Suddenly he felt ashamed of himself, and proud memories began to flash through his brain. He saw himself half-clothed galloping across the prairie, on his wild Arab; he heard the sounds of mad revelry round the camp fires at night, his own laugh, that of his drunken comrades, and he scented the mud vapour rising from the rushing leviathan rivers which he had forded many a time on his horse's back. A very different motto had ruled that merry, devil-may-care life. Then, "Repent nothing" had been written in sunbeams on his heart. "Repent nothing!" had cried the voice of the tempest and the laughter of his mistresses, and everything that had language. But now? The autumn wind moaned against the leaden casements of the church windows. It made a sort of plaintive, whimpering melody--almost like the whimper of a penitent soul; and when a faint ray of sunshine found its way into the gloomy edifice, it pointed at once a didactic finger at the words which held out hopes of a churchyard solace-- "Peace be with you." He stretched his limbs and leaned back, and as he did so he heard behind him, scarcely a foot from his ear, a low, soft, bitter weeping; such weeping as comes only from the heart of little children or love-sick women. He shuddered. A wave of stupid pity, which made him vexed with himself, passed over him and seemed to soften him towards her. In another moment he would have turned round to whisper a word of comfort. But then Ulrich's voice was heard saying, in affectionate remonstrance, "Pull yourself together, dear child." And at the sound Leo became frozen again. But the sobbing continued. Tender and ingratiating, like an oft-repeated question, it got on his nerves and penetrated to his soul. "Oh, that I might be left in peace," a voice within him cried. "Alone with my God." But the woman was there, and there she would stay, sucking from his heart with her sobs all his calmness and strength of purpose. "Leo!" his mother whispered warningly in his ear. "What is it?" "Stand up. It's the bidding prayer." He dragged himself on to his feet. The voice of the superintendent came from the chancel in a subdued sing-song-- "Jesus, Bread of Life, grant that we come to this Thy table not in vain, or to the injury of our soul." "Let us hope so," thought Leo; and a desperate doubt as to his own worthiness shot sharply through him. The first service was over, and the stream of worshippers moved towards the doors--only the communicants stayed in their places. Felicitas kept her head buried in her prayer-book, but the rebellious little rings of gold hair on her forehead could be seen glittering through her crape veil. Ulrich seemed to be lost in deepest meditation. Then, as he met Leo's glance, his face cleared. He blinked twice with his short, tired lids, and infinite affection and confidence radiated from beneath them.