is Miss O'Connor," he
added, as Kathleen entered the room.

"Father, I am so pleased to see you," said Kathleen. "I have been
waiting so long for you, until at last I began to lose hope."

"I have been as anxious as you," he answered. "Is the boy asleep?"

"I will ask nurse," said Kathleen, and went quietly out of the room.

Desmond had just awakened from a quiet sleep. He was fully conscious,
more so than he had been for many days. When Kathleen entered the nurse
stole over and looked at him.

"Awake?" she asked, in a low voice.

"Very much so," he answered. "All the queer things have gone, leaving me
at peace."

"Father Healy is here," she said.

"Did I send for him? I have a faint idea I did ... a sort of half dream
that the dad came to me and told me to see the Father," he answered.

"Will you see him?" she asked.

"Give me something to pull me together first. I am in a mortal dread,"
he whispered.

"Would you rather wait?" she asked.

"No; it has to be gone through. Just a mouthful of nourishment; then
send him in!"

In the quiet of the sick room priest and penitent conferred together in
whispers; Desmond O'Connor pouring the story of his fall and the
subsequent history resulting from it into the good Father's kindly ears.
And when it was completed there was a great joy in the two hearts and a
peace in Desmond's that had not been there for many years.

"You are tired, my son," said Father Healy kindly.

"Tired, but glad, Father. I have come out of the ocean of darkness and
doubt into the old harbour of peace and certainty."

A few minutes after Father Healy had left him he was again sleeping as
peacefully as a child. The nurse, looking into his thin, pale face,
where black lines encircled the eyes, found a gentle smile on it.

"Oh, these Catholics!" she said to herself; "what a satisfaction their
religion is to them! I believe he will come through now."

Yet, strangely enough, although she was a good little woman, she did not
realise that there must be something superhuman in a religion that can
give perfect peace to the soul and increased strength to the body.

In this manner began Desmond O'Connor's progress towards recovery.
Slowly the fever began to abate, leaving him prostrate and feeble after
the severe struggle he had maintained for weeks. During the first days
of convalescence he was so weak that death seemed preferable. But inch
by inch he fought his way back to health; until he was