her eyes looked directly into his; but if they did they looked at him as a stranger.  He could have seen a smile under the veil if it had been there, but there was none.  Still more worried, he left the church.  The girl remained behind, until there was no one but herself and Madame Neuville left.  In his anxiety for the girl, Mark returned and looked at her from the rear of the church.  Her face was buried in her hands.  The sacristy door opened slightly and the young secretary looked out.  The girl, not seeing the door open, lifted the veil for an instant to wipe away her tears.  The secretary closed the door softly as soon as he had seen her.

Mark went directly to the rectory.  The old housekeeper met him at the door before he could ring.

“Come right in, Mr. Griffin,” she said.  “I’m going to take ye into the dining room, sir, till the Father comes to present ye to His Lordship.  He’d be wantin’ to do that himself, I know; and sure I have the Bishop in the front room, so ye’ll stay here please.”

Mark stepped into the little dining room, where the table was already set, and waited for the priest.  Ann went back to her cooking.  Mark could hear her rattling the dishes and pans, all the while issuing orders to her assistants for the day.  Ann was quite the most important personage in the parish on this occasion and had to show it.  It was seldom she had such authority over others.  Why not make the most of it?

There was only a folding door between the dining room where Mark waited and, the room in which the Bishop sat Mark heard the Bishop arise impatiently from his chair and pace the room, a fact which caused him no little wonder.  The Bishop had not impressed him as a man of nervous temperament.  Mark now heard him sit down again, crunching the springs of the chair, and again jump up, to continue his nervous pacing.  Then the door from the hallway into the parlor opened and Mark heard the Bishop’s voice: 

“Is she the woman?”

A young voice, which Mark was sure belonged to the secretary, answered: 

“I am sorry to say, Bishop, that she is.”

“My God!” said the Bishop.  There was deep distress in his tones.  “Father, are you perfectly sure?”

“I could not be mistaken, Bishop.  I stayed in the sacristy until all had left the church except her attendant and herself.  She was crying, and she threw back the veil to use her handkerchief.  Then I saw her face quite plainly.  She is the woman.”

“Crying?” The Bishop seemed about to cry himself.  “Poor creature, poor creature—­and unfortunate man.  So he has brought her here after all.  I am afraid, Father, I did not do right when I omitted telling him the exact situation.  What shall we do?  We cannot possibly stay.”

Mark felt that he was eavesdropping, but everything had happened so quickly that there had been no chance to escape.  He could not help hearing.  His uneasiness became a great fear, and he felt that his face was bloodless.  Turning to escape if possible through the kitchen, he paused long enough to hear the secretary say: