ight,
and I was sure her face was shining.

God bless her! The dear sweet woman! Such women as she is, and my mother
was--so humble and loving, so guileless and pure, never saying an unkind
word or thinking an unkind thought--are the flowers of the world that
make the earth smell sweet.

* * * * *

When she was gone and I remembered the promise I had made to her I asked
myself what was to become of me. If I could neither divorce my husband
under any circumstances without breaking a sacrament of the Church, nor
love Martin and be loved by him without breaking the heart of his
mother, where was I?

I intended to go home the following morning; I was to meet Martin the
following night. What was I to say? What was I to do?

All day long these questions haunted me and I could find no answers. But
towards evening I took my troubles where I had often taken them--to
Father Dan.

SIXTY-SECOND CHAPTER

The door of the Presbytery was opened by Father Dan's Irish housekeeper,
a good old soul whose attitude to her master was that of a "moithered"
mother to a wilful child.

All the way up the narrow staircase to his room, she grumbled about his
reverence. Unless he was sickening for the scarlet fever she didn't know
in her seven sinses what was a-matter with him these days. He was as
white as a ghost, and as thin as a shadder, and no wonder neither, for
he didn't eat enough to keep body and soul together.

Yesterday itself she had cooked him a chicken as good as I could get at
the Big House; "done to a turn, too, with a nice bit of Irish bacon on
top, and a bowl of praties biled in their jackets and a basin of
beautiful new buttermilk;" but no, never a taste nor a sup did he take
of it.

"It's just timpting Providence his reverence is, and it'll be glory to
God if you'll tell him so."

"What's that you're saying about his reverence, Mrs. Cassidy?" cried
Father Dan from the upper landing.

"I'm saying you're destroying yourself with your fasting and praying and
your midnight calls at mountain cabins, and never a ha'porth of anything
in your stomach to do it on."

"Whisht then, Mrs. Cassidy, it's tay-time, isn't it? So just step back
to your kitchen and put on your kittle, and bring up two of your best
china cups and saucers, and a nice piece of buttered toast, not
forgetting a thimbleful of something neat, and then it's the mighty
proud woman ye'll be entoirely to be waiting for