"She did that, Master Maurice. Wasn't I night and day telling her she'd treated you scandalous, and upside down of all reason; and didn't she send for old Burnham, with the squinchy eyes and the wife that had a wart on her nose, and have it all writ over." "So he said. But what became of it?" "Ain't you ever had it?" "No; we could never find it." "Why didn't you look under the bottom of her little desk?" Mrs. Murphy demanded in much excitement. "Under the bottom of her desk?" he repeated. "The double bottom. The little traveling-desk with the little pictures on the corners. She was that contrary that she wasn't willing you should find it all fair and open. She wanted to tease you a while before you found out she'd changed her mind and give in." "Maurice," Ashe broke in, "we have overstayed our time." Wynne rose at once, the habit of obedience being strong. Mrs. Murphy clung to his hand, mumbling over it with tears of delight, and could hardly be persuaded to let them go. It was only when he had promised to return on the next day, and the slatternly girl had peremptorily ordered her patient to lie down and stop acting like a buzz-headed fool, that he escaped. He hurried down the dark stairway and out of the house with a step to which excitement lent speed, while Philip followed in silence. As they were leaving the court they encountered a middle-aged priest, evidently an Irishman, with a kindly face and a bright eye. "Can you tell me," he asked in a rich brogue, greeting them in friendly fashion, "where Mrs. Tim Murphy lives?" "In the house we came out of," Maurice answered. "She's on the fifth floor, at the front." The priest regarded him with some surprise in his look, and something, too, of uncertainty. "You haven't been there, have you?" he asked. "Yes; we've just come from her place." "Then perhaps she won't want me," the priest remarked. "It'll save me a good bit of a climb." "But we went only as friends," Maurice explained. "She might wish the consolations of religion." "Then you did not"-- "We are not of your church," Maurice interrupted, flushing. The priest looked at them with a puzzled air. "But surely," he said, "you are Catholic. Haven't you been to me at the confession?" Maurice had not at first recognized the priest to whom he had been in the habit of confessing at St. Eulalia, but he had known him before this announcement made Philip stare at him with a face of astonishment. "Yes," he responded steadily. "I have confessed to you at St. Eulalia, but I am not of your communion."