“Miss Braithwaite, this is Miss Cicely Adair. Cicely, my child, this is Miss Miriam Braithwaite. The most that I shall tell you of her is that she is the best prescription in my pharmacopœia; you’ll have plenty of occupation in finding out just how the prescription acts. Cicely Adair is not happy, Miss Braithwaite; not fit to go to her boarding place alone to-night; she needs mothering. I’ve told her that you would take her home with you and put her to sleep in one of your spacious rooms,” said Father Morley.
Cicely arose, not quite steadily, and put her cold hand into Miss Braithwaite’s hand, which took it into a warm clasp.
“My dear, Father Morley has great confidence in the most single of single ladies to impute to her mothering qualities, now hasn’t he? But I’ll be delighted to have you with me to-night; my maid is away, and I’m scandalously dependent upon her; not for service; for companionship! So if you’ll let me have your youth near me to-night it will be most opportune and welcome,” said the little lady, whose whole effect made absurd the idea of her being dependent upon anything created.
“Thank you, Miss Braithwaite,” said Cis. “I’m not sure I ought to go; I ought not to bother a perfect stranger, but Father—”
“Perfect stranger! When we have the same Father? God, to be sure, but also Father Morley!” cried Miss Braithwaite. “Why, we’re sisters; you’re my little sister! Let me whisper to you, my dear; Father Morley must not hear, though he’s not at all deaf. Father Morley looks mild; perhaps not too strong, but he’s an out-and-out tyrant! I do everything he tells me to, nervously, on the bidding, lest he fall upon me and flay me! Of course you let him arrange everything for you; so did I when he had me called to fetch you! But it’s an all-around good arrangement, we have to acknowledge that. He’s a beneficent tyrant; likely would behead you if you disobeyed him, but puts into your head things to do that make you better enjoy having a head.”
Cicely smiled faintly, and turned to the priest with the suggestion of dawning ease and affection which this sort of talk was admirably adapted to awaken. She also felt singularly at home with this brilliant little woman, with the eyes that saw through one, the nose of a general, the lips and voice and hand of a generous soul.
“Father Morley is very good to me; so are you,” she said simply.
“Then shall we go home immediately and begin to rest you, my dear?” asked Miss Braithwaite, taking Cicely’s hand with a strong, yet gently persuasive grasp and turning toward the gate again.
Father Morley walked beside Cis, bending his head toward her, not speaking, but as if he were communing with her without words.
“Good night, my child,” he said when they had reached the gate. “I will not see you before eleven to-morrow; you will need to sleep late. After your first sleep you may waken for awhile, and then you will sleep into the morning. Miss Braithwaite will be within call; if you find yourself waking, summon her.”