ma had been with
the success of her first party. He put out the lights, and sat by his
window in the dark for a long time, going over in his mind the talk of
that night. Good man-talk it had been, touching on all the big things
that occupy the world's thought to-day, which hitherto Philip had got
for himself only out of books and periodicals. He had listened eagerly
to these young men, who were interested in larger matters than crops and
stock-breeding and local politics. And they had listened to him--he knew
that. More than once a remark of Channing recurred to him: "You're too
big for this place, you know. Before long you'll be moving on."

It was a thought that he had often put deliberately out of his mind. His
bishop had been the first to suggest it, some years before.

He looked now through the darkness toward Storm. "Moving on"? with his
lady there, alone, deserted? He tried to picture Kate Kildare away from
her environment of field and wood and open spaces, sharing with him that
crowded intense life of cities toward which his mind yearned. But it was
impossible. Once more he put ambition from him--if it was ambition that
called. What right has a priest with ambition?

No!--exile he might be, but exile he would remain, and gladly. What were
they all but exiles--her daughters, his father in prison and out of
prison, James Thorpe, who stayed because she might miss his
friendship--all exiles from the world that called them, because of Kate
Kildare?

"It's enough to be near her," he said to himself with a little sigh,
looking once more through the darkness toward Storm.

With Farwell and Channing, too, on their way home, some glow of that
good talk lingered.

"There's something about the chap--I don't know what it is," murmured
Farwell, vaguely.

Channing nodded comprehension. "It's that you want him to like you,
somehow. You want him to--respect you, I think."

Farwell looked around at him mockingly. "What a novel and virtuous
sentiment! You'll be getting religion next." He added after a moment,
"Can't say you're going about it exactly the right way, if you really
want the dominie's respect, you know."

Channing flushed. "You mean the girl? It's not his girl, Morty--it's the
mother he's after. If it were the girl--damned if I wouldn't get out of
the way and give him a clear field!"

Farwell jeered. "Yes, you would! With the quarry in full view?"

"In full pursuit, you mean," said Channing, ruefully. "I w