"After three months at Odessa--where I read Tolstoi and Dostoievski and found in them, ah, such profundities of the human soul lighted up--against my instinct I went north again; the Germans were advancing upon Warsaw, and circumstances brought me here. On the way, at Jassy, an extraordinary thing happened. I met a girl whom I had tried to adopt six years ago at Granada, but who was taken from me by a blackguard and who since then has what people call sunk very low. It seemed to me that in finding this child again, for she is still really a child, I was being given an opportunity of doing what I had failed to do for that first girl of whom I told you. Then suddenly I conceived the idea that she had never been baptized; when I began to think about her soul, I was driven by an unknown force to this church. When I came in I did not know what to do, and when you asked me if I wanted to make my confession the force seemed to say 'Yes.'" Sylvia was silent, and the priest finished the _Confiteor_, which she repeated after him. "My daughter," he said, "it is the grace of God. I do not feel that in this solemn moment--a moment that fills me as a priest with humility at being allowed to regard such a wonderful manifestation of God's infinite mercy--any poor words of mine can add anything. It is the grace of God: let that suffice. But, wonderful as has been God's mercy to a soul that was deaf so long to His voice, do not forget that your greatest danger, your greatest temptation, may be to rely too much upon yourself. Do not forget at this solemn moment that you can only enjoy this divine grace through the Sacraments. Do not forget that only in the Church can you preserve the new sense of security that you now feel. One who has been granted such mercy must expect harder struggles than less fortunate souls. Do not, by falling back into indifference and neglect of your religious duties, succumb to the sin of pride. By the height of your uplifting will be measured the depth of your fall, if in your pride you think to stand alone." When the priest had given her absolution, Sylvia asked him about Queenie; and when he seemed a little doubtful of Queenie's willingness to be a catechumen, she wondered if he were deliberately trying to discourage her in order to mortify that pride he had seemed to fear so much. "But if she wants to be baptized?" Sylvia persisted. "Of course I will baptize her." "You think that I'm too much occupied with her when I have still so much to learn myself?" she challenged. They were walking down the church toward the door, and Sylvia felt rather like the importunate parishioner whom she had interrupted by her entrance. "No, no, I think you are quite right. But I fear that you will expect miracles of God's grace all round you," said the priest. "What has happened to you may not happen to her." "But it must," Sylvia declared. "It shall." The priest shook his head, and there was a smile at the back of his eyes. "If you fail?"