well, but that was merely a confession of faith that he might have made at any time. There was more. Should he dare it? "Holy Mary"--it was like a solemn oath--"Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and in the hour of our death. Amen." Silence, above, about, beneath. A veil of silence. But there was peace in the silence, surely, surely, the peace of God. In the silence, Paul Kestern crept into bed, and believed himself comforted. (4) A few hours before, at Claxted, Madeline Ernest had been sitting alone by the fire, putting a few finishing touches to a blouse. It was a Christmas present for Ethel Cator, and it had to be finished that night. That was the worst of making Christmas presents. In a way it was rather fun, but before you had finished, the days had nearly always all but run out and you had to go on working when you were tired. Madeline was tired, but she wished she could afford to buy presents. Also to buy a few more things for herself--some silk stockings, for example; she put her head on one side to consider that. She looked very pretty as she did so. The lamplight shone on her fair abundant hair and her white skin. Big eyes, too, she had, and lovely lashes. It was a pity there was nobody more appreciative than the old purring tabby by the fire to see her. She dabbed with her needle once or twice, and lifted the shining stuff. Through her pretty head a current of thoughts was flowing inconsequently. Then the door opened, and Mrs. Ernest came in.