“Lucas? Wilmer Lucas? Oh, I’ll attend to that!” cried Miss Braithwaite. “He and I clasp hands, in spite of the Roman shackles on mine. He knows that my grandfather was intensely Protestant, and he allows me a slight latitude for the sake of his honored memory. We often meet in Beaconhite affairs, and he regards me as a good citizen, which also helps to fumigate me! He owes me several small debts for favors received. I’ll call him up and tell him that I have his bright-haired secretary--are you his secretary? I didn’t know--in my keeping and will return her when she is better. Then Miss Adair will come to you at eleven, Father, unless I call you up. Good night, Father Morley. Thank you for giving me a companion for to-night.” Father Morley opened the gate for them, and took Cicely’s hand in his, holding the gate open with his left hand. “Good night, my child,” he said gently. “May God have you in His keeping, and do you hold Him tight, keeping to Him. Only say in your heart: ‘God help me!’ and it is done! No fear of failure, wrapped around in His light and His might!” Cis bowed her head instinctively to receive the blessing which this wonderful man gave to her, his face tender and pitiful, grave yet triumphant, as he feared for her, yet confidently hoped that she would let God have His way with her at last. Miss Braithwaite put Cicely into her car and followed her, placing herself behind the wheel, liberating the brake and setting the engine running. “Good-bye, Father,” she said. “Send St. Michael around to my house to watch over us through the night after you’ve said your night prayers, please. Thank you for letting me have this Cicely Adair.” Miss Braithwaite drove steadily, swinging into a fifteen miles an hour speed, and varying it but slightly as she turned from street to street, and struck out to a side of the city which Cis did not know well. There were dignified houses along the way, their grounds increasing in extent, their trees getting more abundant and taller as the coupé carried them farther from the street of the Jesuit church. Miss Braithwaite did not attempt to talk as she drove, and Cis lay back restfully against the grey corduroy upholstery, finding it grateful to be in motion, borne, she did not know whither, without effort or responsibility on her part. Miss Braithwaite turned into the broad gateway of one of the finest houses which Cis had seen, and drew up before the entrance to the house, having traversed a long, shaded driveway.