and is now in the Tombs prison."

Father Cruse laid his hand on O'Day's shoulder. "No, my friend, she
is not in the Tombs. I took her to St. Barnabas's Home and put her in
charge of the Sisters."

Felix straightened his back. "You have saved her from it."

"Yes, two hours ago. And she can stay there until the matter is settled,
or just as long as you wish it." His hand was still on O'Day's shoulder,
his mind intent on the drawn features, seamed with the furrows the last
few hours had ploughed. He saw how he had suffered.

Felix stretched out his hand as if to steady himself, motioned the
priest to a chair, and sank into his own.

"In the Sisters' Home," he repeated mechanically, after a moment's
silence. Then rousing himself: "And you will see her, Father, from time
to time?"

"Yes, every day. Why do you ask such a question--of me, in particular?"

"Because," replied Felix slowly, "I may be away--out of the country. I
have just asked Mrs. Cleary to look after Masie and she has promised she
will. And I am going to ask you to look after my poor wife. They must
be very gentle with her--and they should not judge her too harshly." He
seemed to be talking at random, thinking aloud rather than addressing
his companions. "Since I saw you I have received a letter from my
solicitor. There is some money coming to me, he says, and I shall see
that she is not a burden to you."

The priest turned abruptly, and laid a firm hand on O'Day's knee. "But
you will see her, of course?"

"No, it is better that you act for me. She will not want to see me in
her present condition."

Kitty was about to protest, when Father Cruse waved her into silence.
"You certainly cannot mean what you have just said, Mr. O'Day?"

"I do."

The priest rose quickly, passed though the kitchen, and opened the door
leading to the outer office. Two women stood waiting, one in a long
cloak, the other clinging to her arm, her face white as chalk, her lips
quivering.

"Come in," said the priest.

Martha put her arm around Lady Barbara and led her into the room.

Felix staggered to his feet.

The two stood facing each other, Lady Barbara searching his eyes, her
fingers tight hold of Martha's arm.

"Don't turn away, Felix," she sobbed. "Please listen. Father Cruse said
you would. He brought me here."

No answer came, nor did he move, nor had he heard her plea. It was
the bent, wasted figure and sunken cheeks, the strands of her still
beautiful hai