tempt at elegance of the
front part of the house; plain as a cottage kitchen, it was warm and
comfortable withal. The large bed with patchwork quilt stood in a
corner; in the middle was an iron stove in which logs crackled and
sparkled. The air was hot and dry, but the priest, being accustomed to
the atmosphere of stoves, took no notice, in fact, he noticed nothing
but the room's one inmate, who from the first moment compelled his whole
attention.

In a wooden arm-chair, dressed in a black petticoat and a scarlet
bedgown, sat a strong old woman. Weakness was there as well as strength,
certainly, for she could not leave her chair, and the palsy of
excitement was shaking her head, but the one idea conveyed by every
wrinkle of the aged face and hands, by every line of the bowed figure,
was strength. One brown toil-worn hand held the head of a thick
walking-stick which she rested on the floor well in front of her, as if
she were about to rise and walk forward. Her brown face--nose and chin
strongly defined--was stretched forward as the visitor entered; her
eyes, black and commanding, carried with them something of that
authoritative spell that is commonly attributed to a commanding mind.
Great physical size or power this woman apparently had never had, but
she looked the very embodiment of a superior strength.

'Shut the door! shut the door behind ye!' These were the first words
that the youthful confessor heard, and then, as he advanced, 'You're
young,' she said, peering into his face. Without a moment's intermission
further orders were given him: 'Be seated; be seated! Take a chair by
the fire and put up your wet feet. It is from Father M'Leod of St.
Patrick's Church that ye've come?'

The young man, whose boots were well soaked with ice-water, was not loth
to put them up on the edge of the stove. It was not at all his idea of a
priestly visit to a woman who had represented herself as dying, but it
is a large part of wisdom to take things as they come until it is
necessary to interfere.

'You wrote, I think, to Father M'Leod, saying that as the priests of
this parish are French and you speak English----'

Some current of excitement hustled her soul into the midst of what she
had to say.

''Twas Father Maloney, him that had St. Patrick's before Father M'Leod,
who married me; so I just thought before I died I'd let one of ye know a
thing concerning that marriage that I've never told to mortal soul. Sit
ye still and