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You know, Griffin, if it wasn't for the rotten way the Church treated him, I honestly believe the Padre could put some religion into me. He's a power here already. Look at the way he makes that girl at Killimaga work." It seemed to Mark that the detective was beginning to fence again. "She's a stranger, isn't she?" he asked. The detective half closed his eyes. "How do you know?" "You told me so."
The man lay in the tall grass. Behind him the wall of the Killimaga estate, from its beginning some fifty yards to his left, stretched away to his right for over a thousand feet. Along the road which ran almost parallel with the wall was the remnant of what had once been a great woods; yearly the county authorities determined to cut away its thick undergrowth and yearly left it alone.
Together the bride and groom approached the linen cloth held by the surpliced altar boys, and together they received the greatest of sacraments, then returned to their prie-dieux. The service over, Mark arose and joined his wife. Slowly the bridal party went down the aisle and out to the waiting car which bore them swiftly to Killimaga.
Quite by accident I saw, at Killimaga, a picture of you and that little girl taken years ago in London together. Both have changed; it was only last night that memory proved true and the faces in the picture identified themselves. Do you understand now?" "I do," said Father Murray. "It is a remarkable story. I wonder if Ruth remembers you.
She's a mystery, with her Killimaga and her money and her veil." "Why," said Mark, "every woman wears a veil the sun, you know." "Yes; the sun, and the rain, and the shade, and every kind of weather!" The detective's face was betraying him again. But the luncheon was over, and Mark would not be probed.
"There are two or three educated men in that camp," he said, "who have been hanging around Killimaga a great deal of late; and they have been worrying an old parishioner of mine a retired farmer who finds plenty of time to worry about everybody else, since he has no worries of his own. He thinks that these well-dressed 'bosses' are strange residents for a railroad construction camp.
This much I will say to you: You need have no fear whatever for Miss Atheson. I can assure you that there is no good reason in the world why a detective should be watching her. Miss Atheson is everything that she looks." "I am confident of that," said Mark. "Otherwise I should not have spoken to you." "Then," said the priest, "suppose we go now to our engagement at Killimaga."
He kept on wondering how long she had been there. He himself had been dreaming in front of the tree an hour before he saw her. Had she seen him before she came out? She had given no sign; but if she had seen him, she had trusted him with a secret. Mark looked at the tree. It was half embedded in the wall. Then he understood. The tree masked a secret entrance to Killimaga.
"I am grateful for your appreciation," replied Mark, "even though I may not deserve it. And more grateful for your confidence." Walking slowly, and chatting in friendly fashion, they reached Killimaga. As the great gates swung open their attention was arrested by the purring of a motor. Father Murray uttered a low "Ah!" while Mark stared after the swiftly vanishing machine.
We are going to Ireland for six months, and then we're coming back to live here part of each year. We want you to take charge of Killimaga. I've bought it. A good salary no quarreling or dickering about it. What do you say?" "This is certainly a surprise," said Saunders, winking at the Padre. "Have you room for an extra family?" "You're married?" "Very much so." "The bigger the family the better.
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