Kate and I were in the drawing-room--she practising a new song, I sewing.

We both rose at their entrance--she gayly; I with my heart beating thick and fast.
"I am glad the beauty of the day tempted you out, Father Francis," she said.

"I wish our wanderers would come back.

Danton Hall has been as gloomy as an old bastille lately." I don't know what Father Francis said.

I know he looked as though the errand he had come to fulfil were unspeakably distasteful to him.
"Reginald ought to be home to-day," Kate said, walking to the window, "and Rose next week.