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diff --git a/11304-0.txt b/11304-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8f8a288 --- /dev/null +++ b/11304-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7364 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11304 *** + +THE LAKE + +BY GEORGE MOORE + + +1921 + +LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN + + + + +ÉPÎTRE DÉDICATOIRE + + +_17 Août, 1905._ + +MON CHER DUJARDIN, + +Il se trouve que je suis à Paris en train de corriger mes épreuves au +moment où vous donnez les dernières retouches au manuscrit de 'La Source +du Fleuve Chrétien,' un beau titre--si beau que je n'ai pu m'empêcher de +le 'chipper' pour le livre de Ralph Elles, un personnage de mon roman +qui ne parait pas, mais dont on entend beaucoup parler. Pour vous +dédommager de mon larcin, je me propose de vous dédier 'Le Lac.' Il y a +bien des raisons pour que je désire voir votre nom sur la première page +d'un livre de moi; la meilleure est, peut-être, parceque vous êtes mon +ami depuis 'Les Confessions d'un Jeune Anglais' qui ont paru dans votre +jolie _Revue Indépendante;_ et, depuis cette bienheureuse année, nous +avons causé littérature et musique, combien de fois! Combien d'heures +nous avons passés ensemble, causant, toujours causant, dans votre belle +maison de Fontainebleau, si française avec sa terrasse en pierre et son +jardin avec ses gazons maigres et ses allées sablonneuses qui serpentent +parmi les grands arbres forestiers. C'est dans ce jardin à l'orée de la +forêt et dans la forêt même, parmi la mélancolie de lat nature +primitive, et à Valvins ou demeurait notre vieil ami Mallarmé, triste et +charmant bonhomme, comme le pays du reste (n'est-ce-pas que cette +tristesse croit depuis qu'il s'en est allé?) que vous m'avez entendu +raconter 'Le Lac.' + +A Valvins, la Seine coule silencieusement tout le long des berges plates +et graciles, avec des peupliers alignés; comme ils sont tristes au +printemps, ces peupliers, surtout avant qu'ils ne deviennent verts, +quand ils sont rougeâtres, posés contre un ciel gris, des ombres +immobiles et ternes dans les eaux, dix fois tristes quand les +hirondelles volent bas! Pour expliquer la tristesse de ce beau pays +parsemé de châteaux vides, hanté par le souvenir des fêtes d'autrefois, +il faudrait tout un orchestre. Je l'entends d'abord sur les violons; +plus tard on ajouterait d'autres instruments, des cors sans doute; mais +pour rendre la tristesse de mon pauvre pays là bas il ne faut drait pas +tout cela. Je l'entends très bien sur une seule flute placée dans une +île entourée des eaux d'un lac, le joueur assis sur les vagues ruines +d'un réduit gallois ou bien Normand. Mais, cher ami, vous êtes Normand +et peut-être bien que ce sent vos ancêtres qui out pillé mon pays; c'est +une raison de plus pour que je vous offre ce roman. Acceptez-le sans le +connaître davantage et n'essayez pas de le lire; ne vous donnez pas la +peine d'apprendre l'anglais pour lire 'Le Lac'; que le lac ne soit +jamais traversé par vous! Et parce que vous allez rester fatalement sur +le bord de 'mon lac' j'ai un double plaisir à vous le dédier. Lorsqu'on +dédie un livre, on prévoit l'heure où l'ami le prend, jette un coup +d'oeil et dit: 'Pourquoi m'a-t-il dédié une niaiserie pareille?' Toutes +les choses de l'esprit, sauf les plus grandes, deviennent niaiseries tôt +ou tard. Votre ignorance de ma langue m'épargne cette heure fatale. Pour +vous, mon livre sera toujours une belle et noble chose. Il ne peut +jamais devenir pour vous banal comme une épouse. II sera pour vous une +vierge, mieux qu'une vierge, il sera pour vous une demi-vierge. Chaque +fois que vous l'ouvrirez, vous penserez à des années écoulées, au +jardin où les rossignols chantent, a la forêt où rien ne se passe sauf +la chute des feuilles, à nos promenades à Valvins pour voir le cher +bonhomme; vous penserez à votre jeunesse et peut-être un peu à la +mienne. Mais je veux que vous lisiez cette dédicace, et c'est pour cela +que je l'ai écrite en français, dans un français qui vous est très +familier, le mien. Si je l'écrivais en anglais et le faisais traduire +dans le langage à la dernière mode de Paris, vous ne retrouveriez pas +les accents barbares de votre vieil ami. Ils sont barbares, je le +conçois, mais il y a des chiens qui sont laids et que l'on finit par +aimer. + +Une poignée de mains, + +GEORGES MOORE. + + + + +PREFACE + + +The concern of this preface is with the mistake that was made when 'The +Lake' was excluded from the volume entitled 'The Untilled Field,' +reducing it to too slight dimensions, for bulk counts; and 'The Lake,' +too, in being published in a separate volume lost a great deal in range +and power, and criticism was baffled by the division of stories written +at the same time and coming out of the same happy inspiration, one that +could hardly fail to beget stories in the mind of anybody prone to +narrative--the return of a man to his native land, to its people, to +memories hidden for years, forgotten, but which rose suddenly out of the +darkness, like water out of the earth when a spring is tapped. + +Some chance words passing between John Eglinton and me as we returned +home one evening from Professor Dowden's were enough. He spoke, or I +spoke, of a volume of Irish stories; Tourguéniev's name was mentioned, +and next morning--if not the next morning, certainly not later than a +few mornings after--I was writing 'Homesickness,' while the story of +'The Exile' was taking shape in my mind. 'The Exile' was followed by a +series of four stories, a sort of village odyssey. 'A Letter to Rome' is +as good as these and as typical of my country. 'So on He Fares' is the +one that, perhaps, out of the whole volume I like the best, always +excepting 'The Lake,' which, alas, was not included, but which belongs +so strictly to the aforesaid stories that my memory includes it in the +volume. + +In expressing preferences I am transgressing an established rule of +literary conduct, which ordains that an author must always speak of his +own work with downcast eyes, excusing its existence on the ground of his +own incapacity. All the same an author's preferences interest his +readers, and having transgressed by telling that these Irish stories lie +very near to my heart, I will proceed a little further into literary +sin, confessing that my reason for liking 'The Lake' is related to the +very great difficulty of the telling, for the one vital event in the +priest's life befell him before the story opens, and to keep the story +in the key in which it was conceived, it was necessary to recount the +priest's life during the course of his walk by the shores of a lake, +weaving his memories continually, without losing sight, however, of the +long, winding, mere-like lake, wooded to its shores, with hills +appearing and disappearing into mist and distance. The difficulty +overcome is a joy to the artist, for in his conquest over the material +he draws nigh to his idea, and in this book mine was the essential +rather than the daily life of the priest, and as I read for this edition +I seemed to hear it. The drama passes within the priest's soul; it is +tied and untied by the flux and reflux of sentiments, inherent in and +proper to his nature, and the weaving of a story out of the soul +substance without ever seeking the aid of external circumstance seems to +me a little triumph. It may be that I heard what none other will hear, +not through his own fault but through mine, and it may be that all ears +are not tuned, or are too indifferent or indolent to listen; it is +easier to hear 'Esther Waters' and to watch her struggles for her +child's life than to hear the mysterious warble, soft as lake water, +that abides in the heart. But I think there will always be a few who +will agree with me that there is as much life in 'The Lake,' as there is +in 'Esther Waters'--a different kind of life, not so wide a life, +perhaps, but what counts in art is not width but depth. + +Artists, it is said, are not good judges of their own works, and for +that reason, and other reasons, maybe, it is considered to be unbecoming +for a writer to praise himself. So to make atonement for the sins I have +committed in this preface, I will confess to very little admiration for +'Evelyn Innes' and 'Sister Teresa.' The writing of 'Evelyn Innes' and +'Sister Teresa' was useful to me inasmuch that if I had not written them +I could not have written 'The Lake' or 'The Brook Kerith.' It seems +ungrateful, therefore, to refuse to allow two of my most successful +books into the canon merely because they do not correspond with my +æstheticism. But a writer's æstheticism is his all; he cannot surrender +it, for his art is dependent upon it, and the single concession he can +make is that if an overwhelming demand should arise for these books +when he is among the gone--a storm before which the reed must bend--the +publisher shall be permitted to print 'Evelyn Innes' and 'Sister Teresa' +from the original editions, it being, however, clearly understood that +they are offered to the public only as apocrypha. But this permission +must not be understood to extend to certain books on which my name +appears--viz., 'Mike Fletcher,' 'Vain Fortune,' Parnell and His Island'; +to some plays, 'Martin Luther,' 'The Strike at Arlingford,' 'The Bending +of the Boughs'; to a couple of volumes of verse entitled 'Pagan Poems' +and 'Flowers of Passion'--all these books, if they are ever reprinted +again, should be issued as the work of a disciple--Amico Moorini I put +forward as a suggestion. + +G.M. + + + + +I + + +It was one of those enticing days at the beginning of May when white +clouds are drawn about the earth like curtains. The lake lay like a +mirror that somebody had breathed upon, the brown islands showing +through the mist faintly, with gray shadows falling into the water, +blurred at the edges. The ducks were talking in the reeds, the reeds +themselves were talking, and the water lapping softly about the smooth +limestone shingle. But there was an impulse in the gentle day, and, +turning from the sandy spit, Father Oliver walked to and fro along the +disused cart-track about the edge of the wood, asking himself if he were +going home, knowing very well that he could not bring himself to +interview his parishioners that morning. + +On a sudden resolve to escape from anyone that might be seeking him, he +went into the wood and lay down on the warm grass, and admired the +thickly-tasselled branches of the tall larches swinging above him. At a +little distance among the juniper-bushes, between the lake and the wood, +a bird uttered a cry like two stones clinked sharply together, and +getting up he followed the bird, trying to catch sight of it, but always +failing to do so; it seemed to range in a circle about certain trees, +and he hadn't gone very far when he heard it behind him. A stonechat he +was sure it must be, and he wandered on till he came to a great silver +fir, and thought that he spied a pigeon's nest among the multitudinous +branches. The nest, if it were one, was about sixty feet from the +ground, perhaps more than that; and, remembering that the great fir had +grown out of a single seed, it seemed to him not at all wonderful that +people had once worshipped trees, so mysterious is their life, so remote +from ours. And he stood a long time looking up, hardly able to resist +the temptation to climb the tree--not to rob the nest like a boy, but to +admire the two gray eggs which he would find lying on some bare twigs. + +At the edge of the wood there were some chestnuts and sycamores. He +noticed that the large-patterned leaf of the sycamores, hanging out from +a longer stem, was darker than the chestnut leaf. There were some elms +close by, and their half-opened leaves, dainty and frail, reminded him +of clouds of butterflies. He could think of nothing else. White, +cotton-like clouds unfolded above the blossoming trees; patches of blue +appeared and disappeared; and he wandered on again, beguiled this time +by many errant scents and wilful little breezes. + +Very soon he came upon some fields, and as he walked through the ferns +the young rabbits ran from under his feet, and he thought of the +delicious meals that the fox would snap up. He had to pick his way, for +thorn-bushes and hazels were springing up everywhere. Derrinrush, the +great headland stretching nearly a mile into the lake, said to be one of +the original forests, was extending inland. He remembered it as a deep, +religious wood, with its own particular smell of reeds and rushes. It +went further back than the island castles, further back than the Druids; +and was among Father Oliver's earliest recollections. Himself and his +brother James used to go there when they were boys to cut hazel stems, +to make fishing-rods; and one had only to turn over the dead leaves to +discover the chips scattered circlewise in the open spaces where the +coopers sat in the days gone by making hoops for barrels. But iron hoops +were now used instead of hazel, and the coopers worked there no more. In +the old days he and his brother James used to follow the wood-ranger, +asking him questions about the wild creatures of the wood--badgers, +marten cats, and otters. And one day they took home a nest of young +hawks. He did not neglect to feed them, but they had eaten each other, +nevertheless. He forgot what became of the last one. + +A thick yellow smell hung on the still air. 'A fox,' he said, and he +trailed the animal through the hazel-bushes till he came to a rough +shore, covered with juniper-bushes and tussocked grass, the extreme +point of the headland, whence he could see the mountains--the pale +southern mountains mingling with the white sky, and the western +mountains, much nearer, showing in bold relief. The beautiful motion and +variety of the hills delighted him, and there was as much various colour +as there were many dips and curves, for the hills were not far enough +away to dwindle to one blue tint; they were blue, but the pink heather +showed through the blue, and the clouds continued to fold and unfold, so +that neither the colour nor the lines were ever the same. The retreating +and advancing of the great masses and the delicate illumination of the +crests could be watched without weariness. It was like listening to +music. Slieve Cairn showing straight as a bull's back against the white +sky, a cloud filling the gap between Slieve Cairn and Slieve Louan, a +quaint little hill like a hunchback going down a road. Slieve Louan was +followed by a great boulder-like hill turned sideways, the top indented +like a crater, and the priest likened the long, low profile of the next +hill to a reptile raising itself on its forepaws. + +He stood at gaze, bewitched by the play of light and shadow among the +slopes; and when he turned towards the lake again, he was surprised to +see a yacht by Castle Island. A random breeze just sprung up had borne +her so far, and now she lay becalmed, carrying, without doubt, a +pleasure-party, inspired by some vague interest in ruins, and a very +real interest in lunch; or the yacht's destination might be Kilronan +Abbey, and the priest wondered if there were water enough in the strait +to let her through in this season of the year. The sails flapped in the +puffing breeze, and he began to calculate her tonnage, certain that if +he had such a boat he would not be sailing her on a lake, but on the +bright sea, out of sight of land, in the middle of a great circle of +water. As if stung by a sudden sense of the sea, of its perfume and its +freedom, he imagined the filling of the sails and the rattle of the +ropes, and how a fair wind would carry him as far as the cove of Cork +before morning. The run from Cork to Liverpool would be slower, but the +wind might veer a little, and in four-and-twenty hours the Welsh +mountains would begin to show above the horizon. But he would not land +anywhere on the Welsh coast. There was nothing to see in Wales but +castles, and he was weary of castles, and longed to see the cathedrals +of York and Salisbury; for he had often seen them in pictures, and had +more than once thought of a walking tour through England. Better still +if the yacht were to land him somewhere on the French coast. England +was, after all, only an island like Ireland--- a little larger, but +still an island--and he thought he would like a continent to roam in. +The French cathedrals were more beautiful than the English, and it would +be pleasant to wander in the French country in happy-go-lucky fashion, +resting when he was tired, walking when it pleased him, taking an +interest in whatever might strike his fancy. + +It seemed to him that his desire was to be freed for a while from +everything he had ever seen, and from everything he had ever heard. He +merely wanted to wander, admiring everything there was to admire as he +went. He didn't want to learn anything, only to admire. He was weary of +argument, religious and political. It wasn't that he was indifferent to +his country's welfare, but every mind requires rest, and he wished +himself away in a foreign country, distracted every moment by new +things, learning the language out of a volume of songs, and hearing +music, any music, French or German--any music but Irish music. He +sighed, and wondered why he sighed. Was it because he feared that if he +once went away he might never come back? + +This lake was beautiful, but he was tired of its low gray shores; he was +tired of those mountains, melancholy as Irish melodies, and as +beautiful. He felt suddenly that he didn't want to see a lake or a +mountain for two months at least, and that his longing for a change was +legitimate and most natural. It pleased him to remember that everyone +likes to get out of his native country for a while, and he had only been +out of sight of this lake in the years he spent in Maynooth. On leaving +he had pleaded that he might be sent to live among the mountains by +Kilronan Abbey, at the north end of the lake, but when Father Conway +died he was moved round to the western shore; and every day since he +walked by the lake, for