, against a
jam pot on a shelf under the window, and she had borrowed two
candlesticks with coloured candles from a labourer's wife on the floor
beneath. The window had been shut, so that the wind should not blow down
these objects.

Molly looked at the man on the bed and sniffed.

"He must have air--" the whisper was a snort.

At that moment there was a knock on the outer door. On the iron outer
stairs was standing the priest.

"It's just the curate," said Mrs. Moloney, looking out of the window;
and then she disappeared into the tiny passage.

Molly stood defiantly, her figure drawn to its full height. She felt
that she knew exactly the kind of Irish curate who was coming in to
disturb, and probably kill, the unhappy man on the bed. Well, she should
make a fight for this poor, crushed life; she would stand between the
horrible tyranny and superstition that lit those pink candles, and that
would rouse a man to make his poor wretched conscience unhappy and
frighten him to death. "If there is a hell," she muttered, "it must be
ready to punish such brutality as that."

Mrs. Moloney opened the door as wide as possible, and the priest came
in. Miss Dexter looked at him in amazement; how, and where had she seen
him before?

He went straight to the bed and looked at the man in silence, while
Molly looked at him. He was about middle height, with very dark hair and
eyes, a small, well-formed head, and a very good forehead. It was not
until he turned to Mrs. Moloney that Molly understood why she had
fancied that she had seen him before. She was sure now that she had
seen his photograph, but, although she was certain of having seen it,
she could not remember when or where she had done so.

"Can't you open the window, Mrs. Moloney?"

"It's the only place to make into an altar, father?"

"Oh, never mind that yet; I will manage."

Molly stepped forward; whatever he was going to do, it should not be
done without a protest.

"The doctor's orders are that he is not to be disturbed."

The priest did not seem aware of the exceedingly unpleasant expression
on Molly's countenance.

"It would be a great mistake to wake him, of course," he said; and then,
"Do you suppose he will sleep for long?"

"I haven't the faintest notion"; the uttermost degree of scorn was
conveyed in those few words.

Mrs. Moloney suppressed a sob.

"He's not been to the Sacraments for three years," she murmured.

The priest leant over the bed