him to give up one of the names he suspected
to the law he was determined to uphold.

Anonymous letters came to him, warning, insulting, threatening his
personal safety. More than one advised him to go armed. His board of
vestrymen themselves remonstrated, counseling moderation for fear of
alienating the congregation. His reply became famous throughout the
State.

"Look here!" he cried, his blue eyes suddenly ablaze. "You want me to
shut up, do you? Then behave yourselves, and see that your sons behave
themselves. I'm talking to you, and you, and you--" he pointed direct at
several of his vestrymen. "I want you to understand that I'm a disciple
of peace. And, by God, I'm going to have peace in this parish if I have
to fight for it with my fists!"

Such a man was Philip Benoix, priest, dreamer, idealist, son of a
convicted murderer, lover of the woman who for seventeen years had been
faithful to his father. He believed his great devotion a secret.
Probably the only person within twenty miles who had not guessed it long
ago was Kate Kildare herself....

Some Sundays after his father's release from prison, Philip, striding
across the rectory garden in gown and cassock, was aware of a subdued
stir among the men who lounged at the church door, waiting for service
to begin. A light surrey was approaching which he knew well, drawn by
the Madam's favorite bay colts. It was the second Storm vehicle to
arrive that morning. Jemima and Jacqueline were already within; Jemima
at the organ, which she manipulated capably if unemotionally; Jacqueline
marshaling her choir of farm boys and girls into a whispering, giggling
semblance of order. In the gallery sat the usual quota of Storm
servants, for Kate Kildare's household took its religion each week as
faithfully as it took its tonics and calomel in due season.

With a throb of the heart, Philip realised that it must be his lady
herself who drove those prancing bays. He thought over his sermon
hastily.--Yes, it was good enough.

She drew the colts up on their haunches, flung the lines with a smile to
the nearest bystander, and walked up the aisle with her free, swinging
step, followed by a girl carrying a baby. The girl was Mag Henderson.

The sensation caused by this double appearance was immense. It was the
first time many of the congregation had seen the Madam since the
much-talked-of disappearance of Dr. Benoix, and they were eager to see
how she took it. From all appearance