y brother, Father William----"

"Oh, to be sure, your brother," cried Anne, when the priest paused in
confusion; "let him call on us in Rome, and I will take him to the
private audience."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, my dear madam, but my brother is not going to
Rome. It is to America I refer. His bishop has selected him from among
many eminent priests of the diocese to make a collecting tour in America
this winter. And I feel sure that if a lady of your rank took an
interest in him, it would save him much labor, and, what I fear is
unavoidable, hardship."

Anne rose up delighted and came toward Father Roslyn with a smile. She
placed her hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Father dear, whisper."

He bent forward. There was not a soul within hearing distance, but Anne
loved a dramatic effect.

"He need never leave New York. I'll see that Father William has the
_entree_ into the diocese, and I'll take care of him until he leaves for
home."

She tapped him on the shoulder with her jeweled finger, and gave him a
most expressive look of assurance.

"Oh, how you overwhelm me," cried Father Roslyn. "I thank you a hundred
times, but I won't accept so kind an offer unless you promise me that
you will preside at a booth in the bazaar."

Of course she promised, much as the delay might embarrass the American
minister in London, and the Cardinal who awaited with impatience her
arrival in Rome.

The bazaar became a splendid legend in the parish of Cruarig; how its
glory was of heaven; how Mrs. Dillon seemed to hover over it like an
angel or a queen; how Father Roslyn could hardly keep out of her booth
long enough to praise the others; how the nobility flocked about it
every night of three, and ate wonderful dishes at fancy prices, and were
dressed like princes; and how Judy Haskell ruled the establishment with
a rod of iron from two to ten each day, devoting her leisure to the
explanation and description of the booths once presided over by her
mistress in the great city over seas. All these incidents and others as
great passed out of mind before the happenings which shadowed the last
days at Castle Moyna with anxiety and dread.

The Dowager gave a fete in honor of her guests one afternoon, and all
the county came. As a rule the gentry sneered at the American guests of
the Countess, and found half their enjoyment at a garden fete in making
fun of the hostess and her friends in a harmless way. There might not
have been so muc