there was nowhere else to walk, unless up and +down the lawn under the sycamores, imitating Father Peter, whose wont it +was to walk there, reading his breviary, stopping from time to time to +speak to a parishioner in the road below; he too used to read his +breviary under the sycamores; but for one reason or another he walked +there no longer, and every afternoon now found him standing at the end +of this sandy spit, looking across the lake towards Tinnick, where he +was born, and where his sisters lived. + +He couldn't see the walls of the convent to-day, there was too much mist +about; and he liked to see them; for whenever he saw them he began to +think of his sister Eliza, and he liked to think of her--she was his +favourite sister. They were nearly the same age, and had played +together; and his eyes dwelt in memory on the dark corner under the +stairs where they used to play. He could even see their toys through the +years, and the tall clock which used to tell them that it was time to +put them aside. Eliza was only eighteen months older than he; they were +the red-haired ones, and though they were as different in mind as it was +possible to be, he seemed nearer Eliza than anyone else. In what this +affinity consisted he couldn't say, but he had always felt himself of +the same flesh and blood. Neither his father nor mother had inspired +this sense of affinity; and his sister Mary and his brothers seemed to +him merely people whom he had known always--not more than that; whereas +Eliza was quite different, and perhaps it was this very mutuality, which +he could not define, that had decided their vocations. + +No doubt there is a moment in every man's life when something happens to +turn him into the road which he is destined to follow; for all that it +would be superficial to think that the fate of one's life is dependent +upon accident. The accident that turns one into the road is only the +means which Providence takes to procure the working out of certain ends. +Accidents are many: life is as full of accidents as a fire is full of +sparks, and any spark is enough to set fire to the train. The train +escapes a thousand, but at last a spark lights it, and this spark always +seems to us the only one that could have done it. We cannot imagine how +the same result could have been obtained otherwise. But other ways would +have been found; for Nature is full of resource, and if Eliza had not +been by to fire the idea hidden in him, something else would. She was +the means, but only the means, for no man escapes his vocation, and the +priesthood was his. A vocation always finds a way out. But was he sure +if it hadn't been for Eliza that he wouldn't have married Annie McGrath? +He didn't think he would have married Annie, but he might have married +another. All the same, Annie was a good, comfortable girl, a girl that +everybody was sure would make a good wife for any man, and at that time +many people were thinking that he should marry Annie. On looking back he +couldn't honestly say that a stray thought of Annie hadn't found its way +into his mind; but not into his heart--there is a difference. + +At that time he was what is known as a growing lad; he was seventeen. +His father was then dead two years, and his mother looked to him, he +being the eldest, to take charge of the shop, for at that time it was +almost settled that James was to go to America. They had two or three +nice grass farms just beyond the town: Patsy was going to have them; and +his sisters' fortunes were in the bank, and very good fortunes they +were. They had a hundred pounds apiece and should have married well. +Eliza could have married whomever she pleased. Mary could have married, +too, and to this day he couldn't tell why she hadn't married. + +The chances his sister Mary had missed rose up in his mind--why, he did +not know; and a little bored by these memories, he suddenly became +absorbed in the little bleat of a blackcap perched on a bush, the only +one amid a bed of flags and rushes; 'an alder-bush,' he said. 'His mate +is sitting on her eggs, and there are some wood-gatherers about; that's +what's worrying the little fellow.' The bird continued to utter its +troubled bleat, and the priest walked on, thinking how different was its +evensong. He meditated an excursion to hear it, and then, without his +being aware of any transition, his thoughts returned to his sister Mary, +and to the time when he had once indulged in hopes that the mills along +the river-side might be rebuilt and Tinnick restored to its former +commercial prosperity. He was not certain if he had ever really believed +that he might set these mills going, or if he had, he encouraged an +illusion, knowing it to be one. He was only certain of this, that when +he was a boy and saw no life ahead of him except that of a Tinnick +shopman, he used to feel that if he remained at home he must have the +excitement of adventure. The beautiful river, with its lime-trees, +appealed to his imagination; the rebuilding of the mills and the +reorganization of trade, if he succeeded in reorganizing trade, would +mean spending his mornings on the wharves by the river-side, and in +those days his one desire was to escape from the shop. He looked upon +the shop as a prison. In those days he liked dreaming, and it was +pleasant to dream of giving back to Tinnick its trade of former days; +but when his mother asked him what steps he intended to take to get the +necessary capital, he lost his temper with her. He must have known that +he could never make enough money in the shop to set the mills working! +He must have known that he would never take his father's place at the +desk by the dusty window! But if he shrank from an avowal it was because +he had no other proposal to make. His mother understood him, though the +others didn't, and seeing his inability to say what kind of work he +would put his hand to, she had spoken of Annie McGrath. She didn't say +he should marry Annie--she was a clever woman in her way--she merely +said that Annie's relations in America could afford to supply sufficient +capital to start one of the mills. But he never wanted to marry Annie, +and couldn't do else but snap when the subject was mentioned, and many's +the time he told his mother that if the mills were to pay it would be +necessary to start business on a large scale. He was an impracticable +lad and even now he couldn't help smiling when he thought of the +abruptness with which he would go down to the river-side to seek a new +argument wherewith to confute his mother, to return happy when he had +found one, and sit watching for an opportunity to raise the question +again. + +No, it wasn't because Annie's relations weren't rich enough that he +hadn't wanted to marry her. And to account for his prejudice against +marriage, he must suppose that some notion of the priesthood was +stirring in him at the time, for one day, as he sat looking at Annie +across the tea-table, he couldn't help thinking that it would be hard to +live alongside of her year in and year out. Although a good and a +pleasant girl, Annie was a bit tiresome to listen to, and she wasn't one +of those who improve with age. As he sat looking at her, he seemed to +understand, as he had never understood before, that if he married her +all that had happened in the years back would happen again--more +children scrambling about the counter, with a shopman (himself) by the +dusty window putting his pen behind his ear, just as his father did when +he came forward to serve some country woman with half a pound of tea or +a hank of onions. + +And as these thoughts were passing through his mind, he remembered +hearing his mother say that Annie's sister was thinking of starting +dressmaking in the High Street. 'It would be nice if Eliza were to join +her,' his mother added casually. Eliza laid aside the skirt she was +turning, raised her eyes and stared at mother, as if she were surprised +mother could say anything so stupid. 'I'm going to be a nun,' she said, +and, just as if she didn't wish to answer any questions, went on sewing. +Well might they be surprised, for not one of them suspected Eliza of +religious inclinations. She wasn't more pious than another, and when +they asked her if she were joking, she looked at them as if she thought +the question very stupid, and they didn't ask her any more. + +She wasn't more than fifteen at the time, yet she spoke out of her own +mind. At the time they thought she had been thinking on the +matter--considering her future. A child of fifteen doesn't consider, but +a child of fifteen may _know_, and after he had seen the look which +greeted his mother's remarks, and heard Eliza's simple answer, 'I've +decided to be a nun,' he never doubted that what she said was true. From +that day she became for him a different being; and when she told him, +feeling, perhaps, that he sympathized with her more than the others did, +that one day she would be Reverend Mother of the Tinnick Convent, he +felt convinced that she knew what she was saying--how she knew he could +not say. + +His childhood had been a slumber, with occasional awakenings or half +awakenings, and Eliza's announcement that she intended to enter the +religious life was the first real awakening; and this awakening first +took the form of an acute interest in Eliza's character, and, persuaded +that she or her prototype had already existed, he searched the lives of +the saints for an account of her, finding many partial portraits of her; +certain typical traits in the lives of three or four saints reminded him +of Eliza, but there was no complete portrait. The strangest part of the +business was that he traced his vocation to his search for Eliza in the +lives of the saints. Everything that happened afterwards was the +emotional sequence of taking down the books from the shelf. He didn't +exaggerate; it was possible his life might have taken a different turn, +for up to that time he had only read books of adventure--stories about +robbers and pirates. As if by magic, his interest in such stories passed +clean out of his mind, or was exchanged for an extraordinary enthusiasm +for saints, who by renouncement of animal life had contrived to steal up +to the last bounds, whence they could see into the eternal life that +lies beyond the grave. Once this power was admitted, what interest could +we find in the feeble ambitions of temporal life, whose scope is limited +to three score and ten years? And who could doubt that saints attained +the eternal life, which is God, while still living in the temporal +flesh? For did not the miracles of the saints prove that they were no +longer subject to natural laws? Ancient Ireland, perhaps, more than any +other country, understood the supremacy of spirit over matter, and +strove to escape through mortifications from the prison of the flesh. +Without doubt great numbers in Ireland had fled from the torment of +actual life into the wilderness. If the shore and the islands on this +lake were dotted with fortress castles, it was the Welsh and the Normans +who built them, and the priest remembered how his mind took fire when he +first heard of the hermit who lived in Church Island, and how +disappointed he was when he heard that Church Island was ten miles away, +at the other end of the lake. + +For he could not row himself so far; distance and danger compelled him +to consider the islands facing Tinnick--two large islands covered with +brushwood, ugly brown patches--ugly as their names, Horse Island and Hog +Island, whereas Castle Island had always seemed to him a suitable island +for a hermitage, far more so than Castle Hag. Castle Hag was too small +and bleak to engage the attention of a sixth-century hermit. But there +were trees on Castle Island, and out of the ruins of the castle a +comfortable sheiling could be built, and the ground thus freed from the +ruins of the Welshman's castle might be cultivated. He remembered +commandeering the fisherman's boat, and rowing himself out, taking a +tape to measure, and how, after much application of the tape, he had +satisfied himself that there was enough arable land in the island for a +garden; he had walked down the island certain that a quarter of an acre +could grow enough vegetables to support a hermit, and that a goat would +be able to pick a living among the bushes and the tussocked grass: even +a hermit might have a goat, and he didn't think he could live without +milk. He must have been a long time measuring out his garden, for when +he returned to his boat the appearance of the lake frightened him; it +was full of blustering waves, and it wasn't likely he'd ever forget his +struggle to get the boat back to Tinnick. He left it where he had found +it, at the mouth of the river by the fisherman's hut, and returned home +thinking how he would have to import a little hay occasionally for the +goat. Nor would this be all; he would have to go on shore every Sunday +to hear Mass, unless he built a chapel. The hermit of Church Island had +an oratory in which he said Mass! But if he left his island every Sunday +his hermitage would be a mockery. For the moment he couldn't see how he +was to build a chapel--a sheiling, perhaps; a chapel was out of the +question, he feared. + +He would have to have vestments and a chalice, and, immersed in the +difficulty of obtaining these, he walked home, taking the path along the +river from habit, not because he wished to consider afresh the problems +of the ruined mills. The dream of restoring Tinnick to its commerce of +former days was forgotten, and he walked on, thinking of his chalice, +until he heard somebody call him. It was Eliza, and as they leaned over +the parapet of the bridge, he could not keep himself from telling her +that he had rowed out to Castle Island, never thinking that she would +reprove him, and sternly, for taking the fisherman's boat without asking +leave. It was no use to argue with Eliza that the fisherman didn't want +his boat, the day being too rough for fishing. What did she know about +fishing? She had asked very sharply what brought him out to Castle +Island on such a day. There was no use saying he didn't know; he never +was able to keep a secret from Eliza, and feeling that he must confide +in somebody, he told her he was tired of living at home, and was +thinking of building a sheiling on the island. + +Eliza didn't understand, and she understood still less when he spoke of +a beehive hut, such as the ancient hermits of Ireland lived in. She was +entirely without imagination; but what surprised him still more than her +lack of sympathy with his dream-project was her inability to understand +an idea so inherent in Christianity as the hermitage, for at that time +Eliza's mind was made up to enter the religious life. He waited a long +time for her answer, but the only answer she made was that in the early +centuries a man was either a bandit or a hermit. This wasn't true: life +was peaceful in Ireland in the sixth and seventh centuries; even if it +weren't, she ought to have understood that change of circumstance cannot +alter an idea so inherent in man as the hermitage, and when he asked her +if she intended to found a new Order, or to go out to Patagonia to teach +the Indians, she laughed, saying she was much more interested in a +laundry than in the Indians. Her plea that the Tinnick Convent was +always in straits for money did not appeal to him then any more than it +did to-day. + +'The officers in Tinnick have to send their washing to Dublin. A fine +reason for entering a convent,' he answered. + +But quite unmoved by the sarcasm, she replied that a woman can do +nothing unless she be a member of a congregation. He shrank from Eliza's +mind as from the touch of something coarse, and his suggestion that the +object of the religious life is meditation did not embarrass her in the +very least, and he remembered well how she had said: + +'Putting aside for the moment the important question whether there may +or may not be hermits in the twentieth century, tell me, Oliver, are you +thinking of marrying Annie McGrath? You know she has rich relations in +America, and you might get them to supply the capital to set the mills +going. The mills would be a great advantage. Annie has a good headpiece, +and would be able to take the shop off your hands, leaving you free to +look after the mills.' + +'The mills, Eliza! there are other things in the world beside those +mills!' + +'A hermitage on Castle Island?' + +Eliza could be very impertinent when she liked. If she had no concern in +what was being said, she looked round, displaying an irritating +curiosity in every passer-by, and true to herself she had drawn his +attention to the ducks on the river while he was telling her of the +great change that had come over him. He had felt like boxing her ears. +But the moment he began to speak of taking Orders she forgot all about +the ducks; her eyes were fixed upon him, she listened to his every word, +and when he finished speaking, she reminded him there had always been a +priest in the family. All her wits were awake. He was the one of the +family who had shown most aptitude for learning, and their cousin the +Bishop would be able to help him. What she would like would be to see +him parish priest of Tinnick. The parish was one of the best in the +diocese. Not a doubt of it, she was thinking at that moment of the +advantage this arrangement would be to her when she was directing the +affairs of the convent. + +If there was no other, there was at least one woman in Ireland who was +interested in things. He had never met anybody less interested in +opinions or in ideas than Eliza. They had walked home together in +silence, at all events not saying much, and that very evening she left +the room immediately after supper. And soon after they heard sounds of +trunks being dragged along the passage; furniture was being moved, and +when she came downstairs she just said she was going to sleep with Mary. + +'Oliver is going to have my room. He must have a room to himself on +account of his studies.' + +On that she gathered up her sewing, and left him to explain. He felt +that it was