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through that. Oh, how monstrous it was, and they could
believe in a God that allowed his creatures to suffer such
a cruel torture! He had never cared for his uncle, and for
two years he had longed every day for his death; but now
he could not overcome the compassion that filled his heart.
What a price it was to pay for being other than the beasts!
They remained in silence broken only once by a low in-
quiry from Mr. Carey.
‘Hasn’t he come yet?’
At last the housekeeper came in softly to say that Mr.
Simmonds was there. He carried a bag in which were his
surplice and his hood. Mrs. Foster brought the communion
plate. Mr. Simmonds shook hands silently with Philip, and
then with professional gravity went to the sick man’s side.
Philip and the maid went out of the room.
Philip walked round the garden all fresh and dewy in
the morning. The birds were singing gaily. The sky was blue,
but the air, salt-laden, was sweet and cool. The roses were
in full bloom. The green of the trees, the green of the lawns,
was eager and brilliant. Philip walked, and as he walked he
thought of the mystery which was proceeding in that bed-
room. It gave him a peculiar emotion. Presently Mrs. Foster
came out to him and said that his uncle wished to see him.
The curate was putting his things back into the black bag.
The sick man turned his head a little and greeted him with
a smile. Philip was astonished, for there was a change in
him, an extraordinary change; his eyes had no longer the
terror-stricken look, and the pinching of his face had gone:
he looked happy and serene.

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