The priest walked swiftly through the wintry streets, welcoming as a sort of penance the biting frost which burned his face and penetrated his garments. He little heeded the passers in the streets, those who hurried or those who loitered, only, if he met or passed a woman or a group of girls, he instinctively drew himself away and walked more rapidly. He strode on uncompromisingly, and his clean-shaved face was set in rigid lines. Those who saw him pass would have said that there went an ascetic bent on judgment. Many who did know him, and who ordinarily would have saluted him, sure of a friendly greeting, were repelled by his stern face and determined air, and made no sign. The father had something on his mind. As he turned into Rivington Street there approached him from the opposite direction a girl, walking slowly and undecidedly. When he came near her she looked up, with an appealing recognition. In a flash of the quick passing he thought he knew her--a girl who had attended his mission and whom he had not seen for several months-but he made no sign and passed on. “Father Damon!” He turned about short at the sound of the weak, pleading voice, but with no relaxation of his severe, introverted mood. “Well?” It was the girl he remembered. She wore a dress of silk that had once been fine, and over it an ample cloak that had quite lost its freshness, and a hat still gay with cheap flowers. Her face, which had a sweet and almost innocent expression, was drawn and anxious. The eyes were those of a troubled and hunted animal. “I thought,” she said, hesitatingly, “you didn't know me.” “Yes, I know you. Why haven't you been at the mission lately?” “I couldn't come. I--” “I'm afraid you have fallen into bad ways.” She did not answer immediately. She looked away, and, still avoiding his gaze, said, timidly: “I thought I would tell you, Father Damon, that I'm--that I'm in trouble. I don't know what to do.” “Have you repented of your sin?” asked he, with a little softening of his tone. “Did you want to come to me for help?” “He's deserted me,” said the girl, looking down, absorbed in her own misery, and not heeding his question. “Ah, so that is what you are sorry for?” The severe, reproving tone had come back to his voice. “And they don't want me in the shop any more.” The priest hesitated. Was he always to preach against sin, to strive to extirpate it, and yet always to make it easy for the sinner? This girl must realize her guilt before he could do her any good. “Are you sorry for what you have done?” “Yes, I'm sorry,” she replied. Wasn't to be in deep trouble to be sorry? And then she looked up, and continued with the thought in her mind, “I didn't know who else to go to.” “Well, my child, if you are sorry, and want to lead a different life, come to me at the mission and I will try to help you.”