“A parting pang--no more. She was calm to the last. Indeed, her last words were to repeat what she had pressed so often upon me.” “I know--I know!” broke in Luttrell, impatiently. “I never denied it.” “True, Sir; but you never acknowledged it,” said the priest, hardily. “When you had the courage to make a peasant girl your wife, you ought to have had the courage to declare it also.” “To have taken her to the Court, I hope--to have presented her to Royalty--to have paraded my shame and my folly before a world whose best kindness was that it forgot me! Look here, Sir; my wife was brought up a Catholic; I never interfered with her convictions. If I never spoke to her on the subject of her faith, it was no small concession from a man who felt on the matter as I did. I sent for you to administer to her the rights of her Church, but not to lecture me on my duties or my obligations. What I ought to do, and when, I have not to learn from a Roman Catholic priest.” “And yet, Sir, it is a Catholic priest will force you to do it. There was no stain on your wife’s fame, and there shall be none upon her memory.” “What is the amount of my debt to you, Father Lowrie?” asked Luttrell, calmly and even courteously. “Nothing, Sir; not a farthing. Her father was a good friend to me and mine before ruin overtook him. It wasn’t for money I came here to-night.” “Then you leave me your debtor, Sir, and against my will.” “But you needn’t be, Mr. Luttrell,” said the priest, with eagerness. “She that has just gone, begged and prayed me with her last breath to look after her little boy, and to see and watch that he was not brought up in darkness.” “I understand you. You were to bring him into your own fold. If you hope for success for such a scheme, take a likelier moment, father; this is not your time. Leave me now, I pray you. I have much to attend to.” “May I hope to have an early opportunity to see and talk with you, Mr. Luttrell?” “You shall hear from me, Sir, on the matter, and early,” said Luttrell. “Your own good feeling will show this is not the moment to press me.” Abashed by the manner in which these last words were spoken, the father bowed low and withdrew. “Well?” cried the servant-woman, as he passed out, “will he do it, your reverence?” “Not to-day, anyhow, Molly,” said he, with a sigh.