This conversation soothed Edith; but, still, she returned to her wishing for Father Rasle; not entirely for his own sake, though that was much, but because her need of confession and communion had become a great longing.
Her wish was destined to be speedily gratified; for the very next day, when Mr. Yorke came home to dinner, he brought his niece a letter from the priest.
She read it immediately, in presence of the family, and her face brightened. “How delightful!” she exclaimed. “He will say Mass here next Sunday. He is to come Saturday, that is, the day after to-morrow He sends his regards to you all. Let
no one know that he is coming, he writes, but Miss Churchill, and Mr. and Mrs. Kent, at whose house he will stop. There will be time enough to notify the people when he has arrived. How glad they will be! That was a letter worth bringing, Uncle Charles!”
Looking up with her smile of thanks, she saw his face clouded. “Is there any trouble?” she asked anxiously.
“If he had come while Carl, and Rowan, and Captain Cary were here, I should have been better pleased,” Mr. Yorke replied evasively. “He has, however, the right to come whenever he chooses. Answer his letter to-day, Edith, and invite him to stop with us.”
“Dear Uncle Charles!” murmured Edith, and glanced enquiringly at her aunt.
“Tell him, for me, that we should all be very happy to have him as a guest,” said Mrs. Yorke.
A smiling nod from Melicent and from Clara confirmed this assertion.
“Dear me!” Edith sighed out, wiping her eyes, “I do think that you are the most beautiful people I ever knew.”