"I am satisfied with you, especially since Miss Atheson owes something to
you. Will you mind if I do not discuss the matter with you further now?"

"Not at all, Father Murray. I do not ask for information that you feel
you should not give."

"Perhaps," said Father Murray, "I shall give it to you later on; but for
the present let matters stand as they are. You know the detective, and I
don't. The principal thing is to find out whether there is any
connection between that camp, the 'highfalutin' gintleman' of Uncle Mac,
and the detective. I have reason to think there may be. This much I
will say to you: You need have no fear whatever for Miss Atheson. I can
assure you that there is no good reason in the world why a detective
should be watching her. Miss Atheson is everything that she looks."

"I am confident of that," said Mark. "Otherwise I should not have spoken
to you."

"Then," said the priest, "suppose we go now to our engagement at
Killimaga."

The two passed across the lawn, then down the street and along the road
toward the great house whose towers looked out over the trees. Neither
Mark nor the priest said a word until the town was well behind them.
Then Father Murray turned to his companion.

"You will find Miss Atheson a remarkable woman, Mr. Griffin. There is a
reason, perhaps, why I might not be a competent judge--why I might be
prejudiced--but still I think that you, too, will see it. She has not
been here long, but she is already loved. She receives no one but me.