her grave than she would have been at court? His wife had taken a
genuine liking to Ruth, and the man himself was more than half
convinced that she was all she claimed to be, but he wasn't free to
release her. He now wants to make reparation--but he wants also to
support the idea that Ruth Atheson was only the _friend_ of the dead
Duchess and, therefore, that the Duchess is really dead. It would be
very unfortunate, if, later on, it should prove that he had been
deceived. He would find it difficult to explain matters to His Majesty
if a Grand Duchess, supposedly dead, should suddenly prove very much
alive and demand possession of a throne already occupied by her
successor. So His Excellency wants the lady married as 'Ruth Atheson'
with due solemnity and with proper witness. There is method, Mr.
Saunders, even in his kindness."

Saunders whistled again. "It beats me, Father," he said. "I own up.
They know more than detectives."

At this moment Mark came striding over the lawn.

"Hello, Saunders," he called. "I've been looking for you. Now that
I've got you, I might as well have it out and be done with it. Ruth
wants you to stay here. She wants to make you one of us. We are going
to Ireland for six months, and then we're coming back to live here part
of each year. We want you to take charge of Killimaga. I've bought
it. A good salary--no quarreling or dickering about it. What do you
say?"

"This is certainly a surprise," said Saunders, winking at the Padre.
"Have you room for an extra family?"

"You're married?"

"Very much so."

"The bigger the family the better. But," he added, as an afterthought,
"I'll have to tell Ruth, or she'll be trying to marry you off. You'll
come, then?"

"Yes," said Saunders, "I guess I'll take you up on that."

Mark shook hands with him. "Done. You're a good old chap. I thought
you would stay."

Then, turning to Father Murray, Mark spoke more seriously. "Don't you
think, Father, that it is almost time to meet the Bishop? He is coming
on the next train, you know." He paused and seemed momentarily
embarrassed. Then he straightened up and frankly voiced his thought.
"Before he comes, will you not step into the church with me? I have a
lot of things to straighten out."

The priest stood up and put his hand on Mark's shoulder. "Do you mean
that, my boy?"

"I do," replied Mark. "I told you in Washington that I never passed an
open church door that my m