rather sly of her to go away like that, leaving all the +explanation to him. She wanted him to be a priest, and was full of +little tricks. There was no time for thinking it over. There was only +just time to prepare for the examination. He worked hard, for his work +interested him, especially the Latin language; but what interested him +far more than his aptitude for learning whatever he made up his mind to +learn was the discovery of a religious vocation in himself. Eliza feared +that his interest in hermits sprang from a boyish taste for adventure +rather than from religious feeling, but no sooner had he begun his +studies for the priesthood, than he found himself overtaken and +overpowered by an extraordinary religious fervour and by a desire for +prayer and discipline. Never had a boy left home more zealous, more +desirous to excel in piety and to strive for the honour and glory of the +Church. + +An expression of anger, almost of hatred, passed over Father Oliver's +face, and he turned from the lake and walked a few yards rapidly, hoping +to escape from memories of his folly; for he had made a great fool of +himself, no doubt. But, after all, he preferred his enthusiasms, however +exaggerated they might seem to him now, to the commonplace--he could not +call it wisdom--of those whom he had taken into his confidence. It was +foolish of him, no doubt, to have told how he used to go out in a boat +and measure the ground about Castle Island, thinking to build himself a +beehive hut out of the ruins. He knew too little of the world at that +time; he had no idea how incapable the students were of understanding +anything outside the narrow interests of an ecclesiastical career. +Anyhow, he had had the satisfaction of having beaten them in all the +examinations; and if he had cared to go in for advancement, he could +have easily got ahead of them all, for he had better brains and better +interest than any of them. When he last saw that ignorant brute Peter +Fahy, Fahy asked him if he still put pebbles in his shoes. It was to +Fahy he had confided the cause of his lameness, and Fahy had told on +him; he was ridiculously innocent in those days, and he could still see +them gathered about him, pretending not to believe that he kept a +cat-o'-nine-tails in his room, and scourged himself at night. It was Tom +Bryan who said that he wouldn't mind betting a couple of shillings that +Gogarty's whip wouldn't draw a squeal from a pig on the roadside. The +answer to that was: 'A touch will make a pig squeal: you should have +said an ass!' But at the moment he couldn't think of an answer. + +No doubt everyone looked on him as a ninny, and they persuaded him to +prove to them that his whip was a real whip by letting Tom Bryan do the +whipping for him. Tom Bryan was a rough fellow, who ought to have been +driving a plough; a ploughman's life was too peaceful an occupation for +him--a drover's life would have suited him best, prodding his cattle +along the road with a goad; it was said that was how he maintained his +authority in the parish. The remembrance of the day he bared his back to +that fellow was still a bitter one. With a gentle smile he had handed +the whip to Tom Bryan, the very smile which he imagined the hermits of +old time used to wear. The first blow had so stunned him that he +couldn't cry out, and this blow was followed by a second which sent the +blood flaming through his veins, and then by another which brought all +the blood into one point in his body. He seemed to lose consciousness of +everything but three inches of back. Nine blows he bore without wincing; +the tenth overcame his fortitude, and he had reeled away from Tom Bryan. + +Tom had exchanged the whip he had given him for a great leather belt; +that was why he had been hurt so grievously--hurt till the pain seemed +to reach his very heart. Tom had belted him with all his strength; and +half a dozen of Tom's pals were waiting outside the door, and they came +into the room, their wide mouths agrin, asking him how he liked it. But +they were unready for the pain his face expressed, and in the midst of +his agony he noticed that already they foresaw consequences, and he +heard them reprove Tom Bryan, their intention being to dissociate +themselves from him. Cowards! cowards! cowards! + +They tried to help him on with his shirt, but he had been too badly +beaten, and Tom Bryan came up in the evening to ask him not to tell on +him. He promised, and he wouldn't have told if he could have helped it. +But some explanation had to be forthcoming--he couldn't lie on his +back. The doctor was sent for.... + +And next day he was told the President wished to see him. The President +was Eliza over again; hermits and hermitages were all very well in the +early centuries, but religion had advanced, and nowadays a steadfast +piety was more suited to modern requirements than pebbles in the shoes. +If it had been possible to leave for America that day he thought he +would have gone. But he couldn't leave Maynooth because he had been fool +enough to bare his back to Tom Bryan. He couldn't return home to tell +such a story as that. All Tinnick would be laughing at him, and Eliza, +what would she think of him? He wasn't such a fool as the Maynooth +students thought him, and he realized at once that he must stay in +Maynooth and live down remembrance of his folly. So, as the saying goes, +he took the bit between his teeth. + +The necessity of living down his first folly, of creating a new idea of +himself in the minds of the students, forced him to apply all his +intelligence to his studies, and he made extraordinary progress in the +first years. The recollection of the ease with which he outdistanced his +fellow-students was as pleasant as the breezes about the lake, and his +thoughts dwelt on the opinion which he knew was entertained, that for +many years no one at Maynooth had shown such aptitude for scholarship. +He only had to look at a book to know more about it than his +fellow-students would know if they were to spend days over it. He won +honours. He could have won greater honours, but his conscience reminded +him that the gifts he received from God were not bestowed upon him for +the mere purpose of humiliating his fellow-students. He often felt then +that if certain talents had been given to him, they were given to him to +use for the greater glory of God rather than for his own glorification; +and his feeling was that there was nothing more hateful in God's sight +than intellectual, unless perhaps spiritual, pride, and his object +during his last years at Maynooth was to exhibit himself to the least +advantage. + +It is strange how an idea enters the soul and remakes it, and when he +left Maynooth he used his influence with his cousin, the Bishop, to get +himself appointed to the poorest parish in Connaught. Eliza had to +dissemble, but he knew that in her heart she was furious with him. We +are all extraordinarily different one from another, and if we seem most +different from those whom we are most like, it is because we know +nothing at all about strangers. He had gone to Kilronan in spite of +Eliza, in spite of everyone, their cousin the Bishop included. He had +been very happy in Bridget Clery's cottage, so happy that he didn't know +himself why he ever consented to leave Kilronan. + +No, it was not because he was too happy there. He had to a certain +extent outgrown his very delicate conscience. + + + + +II + + +A breeze rose, the forest murmured, a bird sang, and the sails of the +yacht filled. The priest stood watching her pass behind a rocky +headland, knowing now that her destination was Kilronan Abbey. But was +there water enough in the strait at this season of the year? Hardly +enough to float a boat of her size. If she stuck, the picnic-party would +get into the small boat, and, thus lightened, the yacht might be floated +into the other arm of the lake. 'A pleasant day indeed for a sail,' and +in imagination he followed the yacht down the lake, past its different +castles, Castle Carra and Castle Burke and Church Island, the island on +which Marban--Marban, the famous hermit poet, had lived. + +It seemed to him strange that he had never thought of visiting the +ruined church when he lived close by at the northern end of the lake. +His time used to be entirely taken up with attending to the wants of his +poor people, and the first year he spent in Garranard he had thought +only of the possibility of inducing the Government to build a bridge +across the strait. That bridge was badly wanted. All the western side of +the lake was cut off from railway communication. Tinnick was the +terminus, but to get to Tinnick one had to go round the lake, either +by. the northern or the southern end, and it was always a question which +was the longer road--round by Kilronan Abbey or by the Bridge of Keel. +Many people said the southern road was shorter, but the difference +wasn't more than a mile, if that, and Father Oliver preferred the +northern road; for it took him by his curate's house, and he could +always stop there and give his horse a feed and a rest; and he liked to +revisit the abbey in which he had said Mass for so long, and in which +Mass had always been said for a thousand years, even since Cromwell had +unroofed it, the celebrant sheltered by an arch, the congregation +kneeling under the open sky, whether it rained or snowed. + +The roofing of the abbey and the bridging of the strait were the two +things that the parish was really interested in. He tried when he was in +Kilronan to obtain the Archbishop's consent and collaboration; Moran was +trying now: he did not know that he was succeeding any better; and +Father Oliver reflected a while on the peculiar temperament of their +diocesan, and jumping down from the rock on which he had been sitting, +he wandered along the sunny shore, thinking of the many letters he had +addressed to the Board of Works on the subject of the bridge. The Board +believed, or pretended to believe, that the parish could not afford the +bridge; as well might it be urged that a cripple could not afford +crutches. Without doubt a public meeting should be held; and in some +little indignation Father Oliver began to think that public opinion +should be roused and organized. + +It was for him to do this: he was the people's natural leader; but for +many months he had done nothing in the matter. Why, he didn't know +himself. Perhaps he needed a holiday; perhaps he no longer believed the +Government susceptible to public opinion; perhaps he had lost faith in +the people themselves! The people were the same always; the people never +change, only individuals change. + +And at the end of the sandy spit, where some pines had grown and seeded, +he stood looking across the silvery lake wondering if his parishioners +had begun to notice the change that had come over him since Nora Glynn +left the parish, and as her name came into his mind he was startled out +of his reverie by the sound of voices, and turning from the lake, he saw +two wood-gatherers coming down a little path through the juniper-bushes. +He often hid himself in the woods when he saw somebody coming, but he +couldn't do so now without betraying his intention, and he stayed where +he was. The women passed on, bent under their loads. Whether they saw +him or not he couldn't tell; they passed near enough for him to +recognize them, and he remembered that they were in church the day he +alluded to Nora in his sermon. A hundred yards further on the women +unburdened and sat down to rest a while, and Father Oliver began to +consider what their conversation might be. His habit of wandering away +by himself had no doubt been noticed, and once it was noticed it would +become a topic of conversation. 'And what they do be saying now is, +"That he has never been the same man since he preached against the +schoolmistress, for what should he be doing by the lake if he wasn't +afraid that she made away with herself?" And perhaps they are right,' he +said, and walked up the shore, hoping that as soon as he was out of +sight the women would forget to tell when they returned home that they +had seen him walking by the lake. + +All the morning he had been trying to keep Nora Glynn out of his mind, +but now, as he rambled, he could not put back the memory of the day he +met her for the first time, nearly two years ago, for to-day was the +fifteenth of May; it was about that time a little later in the year; it +must have been in June, for the day was very hot, and he had been riding +fast, not wishing to keep Catherine's dinner waiting, and as he pushed +his bicycle through the gate, he saw the great cheery man, Father Peter, +with a face like an apple, walking up and down under the sycamores +reading his breviary. It must have been in June, for the mowers were in +the field opposite, in the field known as the priest's field, though +Father Peter had never rented it. There had never been such weather in +Ireland before, and the day he rode his bicycle over to see Father Peter +seemed to him the hottest day of all. But he had heard of the new +schoolmistress's musical talents, and despite the heat of the day had +ridden over, so anxious was he to hear if Father Peter were satisfied +with her in all other respects. 'We shall be able to talk better in the +shade of the sycamores,' Father Peter said, and on this they crossed the +lawn, but not many steps were taken back and forth before Father Peter +began to throw out hints that he didn't think Miss Glynn was altogether +suited to the parish. + +'But if you're satisfied with her discipline,' Father Oliver jerked out, +and it was all he could do to check himself from further snaps at the +parish priest, a great burly man who could not tell a minor from a major +chord, yet was venting the opinion that good singing distracted the +attention of the congregation at their prayers. He would have liked to +ask him if he was to understand that bad singing tended to a devotional +mood, but wishing to remain on good terms with his superior, he said +nothing and waited for Father Peter to state his case against the new +schoolmistress, which he seemed to think could be done by speaking of +the danger of young unmarried women in the parish. It was when they came +to the break in the trees that Father Peter nudged him and said under +his breath: + +'Here is the young woman herself coming across the fields.' + +He looked that way and saw a small, thin girl coming towards the stile. +She hopped over it as if she enjoyed the little jump into the road. +Father Peter called to her and engaged her in conversation; and he +continued to talk to her of indifferent things, no doubt with the view +to giving him an opportunity of observing her. But they saw her with +different eyes: whereas Father Peter descried in her one that might +become a mischief in the parish, he could discover no dangerous beauty +in her, merely a crumpled little face that nobody would notice were it +not for the eyes and forehead. The forehead was broad and well shapen +and promised an intelligence that the eyes were quick to confirm; round, +gray, intelligent eyes, smiling, welcoming eyes. Her accent caressed the +ear, it was a very sweet one, only faintly Irish, and she talked easily +and correctly, like one who enjoyed talking, laughing gaily, taking, he +was afraid, undue pleasure in Father Peter's rough sallies, without +heeding that he was trying to entrap her into some slight indiscretion +of speech that he could make use of afterwards, for he must needs +justify himself to himself if he decided to dismiss her. + +As he had been asked to notice her he remarked her shining brown hair. +It frizzled like a furze-bush about her tiny face, and curled over her +forehead. Her white even teeth showed prettily between her lips. She was +not without points, but notwithstanding these it could not be said that +she deserved the adjective pretty; and he was already convinced that it +was not good looks that prejudiced her in Father Peter's eyes. Nor was +the excuse that her singing attracted too much attention an honest one. +What Father Peter did not like about the girl was her independent mind, +which displayed itself in every gesture, in the way she hopped over the +stile, and the manner with which she toyed with her parasol--a parasol +that seemed a little out of keeping with her position, it is true. A +very fine parasol it was; a blue silk parasol. Her independence betrayed +itself in her voice: she talked to the parish priest with due respect, +but her independent mind informed every sentence, even the smallest, +and that was why she was going to be dismissed from her post. It was +shameful that a grave injustice should be done to a girl who was +admittedly competent in the fulfilment of all her duties, and he had not +tried to conceal his opinion from Father Peter during dinner and after +dinner, leaving him somewhat earlier than usual, for nothing affronted +him more than injustice, especially ecclesiastical injustice. + +As he rode his bicycle down the lonely road to Bridget's cottage, the +thought passed through his mind that if Nora Glynn were a stupid, +intelligent woman no objection would have been raised against her. 'An +independent mind is very objectionable to the ecclesiastic,' he said to +himself as he leaped off his bicycle.... 