The priest observed with cold attention her darkly-beautiful eyes
and hair, her quickly-changing color, her modest grace of

movement. Slowly, and in evidentagitation, she advanced to the
door of the picture gallery--and paused, as if she was afraid to

open it. Father Benwell heard her sigh to herself softly, "Oh,
how shall I meet him?" She turned aside to the looking-glass over

the fire-place. The reflection of her charming face seemed to
rouse her courage. She retraced her steps, and timidly opened the

door. Lord Loring must have been close by at the moment. His
voice immediately made itself heard in the library.

"Come in, Stella--come in! Here is a new picture for you to see;
and a friend whom I want to present to you, who must be your

friend too--Mr. Lewis Romayne."
The door was closed again. Father Benwell stood still as a statue

in the recess, with his head down, deep in thought. After a while
he roused himself, and rapidly returned to the writing table.

With a roughness strangelyunlike his customarydeliberation of
movement, he snatched a sheet of paper out of the case, and

frowning heavily, wrote these lines on it:-- "Since my letter was
sealed, I have made a discovery which must be communicated

without the loss of a post. I greatly fear there may be a woman
in our way. Trust me to combat this obstacle as I have combated

other obstacles. In the meantime, the work goes on. Penrose has
received his first instructions, and has to-day been presented to

Romayne."
He addressed this letter to Rome, as he had addressed the letter

preceding it. "Now for the woman!" he said to himself--and opened
the door of the picture gallery.

CHAPTER IV.
FATHER BENWELL HITS.

ART has its trials as well as its triumphs. It is powerless to
assert itself against the sordid interests of everyday life. The

greatest book ever written, the finest picture ever painted,
appeals in vain to minds preoccupied by selfish and secret cares.

On entering Lord Loring's gallery, Father Benwell found but one
person who was not looking at the pictures under false pretenses.

Innocent of all suspicion of the conflicting interests whose
struggle now centered in himself, Romayne was carefully studying

the picture which had been made the pretext for inviting him to
the house. He had bowed to Stella, with a tranquiladmiration of

her beauty; he had shaken hands with Penrose, and had said some
kind words to his future secretary--and then he had turned to the

picture, as if Stella and Penrose had ceased from that moment to
occupy his mind.

"In your place," he said quietly to Lord Loring, "I should not
buy this work."

"Why not?"
"It seems to me to have the serious defect of the modern English

school of painting. A total want of thought in the rendering of
the subject, disguised under dexterous technical tricks of the

brush. When you have seen one of that man's pictures, you have
seen all. He manufactures--he doesn't paint."

Father Benwell came in while Romayne was speaking. He went
through the ceremonies of introduction to the master of Vange

Abbey with perfect politeness, but a little absently. His mind
was bent on putting his suspicion of Stella to the test of

confirmation. Not waiting to be presented, he turned to her with
the air of fatherly interest and chastened admiration which he

well knew how to assume in his intercourse with women.
"May I ask if you agree with Mr. Romayne's estimate of the

picture?" he said, in his gentlest tones.
She had heard of him, and of his position in the house. It was

quite needless for Lady Loring to whisper to her, "Father
Benwell, my

dear!" Her antipathy identified him as readily as her sympathy
might have identified a man who had produced a favorable

impression on her. "I have no pretension to be a critic," she
answered, with frigid politeness. "I only know what I personally

like or dislike."
The reply exactly answered Father Benwell's purpose. It diverted

Romayne's attention from the picture to Stella. The priest had
secured his opportunity of reading their faces while they were

looking at each other.
"I think you have just stated the true motive for all criticism,"

Romayne said to Stella. "Whether we only express our opinions of
pictures or books in the course of conversation or whether we

assert them at full length, with all the authority of print, we
are really speaking, in either case, of what personally pleases

or repels us. My poor opinion of that picture means that it says
nothing to Me. Does it say anything to You?"

He smiled gently as he put the question to her, but there was no
betrayal of emotion in his eyes or in his voice. Relieved of

anxiety, so far as Romayne was concerned, Father Benwell looked
at Stella.

Steadily as she controlled herself, the confession of her heart's
secret found its way into her face. The coldly composed

expression which had confronted the priest when she spoke to him,
melted away softly under the influence of Romayne's voice and

Romayne's look. Without any positive change of color, her
delicate skin glowed faintly, as if it felt some animating inner

warmth. Her eyes and lips brightened with a new vitality; her
frail elegant figure seemed insensibly to strengthen and expand,

like the leaf of a flower under a favoring sunny air. When she
answered Romayne (agreeing with him, it is needless to say),

there was a tender persuasiveness in her tones, shyly inviting
him still to speak to her and still to look at her, which would

in itself have told Father Benwell the truth, even if he had not
been in a position to see her face. Confirmed in his doubts of

her, he looked, with concealed suspicion, at Lady Loring next.
Sympathy with Stella was undisguisedly expressed to him in the

honest blue eyes of Stella's faithful friend.
The discussion on the subject of the unfortunate picture was

resumed by Lord Loring, who thought the opinions of Romayne and
Stella needlessly severe. Lady Loring, as usual, agreed with her

husband. While the general attention was occupied in this way,
Father Benwell said a word to Penrose--thus far, a silent

listener to the discourse on Art.
"Have you seen the famous portrait of the first Lady Loring, by

Gainsborough?" he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he took
Penrose by the arm, and led him away to the picture--which had

the additional merit, under present circumstances, of hanging at
the other end of the gallery.

"How do you like Romayne?" Father Benwell put the question in low
peremptory tones, evidently impatient for a reply.

"He interests me already," said Penrose. "He looks so ill and so
sad, and he spoke to me so kindly--"

"In short," Father Benwell interposed, "Romayne has produced a
favorableimpression on you. Let us get on to the next thing. You

must produce a favorableimpression on Romayne."
Penrose sighed. "With the best will to make myself agreeable to

people whom I like," he said, "I don't always succeed. They used
to tell me at Oxford that I was shy--and I am afraid that is

against me. I wish I possessed some of your social advantages,
Father!"

"Leave it to me, son! Are they still talking about the picture?"
"Yes."

"I have something more to say to you. Have you noticed the young
lady?"

"I thought her beautiful--but she looks a little cold."
Father Benwell smiled. "When you are as old as I am," he said,

"you will not believe in appearances where women are concerned.
Do you know what I think of her? Beautiful, if you like--and