and looked intently at the dying man.

Mrs. Moloney opened the window and put the crucifix and candlesticks in
a corner on the dirty floor.

"It might kill him to wake him now," murmured Molly.

"Yes, that is just the difficulty." The young man was speaking more to
himself than to her.

"Difficulty!" thought Molly with scorn. "Fiddlesticks!"

The silence was unbroken for some moments. The fresh autumn air blew
into the room. A sandy coloured cat came from under the bed, looked at
them, and then rubbed her arched back against the unsteady leg of the
only table, which was laden with bottles and basins, finally retired
into a further corner, and upset and broke one of the pink candles that
belonged to the neighbour.

But Mrs. Moloney never took her eyes off the priest's pale face.

"I'll wait until he wakes," he said to her, "but is there anywhere else
I could go? It's not good to crowd up this room."

"That's intended to remove me," thought Molly, "but it won't succeed."

Mrs. Moloney moved into the little back room, and pulled forward a
chair. When the priest was seated she shut the door behind her and
whispered to him--

"Father, you'll not let his soul slip through your fingers, will you,
father dear? Just because of the poor lady who knows no better!"

"Who is she? She is not like the district visitors I've seen about in
the parish."

"No, indeed; she is a lady, and I've done some work for her, and she
would not be satisfied when she heard Moloney was ill but she must come
herself, and yesterday, not to grudge her her due, father, the doctor
said if he pulled through that I owed her his life. Well, that's proved
a mistake, anyhow, but she's after spoiling his last chance, and he's
not been the good man he was once, father."

"Yes, Mrs. Moloney, you must watch him carefully, and here I am if there
is any change. I'm sure that lady is an excellent nurse, and we mustn't
let any chance slip of keeping him alive, must we?"

She shook her head; this was only an English curate, still he must be
obeyed.

Molly was profoundly irritated by Mrs. Moloney's proceeding to make a
cup of tea for the priest, but he was grateful for it, as he had been
out at tea-time, and had come to the Moloneys' instead of eating his
dinner. He opened the window of the tiny room as far as it would go, and
read his Office by the light of the tallow candle. That finished, he sat
still and began to wonder about the lady with the olive