'Nora Glynn. How well suited +the name is to her. There is a smack in the name. Glynn, Nora Glynn,' he +repeated, and it seemed to him that the name belonged exclusively to +her. + +A few days after this first meeting he met her about two miles from +Garranard; he was on his bicycle, she was on hers, and they both leaped +instinctively from their machines. What impressed him this time far more +than her looks was her happy, original mind. While walking beside her he +caught himself thinking that he had never seen a really happy face +before. But she was going to be sent away because she was happy and wore +her soul in her face. + +They had seemed unable to get away from each other, so much had they to +say. He mentioned his brother James, who was doing well in America and +would perhaps one day send them the price of a harmonium. She told him +she couldn't play on the wheezy old thing at Garranard, and at the +moment he clean forgot that the new harmonium would avail her little, +since Father Peter was going to get rid of her; he only remembered it as +he got on his bicycle, and he returned home ready to espouse her cause +against anybody. + +She must write to the Archbishop, and if he wouldn't do anything she +must write to the papers. Influence must be brought to bear, and Father +Peter must be prevented from perpetrating a gross injustice. He felt +that it would be impossible for him to remain Father Peter's curate if +the schoolmistress were sent away for no fault of hers, merely because +she wore a happy face. What Father Peter would have done if he had lived +no one would ever know. He might have dismissed her; even so the +injustice would have been slight compared with what had happened to her; +and the memory of the wrong that had been done to her put such a pain +into his heart that he seemed to lose sight of everything, till a fish +leaping in the languid lake awoke him, and he walked on, absorbed in the +memory of his mistake, his thoughts swinging back to the day he had met +her on the roadside, and to the events that succeeded their meeting. +Father Peter was taken ill, two days after he was dead, before the end +of the week he was in his coffin; and it was left to him to turn Nora +Glynn out of the parish. No doubt other men had committed faults as +grave as his; but they had the strength to leave the matter in the +hands of God, to say: 'I can do nothing, I must put myself in the hands +of God; let him judge. He is all wise.' He hadn't their force of +character. He believed as firmly as they did, but, for some reason which +he couldn't explain to himself, he was unable to leave the matter in +God's hands, and was always thinking how he could get news of her. + + +If it hadn't been for that woman, for that detestable Mrs. O'Mara, who +was the cause of so much evil-speaking in the parish!... And with his +heart full of hatred so black that it surprised him, he asked himself if +he could forgive that woman. God might, he couldn't. And he fell to +thinking how Mrs. O'Mara had long been a curse upon the parish. Father +Peter was more than once compelled to speak about her from the altar, +and to make plain that the stories she set going were untrue. Father +Peter had warned him, but warnings are no good; he had listened to her +convinced at the time that it was wrong and foolish to listen to +scandalmongers, but unable to resist that beguiling tongue, for Mrs. +O'Mara had a beguiling tongue--fool that he was, that he had been. There +was no use going over the wretched story again; he was weary of going +over it, and he tried to put it out of his mind. But it wouldn't be put +out of his mind, and in spite of himself he began to recall the events +of the fatal day. He had been out all the morning, walking about with an +engineer who was sent down by the Board of Works to consider the +possibility of building the bridge, and had just come in to rest. +Catherine had brought him a cup of tea; he was sitting by the window, +almost too tired to drink it. The door was flung open. If Catherine had +only asked him if he were at home to visitors, he would have said he +wasn't at home to Mrs. O'Mara, but he wasn't asked; the door was flung +open, and he found himself face to face with the parish magpie. And +before he could bless himself she began to talk to him about the bridge, +saying that she knew all about the engineer, how he had gotten his +appointment, and what his qualifications were. It is easy to say one +shouldn't listen to such gossips, but it is hard to shut one's ears or +to let what one hears with one ear out the other ear, for she might be +bringing him information that might be of use to him. So he listened, +and when the bridge, and the advantage of it, had been discussed, she +told him she had been staying at the convent. She had tales to tell +about all the nuns and about all the pupils. She told him that half the +Catholic families in Ireland had promised to send their daughters to +Tinnick if Eliza succeeded in finding somebody who could teach music and +singing. But Eliza didn't think there was anyone in the country +qualified for the post but Nora Glynn. If Mrs. O'Mara could be believed, +Eliza said that she could offer Nora Glynn more money than she was +earning in Garranard. Until then he had only half listened to Mrs. +O'Mara's chatter, for he disliked the woman--her chatter amused him only +as the chatter of a bird might; but when he heard that his sister was +trying to get his schoolmistress away from him he had flared up. 'Oh, +but I don't think that your schoolmistress would suit a convent school. +I shouldn't like my daughter--' 'What do you mean?' Her face changed +expression, and in her nasty mincing manner she began to throw out hints +that Nora Glynn would not suit the nuns. He could see that she was +concealing something--there was something at the back of her mind. Women +of her sort want to be persuaded; their bits of scandal must be dragged +from them by force; they are the unwilling victims who would say nothing +if they could help it. She had said enough to oblige him to ask her to +speak out, and she began to throw out hints about a man whom Nora used +to meet on the hillside (she wouldn't give the man's name, she was too +clever for that). She would only say that Nora had been seen on the +hillside walking in lonely places with a man. Truly a detestable woman! +His thoughts strayed from her for a moment, for it gave him pleasure to +recollect that he had defended his schoolmistress. Didn't he say: 'Now, +then, Mrs. O'Mara, if you have anything definite to say, say it, but I +won't listen to vague charges.' 'Charges--who is making charges?' she +asked, and he had unfortunately called her a liar. In the middle of the +row she dropped a phrase: 'Anyhow, her appearance is against her.' And +it was true that Nora Glynn's appearance had changed in the last few +months. Seeing that her words had a certain effect, Mrs. O'Mara quieted +down; and while he stood wondering if it could possibly be true that +Nora had deceived them, that she had been living in sin all these +months, he suddenly heard Mrs. O'Mara saying that he was lacking in +experience--which was quite true, but her way of saying it had roused +the devil in him. Who was she that she should come telling him that he +lacked experience? To be sure, he wasn't an old midwife, and that's what +Mrs. O'Mara looked like, sitting before him. + +He had lost control of himself, saying, 'Now, will you get out of this +house, you old scandalmonger, or I'll take you by the shoulders and put +you out!' And he had thrown the front-door open. What a look she gave +him as she passed out! At that moment the clock struck three and he +remembered suddenly that the children were coming out of school at that +moment. It would have been better if he had waited. But he couldn't +wait: he'd have gone mad if he had waited; and he recalled how he had +jumped into the road, squeezed through the stile, and run across the +field. 'Why all this hurry?' he had asked himself. + +She was locking up the desks; the children went by him, curtseying, and +he had to wait till the last one was past the door. Nora must have +guessed his errand, for her face noticeably hardened. 'I've seen Mrs. +O'Mara,' he blurted out, 'and she tells me that you've been seen walking +with some man on the hillside in lonely places.... Don't deny it if it +is true.' 'I'm not going to deny anything that is true.' How brave she +was! Her courage attracted him and softened his heart. But everything +was true, alas! Everything. She told him that her plans were to steal +out of the parish without saying a word to anyone, for she was +determined not to disgrace him or the parish. She was thinking of him in +all her trouble, and everything might have ended well if he had not +asked her who the man was. She would not say, nor give any reasons why +she wouldn't do so. Only this, that if the man had deserted her she +didn't want anybody to bring him back, if he could be brought back; if +the man were dead it were better to say nothing about him. 'But if it +were his fault?' 'I don't see that that would make any difference.' + +They went out of the school-house talking in quite a friendly way. There +was a little drizzle in the air, and, opening her umbrella, she said, +'I'm afraid you'll get wet.' 'Get wet, get wet! what matter?' he had +answered impatiently, for the remark annoyed him. By the hawthorn-bush +he began to tell her again that it would relieve his mind to know who +the man was. She tried to get away from him, but he wouldn't let her go; +and catching her by the arm he besought her, saying that it would +relieve his mind. How many times had he said that? But he wasn't able to +persuade her, notwithstanding his insistence that as a priest of the +parish he had a right to know. No doubt she had some very deep reason +for keeping her secret, or perhaps his authoritative manner was the +cause of her silence. However this might be, any words would have been +better than 'it would relieve my mind to know who the man was.' 'Stupid, +stupid, stupid!' he muttered to himself, and he wandered from the +cart-track into the wood. + +It was impossible to say now why he had wished to press her secret from +her. It would be unpleasant for him, as priest of the parish, to know +that the man was living in the parish; but it would be still more +unpleasant if he knew who the man was. Nora's seducer could be none +other than one of the young soldiers who had taken the fishing-lodge at +the head of the lake. Mrs. O'Mara had hinted that Nora had been seen +with one of them on the hill, and he thought how on a day like this she +might have been led away among the ferns. At that moment there came out +of the thicket a floating ball of thistle-down. 'It bloweth where it +listeth,' he said. 'Soldier or shepherd, what matter now she is gone?' +and rising to his feet and coming down the sloping lawn, overflowing +with the shade of the larches, he climbed through the hawthorns growing +out of a crumbled wall, and once at the edge of the lake, he stood +waiting for nothing seemingly but to hear the tiresome clanking call of +the stonechat, and he compared its reiterated call with the words +'atonement,' 'forgiveness,' 'death,' 'calamity,' words always clanking +in his heart, for she might be lying at the bottom of the lake, and some +day a white phantom would rise from the water and claim him. + +His thoughts broke away, and he re-lived in memory the very agony of +mind he had endured when he went home after her admission that she was +with child. All that night, all next day, and for how many days? Would +the time ever come when he could think of her without a pain in his +heart? It is said that time brings forgetfulness. Does it? On Saturday +morning he had sat at his window, asking himself if he should go down +to see her or if he should send for her. There were confessions in the +afternoon, and expecting that she would come to confess to him, he had +not sent for her. One never knows; perhaps it was her absence from +confession that had angered him. His temper took a different turn that +evening. All night he had lain awake; he must have been a little mad +that night, for he could only think of the loss of a soul to God, and of +God's love of chastity. All night long he had repeated with variations +that it were better that all which our eyes see--this earth and the +stars that are in being--should perish utterly, be crushed into dust, +rather than a mortal sin should be committed; in an extraordinary +lucidity of mind he continued to ponder on God's anger and his own +responsibility towards God, and feeling all the while that there are +times when we lose control of our minds, when we are a little mad. He +foresaw his danger, but he could not do else than rise from his bed and +begin to prepare his sermon, for he had to preach, and he could only +preach on chastity and the displeasure sins against chastity cause to +God. He could think but of this one thing, the displeasure God must feel +against Nora and the seducer who had robbed her of the virtue God prized +most in her. He must have said things that he would not have said at any +other time. His brain was on fire that morning, and words rose to his +lips--he knew not whence nor how they came, and he had no idea now of +what he had said. He only knew that she left the church during his +sermon; at what moment he did not know, nor did he know that she had +left the parish till next day, when the children came up to tell him +there was no schoolmistress. And from that day to this no news of her, +nor any way of getting news of her. + +His thoughts went to the hawthorn-trees, for he could not think of her +any more for the moment, and it relieved his mind to examine the green +pips that were beginning to appear among the leaves. 'The hawthorns will +be in flower in another week,' he said; and he began to wonder at the +beautiful order of the spring. The pear and the cherry were the first; +these were followed by the apple, and after the apple came the lilac, +the chestnut, and the laburnum. The forest trees, too, had their order. +The ash was still leafless, but it was shedding its catkins, and in +another fifteen days its light foliage would be dancing in the breeze. +The oak was last of all. At that moment a swallow flitted from stone to +stone, too tired to fly far, and he wondered whence it had come. A +cuckoo called from a distant hill; it, too, had been away and had come +back. + +His eyes dwelt on the lake, refined and wistful, with reflections of +islands and reeds, mysteriously still. Rose-coloured clouds descended, +revealing many new and beautiful mountain forms, every pass and every +crest distinguishable. It was the hour when the cormorants come home to +roost, and he saw three black specks flying low about the glittering +surface; rising from the water, they alighted with a flutter of wings on +the corner wall of what remained of Castle Hag, 'and they will sleep +there till morning,' he said, as he toiled up a little path, twisting +through ferns and thorn-bushes. At the top of the hill was his house, +the house Father Peter had built. Its appearance displeased him, and he +stood for a long time watching the evening darkening, and the yacht +being towed home, her sails lowered, the sailors in the rowing-boat. +'They will be well tired before they get her back to Tinnick;' and he +turned and entered his house abruptly. + + + + +III + + +Catherine's curiosity was a worry. As if he knew why he hadn't come home +to his dinner! If she'd just finish putting the plates on the table and +leave him. Of course, there had been callers. One man, the man he +especially wished to see, had driven ten miles to see him. It was most +unfortunate, but it couldn't be helped; he had felt that morning that he +couldn't stay indoors--the business of the parish had somehow got upon +his nerves, but not because he had been working hard. He had done but +little work since she left the parish. Now was that story going to begin +again? If it did, he should go out of his mind; and he looked round the +room, thinking how a lonely evening breeds thoughts of discontent. + +Most of the furniture in the room was Father Peter's. Father Peter had +left his curate his furniture, but the pretty mahogany bookcase and the +engravings upon the walls were Father Oliver's own taste; he had bought +them at an auction, and there were times when these purchases pleased +him. But now he was thinking that Father Peter must have known to whom +the parish would go at his death, for he could not have meant all his +furniture to be taken out of the house--'there would be no room for it +in Bridget Clery's cottage;' and Father Oliver sat thinking of the +evenings he used to spend with Father Peter. How often during those +evenings Father Peter must have said to himself, 'One day, Gogarty, you +will be sitting in my chair and sleeping in my bed.' And Father Oliver +pondered on his affection for the dead man. There were no differences of +opinion, only one--the neglected garden at the back of the house; and, +smiling sadly, Father Oliver remembered how he used to reprove the +parish priest. + +'I'm afraid I'm too big and too fat and too fond of my pipe and my glass +of whisky to care much about carnations. But if you get the parish when +I'm gone, I'm sure you'll grow some beauties, and you'll put a bunch on +my grave sometimes, Gogarty.' The very ring of the dead man's voice +seemed to sound through the lonely room, and, sitting in Father Peter's +chair, with the light of Father Peter's lamp shining on his face and +hand, Father Oliver's thoughts flowed on. It seemed to him that he had +not understood and appreciated Father Peter's kindliness, and he +recalled his perfect good nature. 