By Ernest Dowson 107
deliberate justiAcation which she pleaded. She was soft, ana
pliable, and even her plea for renunciation contained pretty,
feminine inconsequences ; and it touched Campion strangely.
Argument he could have met with argument; an ardent con-
viction he might have assailed with pleading ; but that note of
appeal in her pathetic young voice, for advice, for sympathy,
disarmed him.
"Yet the world," he protested at last, but halfheartedly, with
a sense of self-imposture: "the world, Marie-Ursule, it has its
disappointments ; but there are compensations."
" I am afraid, afraid," she murmured.
Their eyes alike sought instinctively the Convent of the
Ursulines, white and sequestered in the valley—a visible symbol
of security, of peace, perhaps of happiness.
" Even there they have their bad days : do not doubt it."
" But nothing happens," she said simply; " one day is like
another. They can never be very sad, you know."
They were silent for a time: the girl, shading her eyes with one
small white hand, continued to regard the convent; and Campion
considered her fondly.
"What can I say ? " he exclaimed at last. "What would you
put on me ? Your uncle—he is a priest—surely the most natural
adviser—you know his wishes."
She shook her head. "With him it is different—I am one of
his family—he is not a priest for me. And he considers me a
little girl—and yet I am old enough to marry. Many young
girls have had a vocation before my age. Ah, help me, decide
for me ! " she pleaded ; " you are my
"And a very old friend, Marie-Ursule." He smiled rather
sadly. Last year seemed so long ago, and the word, which he had
almost spoken then, was no longer seasonable. A note in his
voice,