nswer."

"Then a retreat is not needed, but it will do you good. The Bishop
commands you to make a retreat--at once!"

After luncheon, a plain meal, seasoned with good stories and laughter,
they bade his Lordship a respectful good-bye. He stood at the door
watching them as the car slipped down the avenue. On his face was the
smile of one who has scored a triumph. Kathleen turned to Denis, and
asked:

"What do you think of my Bishop?"

"Equal in every respect to my own, and that represents the very summit
of virtue. But Desmond can tell you more of his Lordship than I. I met
him as a mere man; Desmond was privileged to a more intimate knowledge."

Desmond smiled as he answered:

"A wise counsellor and a kind Father. He administers unpleasant
medicine, flavoured with human kindness."

"And will you be taking the Bishop's black draught?" asked Molly Healy.

"I have not decided whether I shall swallow it or throw it away," he
answered evasively.

But Molly Healy realised that Desmond O'Connor had decided. To her, this
represented the destruction of an ideal she had never hoped to realise;
but, as she wiped a few tears from her eyes that evening she remarked to
herself:

"Life is made up of not getting what you want, Molly Healy. It is better
Desmond should become a priest than die a scallywag--and it will keep
him out of the way of that Sylvia Custance. God knows what is best for
every one of us."

CHAPTER XXII.

A LINK BROKEN.

Denis Quirk was back in Melbourne, in the "Bachelors' Flat," and working
relentlessly at the "Freelance." That intrepid little weekly had
shouldered its way into a prominent position in the literary world. It
stood for independence of thought, avoiding the humdrum of the beaten
track, offering its own ideas to the public, careless of passing crazes
and passions.

It may be said of Denis Quirk in those days that his only pleasure was
in his work. He was lonely for Desmond O'Connor, now a student at Manly.
The flat was still frequented by the representatives of motley and
variegated talent, as in the old days. Jests were made, good stories
told, and songs sung by well-trained voices; but these were mere
acquaintances. Denis longed for the intimate companionship of the former
days.

Jackson had invited him to his home in Brighton, but there he found
Sylvia Custance. She weaved her web to enslave Denis, interesting
herself in his career, asking him fairly intelligent questio