'Death reveals many things to us,' he +said; and he lifted his head to listen, for the silence in the house and +about the house reminded him of the silence of the dead, and he began to +consider what his own span of life might be. He might live as long as +Father Peter (Father Peter was fifty-five when he died); if so, +twenty-one years of existence by the lake's side awaited him, and these +years seemed to him empty like a desert--yes, and as sterile. +'Twenty-one years wondering what became of her, and every evening like +this evening--the same loneliness.' + +He sat watching the hands of his clock, and a peaceful meditation about +a certain carnation that unfortunately burst its calyx was interrupted +by a sudden thought. Whence the thought came he could not tell, nor what +had put it into his head, but it had occurred to him suddenly that 'if +Father Peter had lived a few weeks longer he would have found means of +exchanging Nora Glynn for another schoolmistress, more suitable to the +requirements of the parish. If Father Peter had lived he would have done +her a grievous wrong. He wouldn't have allowed her to suffer, but he +would have done her a wrong all the same.' And it were better that a man +should meet his death than he should do a wrong to another. But he +wasn't contemplating his own death nor Nora's when this end to the +difficulty occurred to him. Our inherent hypocrisy is so great that it +is difficult to know what one does think. He surely did not think it +well that Father Peter had died, his friend, his benefactor, the man in +whose house he was living? Of course not. Then it was strange he could +not keep the thought out of his mind that Father Peter's death had saved +the parish from a great scandal, for if Nora had been dismissed he might +have found himself obliged to leave the parish. + +Again he turned on himself and asked how such thoughts could come into +his mind. True, the coming of a thought into the consciousness is often +unexpected, but if the thought were not latent in the mind, it would +not arise out of the mind; and if Father Peter knew the base thoughts he +indulged in--yes, indulged in, for he could not put them quite out of +his mind--he feared very much that the gift of all this furniture +might--No, he was judging Father Peter ill: Father Peter was +incapable of a mean regret. + +But who was he, he'd like to be told, that he should set himself up as +Father Peter's judge? The evil he had foreseen had happened. If Father +Peter felt that Nora Glynn was not the kind of schoolmistress the parish +required, should he not send her away? The need of the parish, of the +many, before the one. Moreover, Father Peter was under no obligation +whatsoever to Nora Glynn. She had been sent down by the School Board +subject to his approval. 'But my case is quite different. I chose her; I +decided that she was to remain.' And he asked himself if his decision +had come about gradually. No, he had never hesitated, but dismissed +Father Peter's prejudices as unworthy.... The church needed some good +music. But did he think of the church? Hardly at all. His first +consideration was his personal pleasure, and he wished that the best +choir in the diocese should be in his church, and Nora Glynn enabled him +to gratify his vanity. He made her his friend, taking pleasure in her +smiles, and in the fact that he had only to express a desire for it to +be fulfilled. After school, tired though she might be, she was always +willing to meet him in the church for choir practice. She would herself +propose to decorate the altar for feast-days. How many times had they +walked round the garden together gathering flowers for the altar! And it +was strange that she could decorate so well without knowing much about +flowers or having much natural taste for flowers. + +Feeling he was doing her an injustice, he admitted that she had made +much progress under his guidance in her knowledge of flowers. + +'But how did he treat her in the end, despite all her kindnesses? +Shamefully, shamefully, shamefully!' and getting up from his chair +Father Oliver walked across the room, and when he turned he drew his +hand across his eyes. The clock struck twelve. 'I shall be awake at +dawn,' he said, 'with all this story running in my head,' and he stopped +on the threshold of his bedroom, frightened at the sight of his bed. But +he had reached the stint of his sufferings, and that morning lay awake, +hardly annoyed at all by the black-birds' whistling, contentedly going +over the mistakes he had made--a little surprised, however, that the +remembrance of them did not cause him more pain. At last he fell asleep, +and when his housekeeper knocked at his door and he heard her saying +that it was past eight, he leaped out of bed cheerily, and sang a stave +of song as he shaved himself, gashing his chin, however, for he could +not keep his attention fixed on his chin, but must peep over the top of +the glass, whence he could see his garden, and think how next year he +would contrive a better arrangement of colour. It was difficult to stop +the bleeding, and he knew that Catherine would grumble at the state he +left the towels in (he should not have used his bath-towel); but these +were minor matters. He was happier than he had been for many a day. + +The sight of strawberries on his breakfast-table pleased him; the man +who drove ten miles to see him yesterday called, and he shared his +strawberries with him in abundant spirit. The sunlight was exciting, the +lake called him, and it was pleasant to stride along, talking of the +bridge (at last there seemed some prospect of getting one). The +intelligence of this new inspector filled him with hope, and he +expatiated in the advantages of the bridge and many other things. Nor +did his humour seem to depend entirely on the companionship of his +visitor. It endured long after his visitor had left him, and very soon +he began to think that his desire to go away for a long holiday was a +passing indisposition of mind rather than a need. His holiday could be +postponed to the end of the year; there would be more leisure then, and +he would be better able to enjoy his holiday than he would be now. + +His changing mind interested him, and he watched it like a vane, unable +to understand how it was that, notwithstanding his restlessness, he +could not bring himself to go away. Something seemed to keep him back, +and he was not certain that the reason he stayed was because the +Government had not yet sent a formal promise to build the bridge. He +could think of no other reason for delaying in Garranard; he certainly +wanted change. And then Nora's name came into his mind, and he meditated +for a moment, seeing the colour of her hair and the vanishing +expression of her eyes. Sometimes he could see her hand, the very +texture of its skin, and the line of the thumb and the forefinger. A cat +had once scratched her hand, and she had told him about it. That was +about two months before Mrs. O'Mara had come to tell him that shocking +story, two months before he had gone down to his church and spoken about +Nora in such a way that she had gone out of the parish. But was he going +to begin the story over again? He picked up a book, but did not read +many sentences before he was once more asking himself if she had gone +down to the lake, and if it were her spell that kept him in Garranard. +'The wretchedness of it all,' he cried, and fell to thinking that Nora's +spirit haunted the lake, and that his punishment was to be kept a +prisoner always. His imagination ran riot. Perhaps he would have to seek +her out, follow her all over the world, a sort of Wandering Jew, trying +to make atonement, and would never get any rest until this atonement was +made. And the wrong that he had done her seemed the only reality. It was +his elbow companion in the evening as he sat smoking his pipe, and every +morning he stood at the end of a sandy spit seeing nothing, hearing +nothing but her. One day he was startled by a footstep, and turned +expecting to see Nora. But it was only Christy, the boy who worked in +his garden. + +'Your reverence, the postman overlooked this letter in the morning. It +was stuck at the bottom of the bag. He hopes the delay won't make any +difference.' + + +_From Father O'Grady to Father Oliver Gogarty._ + +'_June_ 1, 19--. + +'DEAR FATHER GOGARTY, + +'I am writing to ask you if you know anything about a young woman called +Nora Glynn. She tells me that she was schoolmistress in your parish and +organist in your church, and that you thought very highly of her until +one day a tale-bearer, Mrs. O'Mara by name, went to your house and told +you that your schoolmistress was going to have a baby. It appears that +at first you refused to believe her, and that you ran down to the school +to ask Miss Glynn herself if the story you had heard about her was a +true one. She admitted it, but on her refusal to tell you who was the +father of the child you lost your temper; and the following Sunday you +alluded to her so plainly in your sermon about chastity that there was +nothing for her but to leave the parish. + +'There is no reason why I should disbelieve Miss Glynn's story; I am an +Irish priest like yourself, sir. I have worked in London among the poor +for forty years, and Miss Glynn's story is, to my certain knowledge, not +an uncommon one; it is, I am sorry to say, most probable; it is what +would happen to any schoolmistress in Ireland in similar circumstances. +The ordinary course is to find out the man and to force him to marry the +girl; if this fails, to drive the woman out of the parish, it being +better to sacrifice one affected sheep than that the whole flock should +be contaminated. I am an old man; Miss Glynn tells me that you are a +young man. I can therefore speak quite frankly. I believe the practice +to which I have alluded is inhuman and unchristian, and has brought +about the ruin of many an Irish girl. I have been able to rescue some +from the streets, and, touched by their stories, I have written +frequently to the priest of the parish pointing out to him that his +responsibility is not merely local, and does not end as soon as the +woman has passed the boundary of his parish. I would ask you what you +think your feelings would be if I were writing to you now to tell you +that, after some months of degraded life, Miss Glynn had thrown herself +from one of the bridges into the river? That might very well have been +the story I had to write to you; fortunately for you, it is another +story. + +'Miss Glynn is a woman of strong character, and does not give way +easily; her strength of will has enabled her to succeed where another +woman might have failed. She is now living with one of my parishioners, +a Mrs. Dent, of 24, Harold Street, who has taken a great liking to her, +and helped her through her most trying time, when she had very little +money and was alone and friendless in London. Mrs. Dent recommended her +to some people in the country who would look after her child. She +allowed her to pay her rent by giving lessons to her daughter on the +piano. One thing led to another; the lady who lived on the drawing-room +floor took lessons, and Miss Glynn is earning now, on an average, thirty +shillings per week, which little income will be increased if I can +appoint her to the post of organist in my church, my organist having +been obliged to leave me on account of her health. It was while talking +to Mrs. Dent on this very subject that I first heard Miss Glynn's name +mentioned. + +'Mrs. Dent was enthusiastic about her, but I could see that she knew +little about her lodger's antecedents, except that she came from +Ireland. She was anxious that I should engage her at once, declaring +that I could find no one like her, and she asked me to see her that +evening. I went, and the young woman impressed me very favourably. She +came to my church and played for me. I could see that she was an +excellent musician, and there seemed to be no reason why I should not +engage her. I should probably have done so without asking any further +questions--for I do not care to inquire too closely into a woman's past, +once I am satisfied that she wishes to lead an honourable life--but Miss +Glynn volunteered to tell me what her past had been, saying it was +better I should hear it from her than from another. When she had told me +her sad story, I reminded her of the anxiety that her disappearance from +the parish would cause you. She shook her head, saying you did not care +what might happen to her. I assured her that such a thing was not the +case, and begged of her to allow me to write to you; but I did not +obtain her consent until she began to see that if she withheld it any +longer we might think she was concealing some important fact. Moreover, +I impressed upon her that it was right that I should hear your story, +not because I disbelieved hers--I take it for granted the facts are +correctly stated--but in the event of your being able to say something +which would put a different complexion upon them. + +'Yours very sincerely, + +'MICHAEL O'GRADY.' + + + + +IV + +After reading Father O'Grady's letter he looked round, fearing lest +someone should speak to him. Christy was already some distance away; +there was nobody else in sight; and feeling he was safe from +interruption, he went towards the wood, thinking of the good priest who +had saved her (in saving her Father O'Grady had saved him), and of the +waste of despair into which he would have drifted certainly if the news +had been that she had killed herself. He stood appalled, looking into +the green wood, aware of the mysterious life in the branches; and then +lay down to watch the insect life among the grass--a beetle pursuing its +little or great destiny. But he was too exalted to remain lying down; +the wood seemed to beckon him, and he asked if the madness of the woods +had overtaken him. Further on he came upon a chorus of finches singing +in some hawthorn-trees, and in Derrinrush he stopped to listen to the +silence that had suddenly fallen. A shadow floated by; he looked up: a +hawk was passing overhead, ready to attack rat or mouse moving among the +young birches and firs that were springing up in the clearance. The +light was violent, and the priest shaded his eyes. His feet sank in +sand, he tripped over tufts of rough grass, and was glad to get out of +this part of the wood into the shade of large trees. + +Trees always interested him, and he began to think of their great roots +seeking the darkness, and of their branches lifting themselves in love +towards the light. He and these trees were one, for there is but one +life, one mother, one elemental substance out of which all has come. +That was it, and his thoughts paused. Only in union is there happiness, +and for many weary months he had been isolated, thrown out; but to-day +he had been drawn suddenly into the general life, he had become again +part of the general harmony, and that was why he was so happy. No better +explanation was forthcoming, and he did not think that a better one was +required--at least, not to-day. + +He noticed with pleasure that he no longer tried to pass behind a +thicket nor into one when he met poor wood-gatherers bent under their +heavy loads. He even stopped to speak to a woman out with her children; +the three were breaking sticks across their knees, and he encouraged +them to talk to him. But without his being aware of it, his thoughts +hearkened back, and when it came to his turn to answer he could not +answer. He had been thinking of Nora, and, ashamed of his +absentmindedness, he left them tying up their bundles and went towards +the shore, stopping many times to admire the pale arch of evening sky +with never a wind in it, nor any sound but the cries of swallows in full +pursuit. 'A rememberable evening,' he said, and there was such a +lightness in his feet that he believed, or very nearly, that there were +wings on his shoulders which he only had to open to float away whither +he might wish to go. + +His brain overflowed with thankfulness and dreams of her forgiveness, +and at midnight he sat in his study still thinking, still immersed in +his happiness; and hearing moths flying about the burning lamp he +rescued one for sheer love of her, and later in the evening the illusion +of her presence was so intense that he started up from his chair and +looked round for her. Had he not felt her breath upon his cheek? Her +very perfume had floated past! There ... it had gone by again! No, it +was not she--only the syringa breathing in the window. + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Father O'Grady._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_June_ 2, 19--. + +'DEAR FATHER O'GRADY, + +'Miss Glynn's disappearance caused me, as you rightly surmise, the +gravest anxiety, and it is no exaggeration to say that whenever her name +was mentioned, my tongue seemed to thicken and I could not speak. + +'I wish I could find words to thank you for what you have done. I am +still under the influence of the emotion that your letter caused me, and +can only say that Miss Glynn has told her story truthfully. As to your +reproofs, I accept them, they are merited; and I thank you for your kind +advice. I am glad that it comes from an Irishman, and I would give much +to take you by the hand and to thank you again and again.' + + +Getting up, he walked out of the room, feeling in a way that a calmer +and more judicious letter would be preferable. But he must answer Father +O'Grady, and at once; the letter would have to go. And in this resolve +he walked out of his house into his garden, and stood there wondering at +the flower-life growing so peacefully, free from pain. + +The tall Madonna lilies flourished like sculpture about the porch, and +he admired their tall stems and leaves and carven blossoms, thinking how +they would die without strife, without complaint. The briar filled the +air with a sweet, apple-like smell; and far away the lake shone in the +moonlight, just as it had a thousand years ago when the raiders returned +to their fortresses pursued by enemies. He could just distinguish Castle +Island, and he wondered what this lake reminded him of: it wound in and +out of gray shores and headlands, fading into dim pearl-coloured +distance, and he compared it to a shroud, and then to a ghost, but +neither comparison pleased him. It was like something, but the image he +sought eluded him. At last he remembered how in a dream he had seen Nora +carried from the lake; and now, standing among the scent of the flowers, +he said: 'She has always been associated with the lake in my thoughts, +yet she escaped the lake. Every man,' he continued, 'has a lake in his +heart.' He had not sought the phrase, it had come suddenly into his +mind. Yes, 'Every man has a lake in his heart,' he repeated, and +returned to the house like one dazed, to sit stupefied until his +thoughts took fire again, and going to his writing-table he drew a sheet +of paper towards him, feeling that he must write to Nora. At last he +picked up the pen. + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + +'GAHRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_June_ 2, 19--. + +'DEAR MISS GLYNN, + +'I must write to thank you for your kindness in asking Father O'Grady to +send me a letter. It appears that you were afraid I might be anxious +about you, and I have been very anxious. I have suffered a great deal +since you left, and it is a great relief to my mind to hear that you are +safe and well. I can understand how loath you were to allow Father +O'Grady to write to me; he doesn't say in his letter that you have +forgiven me, but I hope that your permission to him to relieve my +anxiety by a letter implies your forgiveness. Father O'Grady writes very +kindly; it appears that everybody is kind except me. But I am thinking +of myself again, of the ruin that it would have been if any of the +terrible things that have happened to others had happened to you. But I +cannot think of these things now; I am happy in thinking that you are +safe.' + + +The evening post was lost, but if he were to walk to Bohola he would +catch the morning mail, and his letter would be in her hands the day +after to-morrow. It was just three miles to Bohola, and the walk there, +he thought, would calm the extraordinary spiritual elation that news of +Nora had kindled in his brain. The darkness of the night and the almost +round moon high in the southern horizon suited his mood. Once he was +startled by a faint sigh coming from a horse looking over a hedge, and +the hedgerows were full of mysterious little cracklings. Something white +ran across the road. 