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please attend to your own business, Father."
     
    She turned away arrogantly, and he said sharply, "Don't you ever address me in that tone again!"
     
    Darcy’s jaw dropped then she lowered her eyes, murmuring, "Forgive me."
     
    "The sin of pride is yours, Darcy McBride. I strongly suggest you correct it. Now I try to meet each spiritual need as I see it. Some find God in the Church, some find Him in doing good works, and still others find Him in working the earth. I believe you will find Him in words."
     
    She continued to look at the ground, afraid if she looked up, she would give away her feelings.
     
    "By denying yourself the written word, you are denying God an avenue to your heart.”
     
    She stood motionless, holding the clasp on her black, woolen cloak. Her palms began to perspire; she swallowed hard and said, “When do we start?"
     
    "Meet me tomorrow at the abbey at four o'clock."
     
    When Darcy at last had the courage to look up she saw that Father Etienne’s eyes were twinkling. As he walked back to the parishioners, he smiled to himself. Darcy would be a challenge, but he admired her spirit.
     
    Father Etienne settled into a comfortable routine in Kilkerry. After sundown he would visit the sick or dying, perform baptisms or hear confessions and return before sunup.
     
    He was always thoroughly exhausted, but fulfilled. The Jesuit order aspired to see the love of Jesus in everything, and this came easily to one of such good nature and strong faith. He would say prayers and fall into bed, sleeping heavily for several hours then spend his remaining daylight hours studying or meditating. He was truly growing to love the people of Kilkerry. His mission was demanding but extremely satisfying.
     
    It was just before dawn when Father Etienne made his careful descent to the cave to get some sleep. It was tricky lowering himself down the rock face onto the ledge, especially in the dark and in his cumbersome robes. At first he thought that it was strange that Liam would put him in a cave with such a challenging entrance, but when he witnessed how accessible the other caves were, he realized no soldier or informant would discover him.
     
    His last duty this night had been to administer Last Rites to an old woman. She had died peacefully and he was grateful to God that she did not suffer. After lighting a candle, he sat down at the table, took up a quill and began to compose a letter to his brother in America . Father Etienne didn't have much time to correspond, but sharing his thoughts with another person, no matter how far away, helped to fight the loneliness.
     
    He stared at the bright candle which was perched on top of the cask, and listened to the ocean breaking on the rocks. The priest missed the company of other learned men, and he longed to share ideas and compare thoughts on literature, philosophy or theology. Letter writing met only one side of the conversation, but for now it would have to suffice.
     
    After thoughtfully composing the letter, he set it aside for Liam to give to the next French vessel. Father Etienne stretched. It was late, and he knew that he should get some rest. He hated this time of night when he had to blow out the candle. He thought of the flame as his own little companion, flickering and dancing merrily, banishing the darkness.
     
    He laughed out loud and blew out the candle. How absurd, a candle as one's companion. Etienne, what a pathetic creature you have become, and he shook his head crawling into bed.   Pangs of loneliness nagged at the pit of his stomach, and he turned over impatiently. Gradually the day's labors pulled him into sleep, banishing his shame and despair.
     
    *             *           *
     
    Darcy arrived the following afternoon, wearing a look of nonchalance . He suspected from the dark shadows under her eyes, that she had not slept a wink because of anxious anticipation. It amused him to see the bored facade she presented to