as soon as
I can get a photograph of the abbey I will send it.

'Yours very sincerely,

'OLIVER GOGARTY.'

'Now, what will Father O'Grady answer to all this?' he said under his
breath as he folded up his letter. 'A worthy soul, an excellent soul,
there's no doubt about that.' And he began to feel sorry for Father
O'Grady. But his sorrow was suddenly suspended. If he went to London he
wouldn't be likely to see her. 'Another change,' he said; 'things are
never the same for long. A week ago I knew where she was; I could see
her in her surroundings. Berkshire is not very far from London. But who
is Mr. Poole?' And he sat thinking.

A few days after he picked up a letter from his table from Father
O'Grady, a long garrulous letter, four pages about Kilronan Abbey, Irish
London, convent schools--topics interesting enough in themselves, but
lacking in immediate interest. The letter contained only three lines
about her. That Mr. Poole explained everything to her, and that she
liked her work. The letter dropped from his hand; the hand that had held
the letter fell upon his knee, and Father Oliver sat looking through the
room. Awaking suddenly, he tried to remember what he had been thinking
about, for he had been thinking a long while; but he could not recall
his thoughts, and went to his writing-table and began a long letter
telling Father O'Grady about Kilronan Abbey and enclosing photographs.
And then, feeling compelled to bring himself into as complete union as
possible with his correspondent, he sat, pen in hand, uncertain if he
should speak of Nora at all. The temptation was by him, and he found
excuse in the thought that after all she was the link; without her he
would not have known Father O'Grady. And so convinced was he of this
that when he mentioned her he did so on account of a supposed obligation
to sympathize once again with Father O'Grady's loss of his organist.
His letter rambled on about the Masses Nora used to play best and the
pieces she used to sing.

A few days after he caught sight of her handwriting on his
breakfast-table, and he sat reading the letter, to Catherine's
annoyance, who said the rashers were getting cold.

_From Miss Nora Glynn to Father Oliver Gogarty._

'BEECHWOOD HALL, BERKSHIRE,

'_July_ 20, 19--.

'DEAR FATHER GOGARTY,

'One is not always in a mood to give credit to others for good
intentions, especially when one returns home at the close of day
disappointed, and I wrote a