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"At first, I could not quite see why I fell in love with her so soon, after having escaped the pleasant infliction for so long a time. Now I think I know. Do you remember ever having met me before?" "I have no such recollection." "Did you know some people named Meechamp?" "I knew a family of that name in London. They were parishioners of mine during my short pastorate there, before I became a Catholic." "Then you did meet me before. I was present at your farewell sermon. I was visiting the Meechamps at the time. That sermon made a lifelong impression on me. After hearing it I was worried about my own state of mind, for I had given up the practice of the very religion you were sacrificing your prospects to embrace. I went in to your study to see you that morning." "Ah, now I remember," exclaimed the priest. "So it was you who came to see me?" "Yes; and I have never forgotten your last words to me: 'Remember this: the door we are passing through this morning, going in opposite directions, is never locked.' But let that pass. I want to come quickly to something else. That morning a little girl sat all alone in a pew near your study door. She spoke to me as I came out: 'Is he crying?' she asked. I answered, 'I'm afraid, my dear, that he is.' She bristled at once: 'Did you make him cry?' I had to smile at her tone of proprietorship in you. 'No, my dear,' I said, 'I never make good people cry.' That made us friends. 'Do you love him?' I asked. 'I do. I like you, too, because you think he is good. Those others only worried him.' Father, I haven't quoted her exact words, of course, but the substance. I kissed her. The last I saw of your church in London included that little girl. I looked back from the door as I was going out; she was kneeling on the pew seat waving her hand after me. I never forgot the face--nor the kiss. Now I know I have met her again--a woman. Quite by accident I saw, at Killimaga, a picture of you and that little girl taken years ago in London together. Both have changed; it was only last night that memory proved true and the faces in the picture identified themselves. Do you understand now?" "I do," said Father Murray. "It is a remarkable story. I wonder if Ruth remembers you. She told me all about the 'nice young gentleman' when I came out of the study to take her home." "Then you knew her family well?" "Her mother was my sister." "Your sister!" "
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