'The white belly of a stoat,' he thought; and he +walked on, wondering what its quest might be. + +The road led him through a heavy wood, and when he came out at the other +end he stopped to gaze at the stars, for already a grayness seemed to +have come into the night. The road dipped and turned, twisting through +gray fields full of furze-bushes, leading to a great hill, on the other +side of which was Bohola. When he entered the village he wondered at the +stillness of its street. 'The dawn is like white ashes,' he said, as he +dropped his letters into the box; and he was glad to get away from the +shadowy houses into the country road. The daisies and the dandelions +were still tightly shut, and in the hedgerow a half-awakened chaffinch +hopped from twig to twig, too sleepy to chirrup. A streak of green +appeared in the east, and the death-like stillness was broken by +cock-crows. He could hear them far away in the country and close by, and +when he entered his village a little bantam walked up the road shrilling +and clapping his wings, advancing to the fight. The priest admired his +courage, and allowed him to peck at his knees. Close by Tom Mulhare's +dorking was crowing hoarsely, 'A hoarse bass,' said the priest, and at +the end of the village he heard a bird crowing an octave higher, and +from the direction he guessed it must be Catherine Murphy's bird. +Another cock, and then another. He listened, judging their voices to +range over nearly three octaves. + +The morning was so pure, the air so delicious, and its touch so +exquisite on the cheek, that he could not bear even to think of a close +bedroom and the heat of a feather bed. He went into his garden, and +walking up and down he appreciated the beauty of every flower, none +seeming to him as beautiful as the anemones, and he thought of Nora +Glynn living in a grimy London lodging, whereas he was here amid many +flowers--anemones blue, scarlet, and purple, their heads bent down on +their stalks. New ones were pushing up to replace the ones that had +blown and scattered the evening before. The gentians were not yet open, +and he thought how they would look in a few hours--bluer than the +mid-day sky. He passed through the wicket, and stood on the hill-top +watching the mists sinking lower. The dawn light strengthened--the sky +filled with pale tints of emerald, mauve, and rose. A cormorant opened +his wings and flew down the lake, his fellows followed soon after; but +Father Oliver stood on the hill-top waiting for daybreak. At last a red +ball appeared behind a reddish cloud; its colour changed to the colour +of flame, paled again, and at four flared up like a rose-coloured +balloon. + +The day had begun, and he turned towards his house. But he couldn't +sleep; the house was repellent, and he waited among the thorn-bushes and +ferns. Of what use to lie in one's bed when sleep is far and will not +be beckoned? and his brain being clear as day he went away to the woods +and watersides, saying: 'Life is orientated like a temple; there are in +every existence days when life streams down the nave, striking the +forehead of the God.' And during his long life Father Oliver always +looked back upon the morning when he invaded the pantry and cut large +slices of bread, taking the butter out of the old red crock, with a +little happy sadness in his heart. He wrapped the slices in paper and +wandered without thought for whither he was going, watching the birds in +the branches, interested in everything. He was fortunate enough to catch +sight of an otter asleep on a rock, and towards evening he came upon a +wild-duck's nest in the sedge; many of the ducklings had broken their +shells; these struggled after the duck; but there were two prisoners, +two that could not escape from their shells, and, seeing their lives +would be lost if he did not come to their aid, he picked the shells away +and took them to the water's edge, for he had heard Catherine say that +one could almost see little ducks growing when they had had a drop of +water. The old duck swam about uttering a whistling sound, her cry that +her ducklings were to join her. And thinking of the lives he had saved, +he felt a sudden regret that he had not come upon the nest earlier, when +Christy brought him Father O'Grady's letter. + +The yacht appeared between the islands, her sails filled with wind, and +he began to dream how she might cast anchor outside the reeds. A sailor +might draw a pinnace alongside, and he imagined a woman being helped +into it and rowed to the landing-place. But the yacht did not cast +anchor; her helm was put up, her boom went over, and she went away on +another tack. He was glad of his dream, though it lasted but a moment, +and when he looked up a great gull was watching him. The bird had come +so near that he could see the small round head and the black eyes; as +soon as he stirred it wheeled and floated away. Many other little +adventures happened before the day ended. A rabbit crawled by him +screaming, for he could run no longer, and lay waiting for the weasel +that appeared out of the furze. What was to be done? Save it and let the +weasel go supperless? At eight the moon rose over Tinnick, and it was a +great sight to see the yellow mass rising above the faint shores; and +while he stood watching the moon an idea occurred to him that held him +breathless. His sister had written to him some days ago asking if he +could recommend a music-mistress to her. It was through his sister that +he might get Nora back to her country, and it was through his sister +that he might make atonement for the wrong he had done. The letter must +be carefully worded, for nuns understood so little, so estranged were +they from the world. As for his sister Mary, she would not understand at +all--she would oppose him; but Eliza was a practical woman, and he had +confidence in her good sense. + +He entered the house, and, waving Catherine aside, who reminded him that +he had had nothing to eat since his dinner the day before, he went to +his writing-table and began his letter. + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to the Mother Abbess, Tinnick Convent._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_June 3_, 19--. + +'MY DEAR ELIZA, + +'I hope you will forgive me for having delayed so long to answer your +letter, but I could not think at the moment of anybody whom I could +recommend as music-mistress, and I laid the letter aside, hoping that an +idea would come to me. Well, an idea has come to me. I do not think you +will find--' + + +The priest stopped, and after thinking a while he laid down his pen and +got up. The sentence he had been about to write was, 'I do not think you +will find anyone better than Miss Glynn.' But he would have to send +Father O'Grady's letter to his sister, and even with Father O'Grady's +letter and all that he might add of an explanation, she would hardly be +able to understand; and Eliza might show the letter to Mary, who was +prejudiced. Father Oliver walked up and down the room thinking.... A +personal interview would be better than the letter, for in a personal +interview he would be able to answer his sister's objections, and +instead of the long letter he had intended to write he wrote a short +note, adding that he had not seen them for a long time, and would drive +over to-morrow afternoon. + + + + +V + +The southern road was the shorter, but he wanted to see Moran and to +hear when he proposed to begin to roof the abbey. Father Oliver thought, +moreover, that he would like to see the abbey for a last time in its +green mantle of centuries. The distance was much the same--a couple of +miles shorter by the southern road, no doubt, but what are a couple of +miles to an old roadster? Moreover, the horse would rest in Jimmy +Maguire's stable whilst he and Moran rambled about the ruin. An hour's +rest would compensate the horse for the two extra miles. + +He tapped the glass; there was no danger of rain. For thirty days there +had been no change--only a few showers, just enough to keep the country +going; and he fell asleep thinking of the drive round the lake from +Garranard to Tinnick in the sunlight and from Tinnick to Garranard in +the moonlight. + +He was out of bed an hour before his usual time, calling to Catherine +for hot water. His shaving, always disagreeable, sometimes painful, was +a joyous little labour on this day. Stropping his razor, he sang from +sheer joy of living. Catherine had never seen him spring on the car with +so light a step. And away went the old gray pulling at the bridle, +little thinking of the twenty-five Irish miles that lay before him. + +The day was the same as yesterday, the meadows drying up for want of +rain; and there was a thirsty chirruping of small birds in the +hedgerows. Everywhere he saw rooks gaping on the low walls that divided +the fields. The farmers were complaining; but they were always +complaining--everyone was complaining. He had complained of the +dilatoriness of the Board of Works, and now for the first time in his +life he sympathized a little with the Board. If it had built the bridge +he would not be enjoying this long drive; it would be built by-and-by; +he couldn't feel as if he wished to be robbed of one half-hour of the +long day in front of him; and he liked to think it would not end for him +till nine o'clock. + +'These summer days are endless,' he said. + +After passing the strait the lake widened out. On the side the priest +was driving the shore was empty and barren. On the other side there were +pleasant woods and interspaces and castles. Castle Carra appeared, a +great ivy-grown ruin showing among thorn-bushes and ash-trees, at the +end of a headland. In bygone times the castle must have extended to the +water's edge, for on every side fragments of arches and old walls were +discovered hidden away in the thickets. Father Oliver knew the headland +well and every part of the old fortress. Many a time he had climbed up +the bare wall of the banqueting-hall to where a breach revealed a secret +staircase built between the walls, and followed the staircase to a long +straight passage, and down another staircase, in the hope of finding +matchlock pistols. Many a time he had wandered in the dungeons, and +listened to old stories of oubliettes. + +The moat which once cut the neck of land was now dry and overgrown; the +gateway remained, but it was sinking--the earth claimed it. There were +the ruins of a great house a little way inland, to which no doubt the +descendants of the chieftain retired on the decline of brigandage; and +the rough hunting life of its semi-chieftains was figured by the +gigantic stone fox on a pillar in the middle of the courtyard and the +great hounds on either side of the gateway. + +Castle Carra must have been the strongest castle in the district of +Tyrawley, and it was built maybe by the Welsh who invaded Ireland in the +thirteenth century, perhaps by William Barrett himself, who built +certainl y the castle on the island opposite to Father Oliver's house. + +William Fion (i.e., the Fair) Barrett landed somewhere on the west +coast, and no doubt came up through the great gaps between Slieve Cairn +and Slieve Louan--it was not likely that he la nded on the east coast; +he could hardly have marched his horde across Ireland--and Father Oliver +imagined the Welshmen standing on the very hill on which his house now +stood, and Fion telling his followers to build a castle on each island. +Patsy Murphy, w ho knew more about the history of the country than +anybody, thought that Castle Carra was of later date, and spoke of the +Stantons, a fierce tribe. Over yonder was the famous causeway, and the +gross tragedy that was enacted there he yesterday heard from the +wood-cutter, William's party of Welshmen were followed by other +Welshmen--the Cusacks, the Petits, and the Brownes; and these in time +fell out with the Barretts, and a great battle fought, the Battle of +Moyne, in 1281, in which William Barrett was killed. But in spite of +their defeat, the Barretts held the upper hand of the country for many a +long year, and the priest began to smile, thinking of the odd story the +old woodman had told him about the Barretts' steward, Sgnorach bhuid +bhearrtha, 'saving your reverence's presence,' the old man said, and, +unable to translate the words into English fit for the priest's ears, he +explained that they meant a glutton and a lewd fellow. + +The Barretts sent Sgnorach bhuid bhearrtha to collect rents from the +Lynotts, another group of Welshmen, but the Lynotts killed him and +threw his body into a well, called ever afterwards Tobar na Sgornaighe +(the Well of the Glutton), near the townland of Moygawnagh, Barony of +Tyrawley. To avenge the murder of their steward, the Barretts assembled +an armed force, and, having defeated the Lynotts and captured many of +them, they offered their prisoners two forms of mutilation: they were +either to be blinded or castrated. After taking counsel with their wise +men, the Lynotts chose blindness; for blind men could have sons, and +these would doubtless one day revenge the humiliation that was being +passed upon them. A horrible story it was, for when their eyes were +thrust out with needles they were led to a causeway, and those who +crossed the stepping-stones without stumbling were taken back; and the +priest thought of the assembled horde laughing as the poor blind men +fell into the water. + +The story rambled on, the Lynotts plotting how they could be revenged on +the Barretts, telling lamely but telling how the Lynotts, in the course +of generations, came into their revenge. 'A badly told story,' said the +priest, 'with one good incident in it,' and, instead of trying to +remember how victory came to the Lynotts, Father Oli ver's eyes strayed +over the landscape, taking pleasure in the play of light along sides and +crests of the hills. + +The road followed the shore of the lake, sometimes turning inland to +avoid a hill or a bit of bog, but returning back again to the shore, +finding its way through the fields, if they could be called fields--a +little grass and some hazel-bushes growing here and there between the +rocks. Under a rocky headland, lying within embaying shores, was Church +Island, some seven or eight acres, a handsome wooded island, the largest +in the lake, with the ruins of a church hidden among the tall trees, +only an arch of it remaining, but the paved path leading from the church +to the hermit's cell could be followed. The hermit who used this paved +path fourteen hundred years ago was a poet; and Father Oliver knew that +Marban loved 'the shieling that no one knew save his God, the ash-tree +on the hither side, the hazel-bush beyond it, its lintel of honeysuckle, +the wood shedding its mast upon fat swine;' and on this sweet day he +found it pleasanter to think of Ireland's hermits than of Ireland's +savage chieftains always at war, striving against each other along the +shores of this lake, and from island to island. + +His thoughts lingered in the seventh and eighth centuries, when the arts +were fostered in monasteries--the arts of gold-work and illuminated +missals--'Ireland's halcyon days,' he said; a deep peace brooded, and +under the guidance of the monks Ireland was the centre of learning when +England was in barbarism. The first renaissance was the Irish, centuries +before a gleam showed in Italy or in France. But in the middle of the +eighth century the Danes arrived to pillage the country, and no sooner +were they driven out than the English came to continue the work of +destruction, and never since has it ceased.' Father Oliver fell to +thinking if God were reserving the bright destiny for Ireland which he +withheld a thousand years ago, and looked out for the abbey that +Roderick, King of Connaught, built in the twelfth century. + +It stood on a knoll, and in the distance, almost hidden in bulrushes, +was the last arm of the lake. 'How admirable! how admirable!' he said. +Kilronan Abbey seemed to bid him remember the things that he could never +forget; and, touched by the beauty of the legended ruins, his doubts +return ed to him regarding the right of the present to lay hands on +these great wrecks of Ireland's past. He was no longer sure that he did +not side with the Archbishop, who was against the restoration--for +entirely insufficient reasons, it was true. 