The scratch was feline, feminine, sudden, and sharp. But alas, Father Francis only smiled at it: though not what we call spiritually-minded, he was a man of a Christian temper. "Not with my good will, my daughter," said he; "I am of the same mind still, and more than ever. You must marry forthwith, and rear children in the true faith."
"What a hurry you are in."
"Your own conduct has made it necessary."
"Why, what have I done now?"
"No harm; it was a good and humane action, to prevent bloodshed; but the world is not always worthy of good actions. People are beginning to make free with your name, for your interfering in the duel."
Kate fired up. "Why can't people mind their own business?"
"I do not exactly know," said the priest, coolly; "nor is it worth inquiring: we must take human nature as it is, and do for the best. You must marry him, and stop their tongues."
Kate pretended to reflect. "I believe you are right," said she, at last; "and indeed I must do as you would have me; for, to tell the truth—in an unguarded moment—I pitied him so—that I half promised I would."
"Indeed!" said Father Francis. "This is the first I have heard of it."
Kate replied that was no wonder; for it was only last night she had so committed herself.