“I would hardly have mistaken you for a Catholic, my poor son,” said the priest quietly. “You have left the Church of your fathers? Better come to confession; remove the impediment to faith, and faith will revive. Strange to throw away that treasure to acquire which so many sacrifice everything earthly! My father, for instance, was an Episcopal clergyman. He came into the Church and suffered actual want, besides the cruel persecution which only near and dear kindred can inflict, in order to possess the Truth and the sacraments. But you are young and God’s arm is long; you will come back. A good friend can do a great deal for us!” The priest smiled at Cis, who looked up at him with a smile in return, yet a troubled look. “A _good_ friend can, Father, but lots of people don’t have _good_ friends--like Nan!” she said, with emphasis on the adjective. “All goodness is comparative, my child,” Father Morley said. “I see that you regret your own deficiencies, which is a most healthful symptom! It is everything to be honest, and more than everything to be humble!” He laughed at his intentional clumsiness of word. “It must be a little lonely for you, a stranger here? You say you are Mr. Lucas’ secretary? I know Mr. Lucas’ brother.” “It was he who gave me my letter to Mr. Wilmer Lucas,” cried Cis eagerly. “Really? He is a noble man; I don’t wonder that Mr. Lucas welcomed you,” Father Morley looked pleased; he was beginning to feel cordial liking for Cis, with a perceptive anxiety for her safety. “I know Mr. Lucas, this Mr. Lucas, but he is not my friend, as his brother is.” Father Morley did not explain that he had instructed Mr. Robert Lucas and received his submission to the Church, and that this new instance of the Jesuit wiles had made Mr. Wilmer Lucas cross the street from that day to this whenever he saw Father Morley coming. “I have a club of fine girls, all self-supporting, a jolly, delightful lot, they are! How would you like to come to one of their ‘open nights’? That’s what they call the nights when outsiders are admitted. You’d enjoy them, and they’d take you right in. No need of being lonely, my child! Let’s see: Thursday, Holy Hour; Friday the League; Monday night their private, members-only night; Wednesday! That’s it! Come on Wednesday, and see my fine girls!” Father Morley beamed at his triumphant conclusion. “Thank you, Father,” said Cis, and meant it. “I’m not lonely. I am happy in Beaconhite; I don’t have much spare time. But you are good to ask me.” “Not a bit good!” said the priest. “The club is for girls, isn’t it? And you are a girl, aren’t you? I turn off here. Good night. Good night, Mr. Moore.” He held out his hand and Rodney unwillingly took it. “God bless you, my poor lad,” said the priest gently. “Help and bless you.”