When morning came, and she looked in her glass, it showed her a very wan, white face, with dark rings round the eyes, and a piteous curve about the lips—a face changed indeed from that which, if not beautiful, had given joy to many, and had hitherto been thought a sweet face by those who loved and knew it best. [Illustration] CHAPTER VIII. THE FIRST OF BRENTWOOD. ‘I found myself in a richly adorned temple, in which incense was burning, where lights were twinkling above the altar, and where the music was such as to ravish away my very senses. And as I fell upon my knees, the choir, which from its sweetness I could have thought celestial, repeated many times in moving accents, the wish of my heart—so that it became verily a prayer—and I poured out my soul in unison—_dona nobis pacem_.’ THE following day was Sunday, and on the arrival of the letters, Jerome found two for himself, one bearing the Elberthal post-mark, the sight of which made his heart beat. The other was directed in a hand he did not know, but turning it over, he saw printed on the flap of the envelope ‘Brentwood.’ ‘It must be from Somerville, of course,’ he thought, opening it quickly, and his conjecture was right. ‘MY DEAR MR. WELLFIELD, ‘Will you, if you have no other engagement, and if the evening is fine, come up to Brentwood to the evening service? I should like to present you to the Superior, and we shall be happy if you will remain and sup with us. ‘Sincerely yours, ‘PABLO SOMERVILLE.’ This invitation gave him a sense of relief, inexplicable, but strong. With Father Somerville he felt entirely at his ease; felt that he was understood, was not taken to be a hero, or anything else that he really was not. Here, at the Abbey, he had the very opposite sensation. He knew that he was looked upon in the light of an unusual and remarkable phenomenon. He knew, for he had a keen, sympathetic intuition in such matters, that Mr. Bolton treated him with a respect he was not wont to show to strangers—especially penniless ones—that even Miss Shuttleworth’s pointed and elaborate incivility arose chiefly from a feeling she had that he was dangerous. John Leyburn alone appeared to preserve his natural, deliberate, unembarrassed manner.