She read the few printed words carefully, then she read them again and passed her hand over her eyes.
“Father Guiseppi Dempsi, Vicar of Banhurst.”
“Father Guiseppi Dempsi!” she said aloud, and in another second was flying down the stairs.
She recognised him instantly, clean-shaven, dark, the old grin in his brown eyes. She would have known him even had he not been wearing his black cassock.
“Diana!” he said. “After all these years!”
“Mr. Dempsi,” she grasped, gripping the thin hand outstretched, “it is you! You don’t know how glad I am to see you!”
Dempsi, the real Dempsi! Then who was the other? The solution of the mystery came to her in a flash, and in the realisation the whole weight of the universe was lifted from her heart.
“Father Dempsi!” she said, in a wondering way, still holding his hand. “It doesn’t seem possible!”
“I was rather a fool, wasn’t I?” he said without any trace of embarrassment. “Yes, I went into the Church. But I should have let you know.”
“The money!” she said, suddenly. “The money you gave me—you will want that?”