“I do not know your name, but I know that you belong to me,” said Father Morley. “I am sure that I have not met you. I see you at my Mass, at eight o’clock. Have you been long in Beaconhite?” “No, Father. I came early in the summer. My name is Cicely Adair; I am Mr. Lucas’ private secretary. You never have spoken to me before,” said Cis. “Father Morley, this is Mr. Rodney Moore.” “Glad to meet you, Mr. Moore,” said Father Morley with a quick, comprehensive look at Rodney. “English More, or Irish Moore?” “My people on the Moore side came from Ireland,” said Rodney, uneasy, and omitting the courteous title at the end of his reply to Father Morley. “That’s good!” said the priest, as if Rodney deserved credit for his ancestry. “Though, to be sure, the English More once meant great things, when the lord chancelor bore the name who would not betray his God to save his head! Not that we would not all reckon martyrdom a splendid prize for which to hold out! You are in another parish, not St. Francis’? I don’t recall your face.” “I’m in the St. Francis Xavier parish,” said Rodney shortly. The fine face of the priest changed slightly as he correctly interpreted this answer. “I missed you this morning, Miss Adair,” he said. “You know, a priest gets into the way of unconsciously looking for familiar faces when he turns to give the notices and read the Gospel; you are weekly in the same place. I am glad that you are not ill.” “No, Father,” replied honest Cis, making no excuse to gloss her absence. “I did not go to Mass; I wanted to take an early train.” “Good for her; coming straight out, no cringing!” thought Rodney, misinterpreting Cicely’s honesty. Father Morley shook his head. “And not make the effort required to go to six o’clock Mass first, or even to the Mass at two? It is worth considerable effort to keep from offending God,” he said. “Six o’clock? The eight o’clock Mass is the first one, isn’t it?” cried Cis. “No, indeed! Who ever heard of such a late hour for the first parish Mass in such a large parish?” exclaimed Father Morley. “We have a Mass at two a. m. for the newspaper men and other night workers, trolley men, railroaders, all those people. The next Mass is at six. Then ours is not the only church in town! There are nine churches in Beaconhite, all told.” “Bad influence, danger ahead!” thought the wise priest. “I like the girl!” “I could have made the six o’clock at St. Francis Xavier’s; I might have asked if there was one, but I didn’t,” Cis looked straight into the priest’s keen eyes. “I’m a careless girl, Father; I never thought so much about these things as Nan--that’s my friend at home--did.” “Difficult to think too much of things which are unending,” commented the priest. “I approve of Nan and am glad that you have so good a girl friend.”