'Put a roof,' Father Oliver +said, 'on the abbey, and it will look like any other church, and +another link will be broken. "Which is the better--a great memory or +some trifling comfort?"' A few moments after the car turned the corner +and he caught sight of Father Moran, 'out for his morning's walk,' he +said; and he compared Moran's walk up and down the highroad with his own +rambles along the lake shores and through the pleasant woods of +Carnecun. + +For seven years Father Oliver had walked up and down that road, for +there was nowhere else for him to walk; he walked that road till he +hated it, but he did not think that he had suffered from the loneliness +of the parish as much as Moran. He had been happier than Moran in +Bridget Clery's cottage--a great idea enabled him to forget every +discomfort; and 'we are never lonely as long as our idea is with us,' he +ejaculated. 'But Moran is a plain man, without ideas, enthusiasms, or +exaltations. He does riot care for reading, or for a flower garden, only +for drink. Drink gives him dreams, and man must dream,' he said. + +He knew that his curate was pledged to cure himself, and believed he was +succeeding; but, all the same, it was terrible to think that the +temptation might overpower him at any moment, and that he might st agger +helpless through the village--a very shocking example to everybody. + +The people were prone enough in that direction, and for a priest to give +scandal instead of setting a good example was about as bad as anything +that could happen in the parish. But what was he to do? There was no +hard-and-fast rule about anything, and Father Oliver felt that Moran +must have his chance. + +'I was beginning to think we were never going to see you again;' and +Father Moran held out a long, hard hand to Father Oliver. 'You'll put up +your horse? Christy, will you take his reverence's horse? You'll stay +and have some dinner with me?' + +'I can't stay more than half an hour. I'm on my way to Tinnick; I've +business with my sister, and it will take me some time.' + +'You have plenty of time.' + +'No, I haven't? I ought to have taken the other road; I'm late as it +is.' + +'But you will come into the house, if only for a few minutes.' + +Father Oliver had taught Bridget Clery cleanliness; at least, he had +persuaded her to keep the f owls out of the kitchen, and he had put a +paling in front of the house and made a little garden--an unassuming +one, it is true, but a pleasant spot of colour in the summer-time--and +he wondered how it was that Father Moran was not ashamed of its +neglected state, nor of the widow's kitchen. These things were, after +all, immaterial. What was important was that he should find no faintest +trace of whisky in Moran's room. It was a great relief to him not to +notice any, and no doubt that was why Moran insisted on bringing him +into the house. The specifications were a pretext. He had to glance at +them, however. + +'No doubt if the abbey is to be roofed at all the best roof is the one +you propose.' + +'Then you side with the Archbishop?' + +'Perhaps I do in a way, but for different reasons. I know very well that +the people won't kneel in the rain. Is it really true that he opposes +the roofing of the abbey on account of the legend? I have heard the +legend, but there are many variants. Let's go to the abbey and you'll +tell the story on the way.' + +'You see, he'll only allow a portion of the abbey to be roofed.' + +'You don't mean that he is so senile and superstitious as that? Then the +reason of his opposition really is that he believes his death to be +implicit in the roofing of Kilronan.' + +'Yes; he thinks that;' and the priests turned out of the main road. + +'How beautiful it looks!' and Father Oliver stopped to admire. + +The abbey stood on one of the lower slopes, on a knoll overlooking rich +water-meadows, formerly abbatial lands. + +'The legend says that the abbey shall be roofed when a De Stanton is +Abbot, and the McEvillys were originally De Stantons; they changed their +name in the fifteenth century on account of a violation of sanctuary +committed by them. A roof shall be put on those walls, the legend says, +when a De Stanton is again Abbot of Kilronan, and the Abbot shall be +slain on the highroad.' + +'And to save himself from a violent death, he will only allow you to +roof a part of the abbey. Now, what reason does he give for such an +extraordinary decision?' + +'Are Bishops ever expected to have reasons?' + +The priests laughed, and Father Oliver said: 'We might appeal to Rome.' + +'A lot of good that would do us. Haven't we all heard the Archbishop say +that any of his priests who appeals to Rome against him will get the +worst of it?' + +'I wonder that he dares to defy popular opinion in this way.' + +'What popular opinion is there to defy? Wasn't Patsy Donovan saying to +me only yesterday that the Archbishop was a brave man to be letting any +roof at all on the abbey? And Patsy is the best-educated man in this +part of the country.' + +'People will believe anything.' + +'Yes, indeed.' + +And the priests stopped at the grave of Seaghan na Soggarth, or 'John of +the Priests,' and Father Oliver told Father Moran how a young priest, +who had lost his way in the mountains, had fallen in with Seaghan na +Soggarth. Seaghan offered to put him into the right road, but instead of +doing so he led him to his house, and closed the door on him, and left +him there tied hand and foot. Seaghan's sister, who still clung to +religion, loosed the priest, and he fled, passing Seaghan, who was on +his way to fetch the soldiers. Seaghan followed after, and on they went +like hare and hound till they got to the abbey. There the priest, who +could run no further, turned on his foe, and they fought until the +priest got hold of Seaghan's knife and killed him with it. + +'But you know the story. Why am I telling it to you?' + +'I only know that the priest killed Seaghan. Is there any more of it?' + +'Yes, there is more.' + +And Father Oliver went on to tell it, though he did not feel that Father +Moran would be interested in the legend; he would not believe that it +had been prophesied that an ash-tree should grow out of the buried head, +and that one of the branches should take root and pierce Seaghan's +heart. And he was right in suspecting his curate's lack of sympathy. +Father Moran at once objected that the ash-tree had not yet sent down a +branch to pierce the priest-killer's heart. + +'Not yet; but this branch nearly touches the ground, and there's no +saying that it won't take root in a few years.' + +'But his heart is there no longer.' + +'Well, no,' said Father Oliver, 'it isn't; but if one is to argue that +way, no one would listen to a story at all.' + +Father Moran held his peace for a little while, and then he began +talking about the penal times, telling how religion in Ireland was +another form of love of country, and that, if Catholics were intolerant +to every form of heresy, it was because they instinctively felt that the +questioning of any dogma would mean some slight subsidence from the idea +of nationality that held the people together. Like the ancient Jews, the +Irish believed that the faith of their forefathers could bring them into +their ultimate inheritance; this was why a proselytizer was hated so +intensely. + +'More opinions,' Father Oliver said to himself. 'I wonder he can't +admire that ash-tree, and be interested in the story, which is quaint +and interesting, without trying to draw an historical parallel between +the Irish and the Jews. Anyhow, thinking is better than drinking,' and +he jumped on his car. The last thing he heard was Moran's voice saying, +'He who betrays his religion betrays his country.' + +'Confound the fellow, bothering me with his preaching on this fine +summer's day! Much better if he did what he was told, and made up his +mind to put the small green slates on the abbey, and not those coarse +blue things which will make the abbey look like a common barn.' + +Then, shading his eyes with his hand, he peered through the sun haze, +following the shapes of the fields. The corn was six inches high, and +the potatoes were coming into blossom. True, there had been a scarcity +of water, but they had had a good summer, thanks be to God, and he +thought he had never seen the country looking so beautiful. And he loved +this country, this poor Western plain with shapely mountains enclosing +the horizon. Ponies were feeding between the whins, and they raised +their shaggy heads to watch the car passing. In the distance cattle were +grazing, whisking the flies away. How beautiful was everything--the +white clouds hanging in the blue sky, and the trees! There were some +trees, but not many--only a few pines. He caught glimpses of the lake +through the stems; tears rose to his eyes, and he attributed his +happiness to his native land and to the thought that he was living in +it. Only a few days ago he wished to leave it--no, not for ever, but for +a time; and as his old car jogged through the ruts he wondered how it +was that he had ever wished to leave Ireland, even for a single minute. + +'Now, Christy, which do you reckon to be the shorter road?' + +'The shorter road, your reverence, is the Joycetown road, but I doubt if +we can get the car through it.' + +'How is that?' + +And the boy answered that since the Big House had been burnt the road +hadn't been kept in repair. + +'But,' said Father Oliver, 'the Big House was burnt seventy years ago.' + +'Well, your reverence, you see, it was a good road then, but the last +time I heard of a car going that way was last February.' + +'And if a car got through in February, why can't we get through on the +first of June?' + +'Well, your reverence, there was the storm, and I do be hearing that the +trees that fell across the road then haven't been removed yet.' + +'I think we might try the road, for all that, for though if we have to +walk the greater part of it, there will be a saving in the end.' + +'That's true, your reverence, if we can get the car through; but if we +can't we may have to come all the way back again.' + +'Well, Christy, we'll have to risk that. Now, will you be turning the +horse up the road? And I'll stop at the Big House--I've never been +inside it. I'd like to see what it is like.' + +Joycetown House was the last link between the present time and the past. +In the beginning of the century a duellist lived there; the terror of +the countryside he, for he was never known to miss his man. For the +slightest offence, real or imaginary, he sent seconds demanding redress. +No more than his ancestors, who had doubtless lived on the islands, in +Castle Island and Castle Hag, could he live without fighting. But when +he completed his round dozen, a priest said, 'If we don't put a stop to +his fighting, there won't be a gentleman left in the country,' and wrote +to him to that effect. + +The story runs how Joyce, knowing the feeling of the country was against +him, tried to keep the peace. But the blood fever came on him again, and +he called out his nearest neighbour, Browne of the Neale, the only +friend he had in the world. Browne lived at Neale House, just over the +border, in County Galway, so the gentlemen arranged to fight in a +certain field near the mearing. It was Browne of Neale who was the first +to arrive. Joyce, having to come a dozen miles, was a few minutes late. +As soon as his gig was seen, the people, who were in hiding, came out, +and they put themselves between him and Browne, telling him up to his +face there was to be no fighting that day! And the priest, who was at +the head of them, said the same; but Joyce, who knew his countrymen, +paid no heed, but stood up in the gig, and, looking round him, said, +'Now, boys, which is it to be? The Mayo cock or the Galway cock?' No +sooner did he speak these words than they began to cheer him, and in +spite of all the priest could say they carried him into the field in +which he shot Browne of the Neale. + +'A queer people, the queerest in the world,' Father Oliver thought, as +he pulled a thorn-bush out of the doorway and stood looking round. There +were some rough chimney-pieces high up in the grass-grown walls, but +beyond these really nothing to be seen, and he wandered out seeking +traces of terraces along the hillside. + +On meeting a countryman out with his dogs he tried to inquire about the +state of the road. + +'I wouldn't be saying, your reverence, that you mightn't get the car +through by keeping close to the wall; but Christy mustn't let the horse +out of a walk.' + +The countryman said he would go a piece of the road with them, and tell +Christy the spots he'd have to look out for. + +'But your work?' + +'There's no work doing now to speak of, your reverence.' + +The three of them together just managed to remove a fallen tree, which +seemed the most serious obstacle, and the countryman said once they were +over the top of the hill they would be all right; the road wasn't so bad +after that. + +Half a mile further on Father Oliver found himself in sight of the main +road, and of the cottage that his sister Mary had lived in before she +joined Eliza in the convent. + +To have persuaded Mary to take this step proved Eliza's superiority +more completely than anything else she had done, so Father Oliver often +said, adding that he didn't know what mightn't have happened to poor +Mary if she had remained in the world. For her life up to the time she +entered the convent was little else than a series of failures. She was a +shop-assistant, but standing behind the counter gave her varicose veins; +and she went to Dublin as nursery-governess. Father Oliver had heard of +musical studies: she used to play the guitar. But the instrument was not +popular in Dublin, so she gave it up, and returned to Tinnick with the +intention of starting a rabbit and poultry farm. Who put this idea into +her head was her secret, and when he received Eliza's letter telling him +of this last experiment, he remembered throwing up his hands. Of course, +it could only end in failure, in a loss of money; and when he read that +she was going to take the pretty cottage on the road to Tinnick, he had +become suddenly sad. + +'Why should she have selected that cottage, the only pretty one in the +county? Wouldn't any other do just as well for her foolish experiment?' + + + + +VI + + +The flowered cottage on the road to Tinnick stood in the midst of trees, +on a knoll some few feet above the roadway, and Father Oliver, when he +was a boy, often walked out by himself from Tinnick to see the +hollyhocks and the sunflowers; they overtopped the palings, the +sunflowers looking like saucy country girls and the hollyhocks like +grand ladies, delicate and refined, in pink muslin dresses. He used to +stand by the gate looking into the garden, delighted by its luxuriance, +for there were clumps of sweet pea and beds of red carnations and roses +everywhere, and he always remembered the violets and pansies he saw +before he went away to Maynooth. He never remembered seeing the garden +in bloom again. He was seven years at Maynooth, and when he came home +for his vacations it was too late or too early in the season. He was +interested in other things; and during his curacy at Kilronan he rarely +went to Tinnick, and when he did, he took the other road, so that he +might see Father Peter. + +He was practically certain that the last time he saw the garden in bloom +was just before he went to Maynooth. However this might be, it was +certain he would never see it in bloom again. Mary had left the cottage +a ruin, and it was sad to think of the clean thick thatch and the +whitewashed walls covered with creeper and China roses, for now the +thatch was black and mouldy; and of all the flowers only a few stocks +survived; the rose-trees were gone--the rabbits had eaten them. Weeds +overtopped the currant and gooseberry bushes; here and there was a trace +of box edging. 'But soon,' he said, 'all traces will be gone, the roof +will fall in, and the garden will become part of the waste.' His eyes +roved over the country into which he was going--almost a waste; a meagre +black soil, with here and there a thorn-bush and a peasant's cabin. +Father Oliver knew every potato field and every wood, and he waited for +the elms that lined the roadway a mile ahead of him, a long, pleasant +avenue that he knew well, showing above the high wall that encircled a +nobleman's domain. Somewhere in the middle of that park was a great +white house with pillars, and the story he had heard from his mother, +and that roused his childish imaginations, was that Lord Carra was hated +by the town of Tinnick, for he cared nothing for Ireland and was said to +be a man of loose living, in love with his friend's wife, who came to +Tinnick for visits, sometimes with, sometimes without, her husband. It +may have been his Lordship's absenteeism, as well as the scandal the +lady gave, that had prompted a priest to speak against Lord Carra from +the altar, if not directly, indirectly. 'Both are among the gone,' +Father Oliver said to himself. 'No one speaks of them now; myself hasn't +given them a thought this many a year--' His memories broke off +suddenly, for a tree had fallen, carrying a large portion of the wall +with it, but without revealing the house, only a wooded prospect through +which a river glided. 