“I’ll talk to her, my good woman, and while I talk, do you pray.”
As they entered the car the porter met them.
“You will find the lady in the drawing-room. I put her in there myself.”
“You’re a trump!” said the priest, patting the porter on the back.
Mrs. Vernon, as they entered, was showing once more some signs of improvement. She was gazing not without a touch of tenderness down upon the tear-stained, almost despairing face of the beautiful little child Peggy, who on her knees was imploring forgiveness.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Vernon. I lost my wits. But do forgive me.”
“She’s as good a girl as I know,” said the priest. “How are you, Peggy?”
“Oh, Father Galligan, ask her to forgive me!”
“I don’t know what it’s all about,” said the priest, “but I’m sure little Peggy would not wilfully do anything wrong. As you expect God’s help, my dear lady, in this trying hour, send this child away in peace and quiet.”
Mrs. Vernon raised herself up and threw her arms about the little one’s neck.