reat Sullivan, and had modestly held their own under the charming
glance of the Monsignor, were not to be dazzled by the fiercest glance
of a mere Donegal housekeeper. The contempt in Judy's eyes proved too
much for the poor creature, and at the top of the stairs, with a
hysterical shriek, she burst into tears and fled humbled.

"I knew you'd do it," said Jerry the third butler. "It's not in thim
wake craythurs to take the luk from you, Miss Haskell."

"Ye're the wan dacint boy in the place," said Judy, remembering many
attentions from the shrewd lad. "An' as soon as iver ye come to New
York, an' shtay long enough to become an American, I'll get ye a place
on the polls."

From that day the position of the Dillon party became something
celestial as far as the servants were concerned, while Judy, as arbiter
in the servants' hall, settled all questions of history, science,
politics, dress, and gossip, by judgments from which there was no
present appeal. All these details floated to the ears of Captain
Sydenham, who was a favorite with Judy and shared her confidence; and
the Captain saw to it that the gossip of Castle Moyna also floated into
the parish residence daily. Some of it was so alarming that Father
Roslyn questioned his friend Captain Sydenham, who dropped in for a
quiet smoke now and then.

"Who are these people, these Americans, do you know, Captain? I mean
those just now stopping with the Countess of Skibbereen?"

"That reminds me," replied the Captain. "Didn't you tell me Father
William was going to America this winter on a collecting tour? Well, if
you get him the interest of Mrs. Dillon his tour is assured of success
before he begins it."

A horrible fear smote the heart of the priest, nor did he see the
peculiar smile on the Captain's face. Had he made the dreadful mistake
of losing a grand opportunity for his brother, soon to undertake a
laborious mission?

"Why do you think so?" he inquired.

"You would have to be in New York to understand it," replied the
Captain. "But the Countess of Skibbereen is not a patch in this county
compared to what Mrs. Dillon is in New York!"

"Oh, dear me! Do you tell me!"

"Her people are all in politics, and in the church, and in business. Her
son is a--well, he owns a gold mine, I think, and he is in politics,
too. In fact, it seems pretty clear that if you want anything in New
York Mrs. Dillon is the woman to get it, as the Countess found it. And
if you are no