"I had better while I have a warm bed still," she said with a constricted throat. She also didn't wish to be a burden, which was a thought she had on the tip of her tongue to speak out loud, but instead, she did not voice tat. Her eyes were averted for a moment before she looked at him again. "I wouldn't mind the company on the way home." She was not particularly keen on walking home in the dark, but nor did she want to take up space in a church.

She felt odd being in such a church, her father would surely blow his top if he knew that she had been frequenting a Catholic church as opposed to one more like his, but he would not know because he was in Cornwall and hardly even wrote her.

There didn't seem to be a proper answer, because there was no good option he could see. Her home (wherever it may be) was a source of misery, yet she would face such sorrows anywhere she went. Again Malachi considered telling her to stay, that it was alright, but the words hesitated at the edge of his tongue.

"If..."

Ah, how did he tell her without sounding strange? He had allowed others to stay, and it was no imposition if she did for a night as well. Malachi cleared his throat quietly, and then tried again, setting a hand on the back of a pew.

"If you would prefer, Miss Mason, you're welcome to stay here for the night. There are rooms in the presbytery, and we would not mind having you."

He actually hadn't the faintest clue about what Father Richards or Mrs. Higgins thought about him letting people sleep there now and then, but who did it hurt? The space was there, and it would be wrong not to offer it.

"You don't have to, of course, but it is quite late. If you would prefer to walk home in the morning, you can stay."

She nodded quietly, "Alright, I'll stay." She inhaled through her nose and exhaled, then looked at him. "I am sorry, I don't mean to be a burden." It came out despite him insisting it was going to be fine. Her eyes filled with tears again and she ducked her head. "Sorry," she said in a higher tone. Oh goodness, she was a mess, she thought and took several, calming breaths. Her eyes settled back on his face even as he was a little blurred by the burning saline trapped by long lashes.

Her mouth wobbled just a little and she took one last, big breath. She was fine, she would be fine, everything was fine. Except it wasn't.

That went over better than he'd thought it would. He had expected her to protest, or that she would at least take some convincing, but she took the offer easily. A testament to her exhaustion, Malachi supposed, or perhaps she already trusted him.

"You are not a burden," his voice was firmer this time, but not unkind. Malachi simply struggled to hear her say such things about herself, and did not wish for her to reinforce that idea in her head.

The heightened pitch of her apologies set him into motion again. He approached her the same as he had in the graveyard outside, without any intention of spooking her, and gently brought her into his embrace.

"Please don't apologize," said Malachi. "This is not your fault. It's alright to not know what you're supposed to do."

His hold was steady, but not overpowering -- if she had any desire to escape it, she could. Up close, the scent of lavender seemed to cling to the priest's hair and robes, as if it were a part of him as natural as his breath.

She found herself in the man's embrace. Shock was her first instinctive response, but then she found herself relaxing. Amelia should have pulled away, should have run from the place but god, there was someone holding her. Eventually, she was there shuddering in his arms but not crying anymore, and she still had yet to pull away. Nobody had ever given her such an embrace since she was a small child not able to take care of herself and she was touch starved, and he was evoking within her something that bothered her greatly.

Yet at what point did she do anything about it?

Her breathing evened except for a few hiccups and she finally started to think about pulling away.

Oh dear. He had not planned on holding her this long.

Hopefully the poor young woman would not find his actions too terribly inappropriate. He only wished to comfort her, and aware as he was of the use of words in times of great sorrow, this was the next best thing he could do. Malachi kept a steady hold around her smaller form, her head reaching only to his chest, and hoped that the calm repetition of his own deep breaths might slow the shudders that shook through her.

After a while, once Miss Mason seemed to calm somewhat in his embrace, Malachi lowered his chin to look down at her.

"Are you alright?" he repeated, careful to keep his voice soft. "I can show you to the guest room, if you're tired."

She gave a pitiful nod and a small croak that sounded like, "Yes," but didn't immediately pull away from him. She let herself have just a moment more of that contact, even if it wasn't appropriate. But then it was time to remember herself, lest someone walk in and get the wrong impression about her or the priest. She put an arm's length of distance between the two of them and said, "Thank you... Yes... I think I will sleep."

With a sniffle, she looked at him, a droplet of saline still clinging to her lashes like gemstones.

After a few more moments spent in his arms, Miss Mason finally removed herself from his embrace. Malachi fixed his sleeves where they'd twisted. At least the slight panic he'd felt when the woman had lingered was not as obvious on his face as it felt on the inside.

Malachi did not hate physical contact. If he did, he would not hand it out so willingly when the situation called for it. It was always just a bit strange.

"Follow me," he said with a nod. He retrieved the blanket from the pew and folded it over his arm, and then turned to lead Miss Mason to the door. Now that it was dark out -- and especially because it was a young woman trailing behind him -- he would walk around and use the front entrances rather than sneak around the back as he usually did.

"Is there anything else you need?" Malachi asked as they walked, and he held the door for her to step outside first. "You're not hungry?"

She nodded and followed him, not really looking at him now but that was because of her own chagrin. Her mouth was curled downward in a frown as she followed him, then stepped through the door ahead of him when held open for her. She took a deep breath of the summer night air and she sighed it out, it was refreshing against her hot face. When asked if she needed anything else, she looked over to him and murmured, "I couldn't eat if I wanted to, if I am being honest. Thank you, nevertheless."

Her eyes couldn't help but trace his face for the briefest of moments. There were a few emotions warring within her, one of which she did not recognize for what it was and mistook it for nervousness.

He could not fault her lack of appetite. Death, and the sorrows of the living that came with it, hardly made one reach for bread over a bottle.

His smile was kind when she looked at him, but Malachi did not linger in the door. It was late enough now that the moon lit their path, casting its pale glowing light upon them. He walked close by her side, should she desire his assistance, but otherwise let her be.

"The beds are not the most comfortable," he warned, "but the house is warm, and if you have any issues, please tell me."

Malachi walked ahead to get the door to the presbytery next. As mentioned, it was warm inside, and a dull light from the hearth spoke to a fire that'd only recently burned out.

"There is... another guest staying with us, but he should not bother you."