Kate's high spirit fell before this: she turned her eyes, full of tears, on him.
"Oh, do not desert me, now that I shall need you more than ever to guide me in my new duties. Forgive me; I did not know my own heart—quite. I'll go into a convent now, if I must; but I can't marry any man but poor Griffith. Ah, father, he is more generous than any of us. Would you believe it? when he thought Bolton and Hernshaw were coming to him, he said if I married him I should have the money to build a convent with. He knows how fond I am of a convent."
"He was jesting: his religion would not allow it."
"His religion!" cried Kate. Then, lifting her eyes to Heaven, and looking just like an angel, "Love is his religion!" said she, warmly.
"Then his religion is Heathenism," said the priest, grimly.
"Nay, there is too much charity in it for that," retorted Kate, keenly.
Then she looked down like a cunning, guilty thing, and murmured, "One of the things I esteem him for is he always speaks well of you. To be sure just now the poor soul thinks you are his best friend with me. But that is my fault: I as good as told him so: and it is true, after a fashion; for you kept me out of the convent that was his only real rival. Why, here he comes. Oh, father, now don't you go and tell him you side with Mr. Neville."
At this crisis Griffith, who, to tell the truth, had received a signal from Kate, rushed at Father Francis, and fell upon his neck, and said with great rapidity, "Oh, Father Francis, 'tis to you I owe her—you and I are friends for life. So long as we have a house there is a bed in it for you, and whilst we have a table to sit down to, there's a plate at it for you, and a welcome come when you will."
Having gabbled these words he winked at Kate, and fled swiftly.
Father Francis was taken aback a little by this sudden burst of affection.