‘I am,’ he said firmly. ‘I am a practising Catholic. Catholicism with us Poles is partly religion, partly patriotism--do you understand? I go to confession--I am a communicant. And for some time I couldn’t go to Communion at all. I always felt Falloden’s hand on my shoulder, as he was pushing me down the stairs; and I wanted _to kill him_!--just that! You know our Polish blood runs hotter than yours. I didn’t want the college to punish him. Not at all. It was my affair. After I saw you in town, it grew worse--it was an obsession. When we first got to Yorkshire, Sorell and I, and I knew that Falloden was only a few miles away, I never could get quit of it--of the thought that some day--somewhere--I should kill him. I never, if I could help it, crossed a certain boundary line that I had made for myself, between our side of the moor, and the side which belonged to the Fallodens. I couldn’t be sure of myself if I had come upon him unawares. Oh, of course, he would soon have got the better of me--but there would have been a struggle--I should have attacked him--and I might have had a revolver. So for your sake’--he turned to look at her with his hollow blue eyes--‘I kept away. Then, one evening, I quite forgot all about it. I was thinking of the theme for the slow movement in my symphony, and I didn’t notice where I was going. I walked on and on over the hill--and at last I heard a man groaning--and there was Sir Arthur--by the stream. I saw at once that he was dying, and I took a card from his waistcoat pocket, which told me who he was. There I sat, alone with him. He asked me not to leave him. He said something about Douglas. “Poor Douglas!” And when the horrible thing came back--the last time--he just whispered, “Pray!” and I said our Catholic prayers--that our priest had said when my mother died. Then Falloden came--just in time--and instead of wanting to kill him, I waited there, a little way off--and prayed hard for myself and him! Queer, wasn’t it? And afterwards--you know--I saw his mother. Then the next day, I confessed to a dear old priest, who was very kind to me, and on the Sunday he gave me Communion. He said God had been very gracious to me; and I saw what he meant. That very week I had a hæmorrhage, the first I ever had.’ Connie gave a sudden, startled cry. He turned again to smile at her. ‘Didn’t you know? No, I believe no one knew, but Sorell and the doctors. It was nothing. It’s quite healed. But the strange thing was how extraordinarily happy I felt that week. I didn’t hate Falloden any more. It was as though a sharp thorn had gone from one’s mind. It didn’t last long of course, the queer ecstatic feeling. There was always my hand--and I got very low again. But _something_ lasted; and when Falloden said that extraordinary thing--I don’t believe he meant to say it at all!--suggesting we should settle together for the winter--I knew that I must do it. It was a kind of miracle--one thing after another--_driving_ us.’