he combination is excellent for my purpose. I do not
know when this woman first came into Monsignore Murray's life, but he
has seen her quite frequently during the last few years. No one knows
where she came from or who she is, except that she calls herself 'Miss
Atheson.'"

"That is her name, if you are thinking of the lady I have in mind--Ruth
Atheson."

"Exactly. The old Bishop, my predecessor, seemed oblivious to the
situation. I soon learned, after my appointment, that Monsignore
Murray and Miss Atheson were together almost daily, either at the
rectory or at her hotel. But I said nothing to Monsignore and had
every confidence in him until--well, until one day a member of the
Cathedral clergy, unexpectedly entering the rectory library, saw Miss
Atheson sitting on the arm of the priest's chair, with her head close
to his and her arm across his shoulders. They were reading from a
letter, and did not see the visitor, who withdrew silently. His visit
was never known to Monsignore Murray. You understand?"

Mark was too much surprised to answer.

"Don't look so horror-struck, Mr. Griffin. The thing might have an
explanation, but no one asked it. It looked too unexplainable of
course. The story leaked out, and after that Monsignore Murray was
avoided. Never once did I give in to the full belief that my dear old
saint was wrong, so I gently suggested one day that I should like his
fullest confidence about Miss Atheson. He avoided the subject. Still
I was loath to believe. I made up my mind to save him by a transfer,
but he forestalled me and asked a change; so I sent him to Sihasset."

Mark found his voice.

"That was the reason? And he never knew?"

"That was the reason. I thought he would ask for it, and that I would
then have a chance to tell him; but he asked for nothing. The scene
when he left his work at the cathedral was so distressing to me that I
would willingly lay down my office to-morrow rather than go through
with it again."

"But he is so gentle. He could not make a scene?"

"That's it, that's it. There was no _scene_, and yet there was. I
told you how I loved him. We first met at college, in Rome. In years
the difference between us was not so very great, but in experience he
was far older than I. I was alone in the world, and he was both father
and friend to me. When I sent him away, I felt as Brutus must have
felt when he condemned his sons to death. Only it was worse. I