“Perfect stranger! When we have the same Father? God, to be sure, but also Father Morley!” cried Miss Braithwaite. “Why, we’re sisters; you’re my little sister! Let me whisper to you, my dear; Father Morley must not hear, though he’s not at all deaf. Father Morley looks mild; perhaps not too strong, but he’s an out-and-out tyrant! I do everything he tells me to, nervously, on the bidding, lest he fall upon me and flay me! Of course you let him arrange everything for you; so did I when he had me called to fetch you! But it’s an all-around good arrangement, we have to acknowledge that. He’s a beneficent tyrant; likely would behead you if you disobeyed him, but puts into your head things to do that make you better enjoy having a head.” Cicely smiled faintly, and turned to the priest with the suggestion of dawning ease and affection which this sort of talk was admirably adapted to awaken. She also felt singularly at home with this brilliant little woman, with the eyes that saw through one, the nose of a general, the lips and voice and hand of a generous soul. “Father Morley is very good to me; so are you,” she said simply. “Then shall we go home immediately and begin to rest you, my dear?” asked Miss Braithwaite, taking Cicely’s hand with a strong, yet gently persuasive grasp and turning toward the gate again. Father Morley walked beside Cis, bending his head toward her, not speaking, but as if he were communing with her without words. “Good night, my child,” he said when they had reached the gate. “I will not see you before eleven to-morrow; you will need to sleep late. After your first sleep you may waken for awhile, and then you will sleep into the morning. Miss Braithwaite will be within call; if you find yourself waking, summon her.” The wise priest well knew the greater likelihood of complete confidence in the night, rather than the day. “I will see you at eleven. If Cicely Adair is able to come here, bring her to me, please, Miss Braithwaite. If not, call me up and I will go to see her at your house.” “Do you want to see me, Father Morley? But there is the office; I must be at the office by half past nine anyway,” said Cis. “Call Mr. Lucas, and tell him, what is strictly true, that you are not able to report for duty to-morrow. I would tell him for you, but that an explanation from me would bias him against your absence so powerfully that he’d rather send an officer to hale you to his office than permit your staying away.” Father Morley laughed, a quietly amused, inward laugh of enjoyment.