riest
will always gladly come."

So Peter despatched Gigi with a note to Monsignor Langshawe.

And presently up drove a brougham, with Gigi on the box beside the
coachman. And from the brougham descended, not Monsignor Langshawe, but
Cardinal Udeschini, followed by Emilia Manfredi.

The Cardinal gave Peter his hand, with a smile so sweet, so benign, so
sunny-bright--it was like music, Peter thought; it was like a silent
anthem.

"Monsignor Langshawe has gone to Scotland, for his holiday. I have come
in his place. Your man told me of your need," the Cardinal explained.

"I don't know how to thank your Eminence," Peter murmured, and conducted
him to Marietta's room.

Sister Scholastica genuflected, and kissed the Cardinal's ring, and
received his Benediction. Then she and Peter withdrew, and went into the
garden.

The sister joined Emilia, and they walked backwards and forwards
together, talking. Peter sat on his rustic bench, smoked cigarettes, and
waited.

Nearly an hour passed.

At length the Cardinal came out.

Peter rose, and went forward to meet him.

The Cardinal was smiling; but about his eyes there was a suggestive
redness.

"Mr. Marchdale," he said, "your housekeeper is in great distress of
conscience touching one or two offences she feels she has been guilty
of towards you. They seem to me, in frankness, somewhat trifling. But
I cannot persuade her to accept my view. She will not be happy till she
has asked and received your pardon for them."

"Offences towards me?" Peter wondered. "Unless excess of patience with
a very trying employer constitutes an offence, she has been guilty of
none."

"Never mind," said the Cardinal. "Her conscience accuses her--she must
satisfy it. Will you come?"

The Cardinal sat down at the head of Marietta's bed, and took her hand.

"Now, dear," he said, with the gentleness, the tenderness, of one
speaking to a beloved child, "here is Mr. Marchdale. Tell him what you
have on your mind. He is ready to hear and to forgive you."

Marietta fixed her eyes anxiously on Peter's face.

"First," she whispered, "I wish to beg the Signorino to pardon all this
trouble I am making for him. I am the Signorino's servant; but instead
of serving, I make trouble for him."

She paused. The Cardinal smiled at Peter.

Peter answered, "Marietta, if you talk like that, you will make the
Signorino cry. You are the best servant that ever lived. You are putting
me to no trouble at a