“But take care,” he said.  “I’ve told nobody about the compact we made with your husband—­nobody but our Blessed Lady herself—­and you mustn’t think of that as a way out of your marriage.  No, nor of any other way, no matter what, which the world, and the children of the world, may talk about.”

“But I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it,” I cried.

“Hush!  Hush!  Don’t say that, my daughter.  Think of it as one of the misfortunes of life which we all have to suffer.  How many poor women have to bear the sickness and poverty, not to speak of the drunkenness and death, of their husbands!  Do they think they have a right to run away from all that—­to break the sacred vows of their marriage on account of it?  No, my child, no, and neither must you.  Some day it will all come right.  You’ll see it will.  And meantime by the memory of your mother—­that blessed saint whom the Lord has made one of his own. . . .”

“Then what can I do?”

“Pray, my child, pray for strength to bear your trials and to resist all temptation.  Say a rosary for the Blessed Virgin every morning before breaking your fast.  I’ll say a rosary, too.  You’ll see yet this is only God’s love for you, and you’ll welcome His holy will.”

While my dear father and friend was counselling me so I heard my husband speaking in his loud, grating tones on the landing outside, and before I could rise from my knees he had burst open the door and entered the room.

His face was deadly white and he was like a man out of his right mind.

“Mary,” he said, looking down at me where I knelt with my hands crossed on my bosom, “when did I give you permission to introduce a priest into my house?  Isn’t it enough for a man to have a wife who is a Catholic without having the church and its ministers shunted into his home without his permission?”

I was so taken aback by this furious assault that at first I could not speak, but Father Dan interposed to defend me, saying with beautiful patience, that his visit had been quite unexpected on my part, and that I had asked him to stay overnight only because he was an old man, and had had a long walk from his parish.

“I’m much obliged to your reverence,” said my husband, who was quivering with fury, “but my wife is perfectly capable of answering for herself without your assistance, and as for your parish you would have done better to stay there instead of coming to meddle in this one.”

“Aren’t you measuring me by your own yard, sir?” said Father Dan, and at that straight thrust my husband broke into ungovernable rage.

“Everybody knows what a Popish priest is,” he said.  “A meddlesome busybody who pokes his nose into other men’s secrets.  But priest or no priest, I’ll have no man coming to my house to make mischief between husband and wife.”

“Are you sure,” said Father Dan, “that some woman isn’t in your house already, making mischief between wife and husband?”