So breakfast passed in general mystification. Kate, who could have thrown a light, did not come down to breakfast. She was on her defense. She made her first appearance out of doors. Very early in the morning, Mr. Peyton, in his quality of master, had ordered the gardener to cut and sweep the snow off the gravel walk that went round the lawn. And on this path Miss Peyton was seen walking briskly to and fro in the frosty, but sunny air. Griffith saw her first, and ran out to bid her good-morning. Her reception of him was a farce: she made him a stately curtsy for the benefit of the three faces glued against the panes; but her words were incongruous. "You wretch," said she, "don't come here: hide about, dearest, till you see me with Father Francis. I'll raise my hand _so_, when you are to cuddle him; and fib. There, make me a low bow, and retire." He obeyed, and the whole thing looked mighty formal and ceremonious from the breakfast-room. "With your good leave, gentlemen," said Father Francis, drily, "I will be the next to pay my respects to her." With this he opened the window and stepped out. Kate saw him, and felt very nervous: she met him with apparent delight. He bestowed his morning benediction on her and then they walked silently side by side on the gravel; and from the dining-room window it looked like anything but what it was--a fencing match. Father Francis was the first to break silence. He congratulated her on her good fortune, and on the advantage it might prove to the true Church. Kate waited quietly till he had quite done, and then said, "What, I may go into a convent now that I can bribe the door open?" The scratch was feline, feminine, sudden, and sharp. But alas, Father Francis only smiled at it: though not what we call spiritually-minded, he was a man of a Christian temper. "Not with my good will, my daughter," said he; "I am of the same mind still, and more than ever. You must marry forthwith, and rear children in the true faith." "What a hurry you are in." "Your own conduct has made it necessary." "Why, what have I done now?" "No harm; it was a good and humane action, to prevent bloodshed; but the world is not always worthy of good actions. People are beginning to make free with your name, for your interfering in the duel." Kate fired up. "Why can't people mind their own business?" "I do not exactly know," said the priest, coolly; "nor is it worth inquiring: we must take human nature as it is, and do for the best. You must marry him, and stop their tongues." Kate pretended to reflect. "I believe you are right," said she, at last; "and indeed I must do as you would have me; for, to tell the truth--in an unguarded moment--I pitied him so--that I half promised I _would._" "Indeed!" said Father Francis. "This is the first I have heard of it." Kate replied that was no wonder; for it was only last night she had so committed herself.