, by poisoning your rich patients after they
have left you a legacy," replied Ebenezer Brown.

"Honestly! You caught poor Harris drunk, and swindled him out of his
land," retorted Dr. Marsh.

"Peace! Peace!" sighed Father Healy, attempting to take the doctor away
by force.

"And you murdered Mat Devlin, as you've murdered a host of others,"
cried Ebenezer Brown.

Dr. Marsh broke from his friend's arm and went round the table where
Ebenezer Brown sat. Shaking his fist in the old man's face, he cried:

"If I had one per cent. of your sins on my shoulders, I would never
sleep again. I am tempted to give you the little blow that would be the
end of you; but I don't like to rob you of your small hope of
repentance."

CHAPTER III.

THE QUIRKS.

A splendid house, extravagantly furnished, green lawns, gardens bright
in colours, and rich pasture lands around. Inside the house a crotchety
old man and a lonely woman. Such was Kathleen O'Connor's new home at
"Layton."

The name, "Samuel Quirk, Grocer," had reposed over the front of a small
shop in a small street of Collingwood for many years. The grocer was
known to the district as a shrewd tradesman on a small scale, and a keen
politician. He had a limited connection with certain well-tried
customers, and a number of irregular clients who came and went. In the
neighbourhood where he lived, the grocer must assuredly have gone under
had he not conducted a cash business. As it was, he kept his head above
water and lived a quiet life, respected by his neighbours.

One day the postman brought a letter that completely altered the Quirks'
scheme of life. It came from Boston, bringing news of a brother's death,
and the gift of a great fortune to the Quirks. Such an unexpected event
brought confusion into the orderly life of the old people.

"What shall we do with all the money?" the grocer asked his wife.

She was sitting over her knitting at the time, for her nimble fingers
were seldom idle.

"Why not ask Father Healy?" she answered at once; for Father Healy was
her one idea of wisdom. Years ago the priest had been a curate in
Collingwood, and had there entwined himself about many hearts, Mrs.
Quirk's among the number. Even now she wrote to him when her heart was
troubled.

"Father Healy! And why ask him?" replied the old man.

He always began by disputing his wife's suggestions, but generally ended
by putting them into practice.

"He is the good, wise man,"