'The Lord's mistress must have walked many a time +by the banks of that river,' he said. But why was he thinking of her +again? Was it the ugly cottage that put thoughts of her into his mind? +for she had done nothing to alleviate the lives of the poor, who lived +without cleanliness and without light, like animals in a den. Or did his +thoughts run on that woman, whom he had never seen, because Tinnick was +against her and the priest had spoken slightingly of the friends that +Lord Carra brought from England? The cause of his thoughts might be that +he was going to offer Nora Glynn to his sister as music-mistress. But +what connection between Nora Glynn and this dead woman? None. But he was +going to propose Nora Glynn to Eliza, and the best line of argument +would be that Nora would cost less than anyone as highly qualified as +she. Nuns were always anxious to get things cheap, but he must not let +them get Nora too cheap. But the question of price wouldn't arise +between him and Eliza. Eliza would see that the wrong he did to Nora was +preying on his conscience, and that he'd never be happy until he had +made atonement--that was the light in which she would view the matter, +so it would be better to let things take their natural course and to +avoid making plans. The more he thought of what he should say to Eliza, +the less likely was he to speak effectively; and feeling that he had +better rely on the inspiration of the moment, he sought distraction from +his errand by noting the beauty of the hillside. He had always liked +the way the road dipped and then ascended steeply to the principal +street in the town. There were some pretty houses in the dip--houses +with narrow doorways and long windows, built, no doubt, in the beginning +of the nineteenth century--and his ambition was once to live in one of +these houses. + +The bridge was an eighteenth-century bridge, with a foaming weir on the +left, and on the right there was a sentimental walk under linden-trees, +and there were usually some boys seated on the parapet fishing. He would +have liked to stop the car, so remote did the ruined mills seem--so like +things of long ago that time had mercifully weaned from the stress and +struggle of life. + +At the corner of the main street was the house in which he was born. The +business had passed into other hands, but the old name--'Gogarty's +Drapery Stores'--remained. Across the way were the butcher and the +grocer, and a little higher up the inn at which the commercial +travellers lodged. He recalled their numerous leather trunks, and for a +moment stood a child again, seeing them drive away on post-cars. A few +more shops had been added--very few--and then the town dwindled quickly, +slated roofs giving way to thatched cottages, and of the same miserable +kind that was wont to provoke his antipathy when he was a boy. + +This sinful dislike of poverty he overcame in early manhood. A high +religious enthusiasm enabled him to overcome it, but his instinctive +dislike of the lowly life--intellectual lowliness as well as +physical--gathered within these cottages, seemed to have returned again. +He asked himself if he were wanting in natural compassion, and if all +that he had of goodness in him were a debt he owed to the Church. It was +in patience rather than in pity maybe that he was lacking; and pursuing +this idea, he recalled the hopes he entertained when he railed off a +strip of ground in front of Bridget Clery's house. But that strip of +garden had inspired no spirit of emulation. Eliza was perhaps more +patient than he, and he began to wonder if she had any definite aim in +view, and if the spectacle of the convent, with its show of nuns walking +under the trees, would eventually awaken some desire of refinement in +the people, if the money their farms now yielded would produce some sort +of improvement in their cottages, the removal of those dreadfully heavy +smells, and a longing for colour that would find expression in the +planting of flowers. + +They gave their money willingly enough for the adornment of their +chapel, for stained glass, incense, candles, and for music, and were it +not for the services of the Church he didn't know into what barbarism +the people mightn't have fallen: the tones of the organ sustaining clear +voices of nuns singing a Mass by Mozart must sooner or later inspire +belief in the friendliness of pure air and the beauty of flowers. +Flowers are the only beautiful things within the reach of these poor +people. Roses all may have, and it was pleasant to think that there is +nothing more entirely natural or charming in the life of man than his +love of flowers: it preceded his love of music; no doubt an appreciation +of something better in the way of art than a jig played on the pipes +would follow close on the purification of the home. + +Nora Glynn was beautiful, and her personality was winning and charming, +her playing delightful, and her singing might have inspired the people +to cultivate beauty. But she was going to the convent. The convent had +gotten her. It was a pity. Mrs. O'Mara's scandalous stories, insinuating +lies, had angered him till he could bear with her no longer, and he had +put her out the door. He didn't believe that Eliza had ever said she +could give Nora more than she was earning in Garranard. It mattered very +little if she had, for it had so fallen out that she was going to get +her. He begrudged them Nora. But Eliza was going to get her, and he'd +have to make the best terms he could. + +But he could not constrain his thoughts to the present moment. They +would go back to the fateful afternoon when he ran across the fields to +ask Nora if what Mrs. O'Mara had said of her were true. If he had only +waited! If she had come to him to confession on Saturday, as he expected +she would! If something had prevented him from preaching on Sunday! A +bad cold might have prevented him from speaking, and she might have gone +away for a while, and, when her baby was born, she might have come back. +It could have been easily arranged. But fate had ordered her life +otherwise, and here he was in the Tinnick Convent, hoping to make her +some poor amends for the wrong he had done her. Would Eliza help +him?--that was the question he asked himself as he crossed the +beeswaxed floor and stood looking at the late afternoon sunlight +glancing through the trees, falling across the green sward. + +'How do you do, Oliver?' + +His face lighted up, but it changed expression and became gray again. He +had expected to see Eliza, tall and thin, with yellow eyebrows and pale +eyes. Hers was a good, clearly-cut face, like his own, whereas Mary's +was quite different. Yet a family likeness stared through Mary's heavy +white face. Her eyes were smaller than his, and she already began to +raise them and lower them, and to look at him askance, in just the way +he hated. Somehow or other she always contrived to make him feel +uncomfortable, and the present occasion was no exception. She was +already reproving him, hoping he was not disappointed at seeing her, and +he had to explain that he expected to see Eliza, and that was why he +looked surprised. She must not confuse surprise with disappointment. He +was very glad to see her. + +'I know I am not as interesting as Eliza,' she began, 'but I thought you +might like to see me, and if I hadn't come at once I shouldn't have had +an opportunity of seeing you alone.' + +'She has something to confide,' Father Oliver said to himself, and he +hoped that her confidences might be cut short by the timely arrival of +Eliza. + +'Eliza is engaged at present. She told Sister Agatha to tell you that +she would be with you presently. I met Sister Agatha in the passage, and +said I would take the message myself. I suppose I oughtn't to have done +so, but if I hadn't I shouldn't have had an opportunity of speaking with +you.' + +'Why is that?' + +'I don't think she likes me to see you alone.' + +'My dear Mary!' + +'You don't know, Oliver, what it is to live in a convent, and your own +sister the head of it.' + +'I should have thought, Mary, that it was especially pleasant, and that +you were especially fortunate. And as for thinking that Eliza is not +wishing you to see me alone, I am sure--' + +'You are sure I'm mistaken.' + +'What reason could she have?' + +'Eliza doesn't wish the affairs of the convent discussed. You know, I +suppose, that the building of the new wing has put a burden of debt on +the convent.' + +'I know that; so why should Eliza--' + +'Eliza tries to prevent my seeing any of the visitors. Now, do you think +that quite right and fair towards one's sister?' + +Father Oliver tried to prevent himself from smiling, but he sympathized +so entirely with Eliza's efforts to prevent Mary from discussing the +affairs of the convent that he could hardly keep down the smile that +rose to his lips. He could see Eliza's annoyance on coming into the +parlour and finding Mary detailing all the gossip and confiding her own +special woes, for the most part imaginary, to a visitor. Nor would Mary +refrain from touching on the Reverend Mother's shortcomings. He was so +much amused that he might have smiled if it had not suddenly come to his +mind that Mary might leave the convent and insist on living with him; +and a little scared he began to think of what he could say to pacify +her, remembering in the midst of his confusion and embarrassment that +Mary was professed last year, and therefore could not leave the convent; +and this knowledge filled him with such joy that he could not keep back +the words, but must remind his sister that she had had ample opportunity +of considering if she were suited to the religious life. + +'You see, Mary, you should have thought of all this before you were +professed.' + +'I shan't take my final vows till next year.' + +'But, my dear Mary, once a woman has taken the black veil ... it is the +same thing, you know.' + +'Not quite, otherwise there would be no meaning in the delay.' + +'You don't mean to say that you're thinking of leaving the convent, +Mary?' + +'Not exactly, but it is very hard on me, Oliver. I was thinking of +writing to you, but I hoped that you would come to see us. You have been +a long time now without coming.' + +'Well, Mary--' + +'Eliza loves ruling everybody, and just because I am her sister she is +harder on me than anyone else. Only the other day she was furious with +me because I stopped at confession a few minutes longer than usual. "I +think," she said, "you might spare Father Higgins your silly scruples." +Now, how is one to stop in a convent if one's own sister interferes in +one's confessions?' + +'Well, Mary, what are you thinking of doing?' + +'There are some French nuns who have just come over and want to open a +school, and are looking for Irish subjects. I was thinking they'd like +to have me. You see, I wouldn't have to go through the novitiate again, +for they want an experienced person to teach them English and to mind +the school for them. It is really a mistake to be under one's own +sister.' + +At that moment the door opened and Eliza came in, apologizing for having +kept her brother so long waiting. + +'You see, my dear Oliver, I've had two mothers here this morning, and +you know what parents are. I suppose Mary has told you about our +difficulties. Now, do you mean to say that you have found a person who +will suit us?... It is really very kind of you.' + +'I can't say for certain, Eliza. Of course, it is difficult for me to +know exactly what you want, but, so far as I know, I think the person I +have in my mind will suit you.' + +'But has she a diploma from the Academy? We must have a certificate.' + +'I think she'll suit you, but we'll talk about her presently. Don't you +think we might go into the garden?' + +'Yes, it will be pleasanter in the garden. And you, Mary--you've had +your little chat with Oliver.' + +'I was just going, Eliza. If I'd known that Oliver wanted to speak +privately to you, I'd have gone sooner.' + +'No, no, I assure you, Mary.' + +Mary held out her hand to her brother, saying: + +'I suppose I shall not see you again, unless, perhaps, you're stopping +the night with Father Higgins. It would be nice if you could do that. +You could say Mass for us in the morning.' + +Father Oliver shook his head. + +'I'm afraid I must get back to-night.' + +'Well, then, good-bye.' And Mary went out of the room regretfully, like +one who knows that the moment her back is turned all her faults will +become the subject of conversation. + +'I hear from Mary that some French nuns are coming over, and want to +open a school. I hope that won't interfere with yours, Eliza; you spent +a great deal of money upon the new wing.' + +'It will interfere very much indeed; but I'm trying to get some of the +nuns to come here, and I hope the Bishop will not permit a new +foundation. It's very hard upon us Irish women if we are to be eaten out +of house and home by pious foreigners. I'm in correspondence with the +Bishop about it. As for Mary--' + +'You surely don't think she's going to leave?' + +'No, I don't suppose she'll leave; it would be easier for me if she did, +but it would give rise to any amount of talk. And where would she go if +she did leave, unless she lived with you?' + +'My house is too small; besides, she didn't speak of leaving, only that +she hadn't yet taken her final vows. I explained that no one will +distinguish between the black veil and final vows. Am I not right?' + +'I think those vows will take a great weight off your mind, Oliver. I +wish I could say as much for myself.' + +The Reverend Mother opened a glass door, and brother and sister stood +for some time admiring the flower vases that lined the terrace. + +'I can't get her to water the geraniums.' + +'If you'll tell me where I can get a can--' + +'You'll excuse me, Reverend Mother.' + +It was the Sister in charge of the laundry, and, seeing her crippled +arm, Father Oliver remembered that her dress had become entangled in the +machinery. He didn't know, however, that the fault lay with Mary, who +was told off to watch the machinery and to stop it instantly in case of +necessity. + +'She can't keep her attention fixed on anything, not even on her +prayers, and what she calls piety I should call idleness. It's terrible +to have to do with stupid women, and the convent is so full of them that +I often wonder what is the good of having a convent at all.' + +'But, Eliza, you don't regret--' + +'No, of course I don't regret. I should do just the same again. But +don't let us waste our time talking about vocations. I hear enough of +that here. I want you to tell me about the music-mistress; that's what +interests me.' + +And when Father Oliver had told her the whole story and showed her +Father O'Grady's letter, she said: + +'You know I always thought you were a little hard on Miss Glynn. Father +O'Grady's letter convinces me that you were.' + +'My dear Eliza, I don't want advice; I've suffered enough.' + +'Oliver dear, forgive me.' And the nun put out her hand to detain him. + +'Well, don't say again, Eliza, that you always thought. It's irritating, +and it does no good.' + +'Her story is known, but she could live in the convent; that would +shelter her from any sort of criticism. I don't see why she shouldn't +take the habit of one of the postulants, but--' + +The priest waited for his sister to speak, and after waiting a little +while he asked her what she was going to say. + +'I was going to ask you,' said the nun, waking from her reverie, 'if you +have written to Miss Glynn.' + +'Yes, I wrote to her.' + +'And she's willing to come back?' + +'I haven't spoken to her about that. It didn't occur to me until +afterwards, but I can write at once if you consent.' + +'I may be wrong, Oliver, but I don't think she'll care to leave London +and come back here, where she is known.' + +'But, Eliza, a girl likes to live in her own country. Mind you, I am +responsible. I drove her out of her country among strangers. She's +living among Protestants.' + +'I don't think that will trouble her very much.' + +'I don't know why you say that, Eliza. Do you think that a woman cannot +repent? that because she happens to have sinned once--' + +'No; I suppose there are repentant sinners, but I think we most often go +on as we begin. Now, you see, Father O'Grady says that she's getting on +very well in London, and we like to live among those who appreciate us.' + +'Well, Eliza, of course, if you start with the theory that no one can +repent--' + +'I didn't say that, Oliver. But she wouldn't tell you who the man was. +She seems a person of character--I mean, she doesn't seem to be lacking +in strength of character.' + +'She's certainly a most excellent musician. You'll find no one like her, +and you may be able to get her very cheap. And if your school doesn't +pay--' + +A shade passed across the Reverend Mother's face. + +'There's no doubt that the new wing has cost us a great deal of money.' + +'Then there are the French nuns--' + +'My dear Oliver, if you wish me to engage Miss Glynn as music-mistress +I'll do so. There's no use speaking to me about the French nuns. I'll +engage her because you ask me, but I cannot pay her as much as those who +have diplomas. How much do you think she'd come for?' + +'I don't know what she's earning in London, but I suppose you can pay +her an average wage. You could pay her according to results.' + +'What you say is quite true, Oliver.' The priest and the nun continued +their walk up and down in front of the unfinished building. 'But you +don't know, Oliver, if she's willing to leave London. You'll have to +write and find out.' + +'Very well, Eliza, I'll write. You'll be able to offer her as much as +she was earning in my parish as schoolmistress. That's fifty pounds a +year.' + +'It's more than we can afford, Oliver, but if you wish it.' + +'I do wish it, Eliza. Thank you. You've taken a great weight off my +mind.' + +They passed into the house, and, stopping in front of the writing-table, +the nun looked to see if there were paper and envelopes in the blotter. + +'You'll find everything you want, even sealing-wax,' she said. 'Now I'll +leave you.' + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + +'TINNICK CONVENT, + +'_June 4, 19--_. + +'DEAR MISS GLYNN, + +'I take it for granted that you received the letter I sent you two days +ago, telling you how much I appreciated your kindness in asking Father +O'Grady to write to tell me that you were quite safe and getting on +well. Since writing that letter I feel more keenly than ever that I owe +you reparation, for it was through an error of judgment on my part that +you are now an exile from your own country. Everyone is agreed that I +have committed an error of judgment. My sister, the Mother Superior of +this convent from where I am writing, is of that opinion. The moment I +mentioned your name she began, "I always thought that--" and I begged of +her to spare me advice on the subject, saying that it was not for advice +that I came to her, but to ask her to help me to make atonement, which +she could do by engaging you to teach music in her convent. You see, I +had heard that my sister was in a difficulty. The new wing is nearly +completed, and she could get the best families in Ireland to send their +daughters to be educated in her convent if she could provide sufficient +musical instruction. I thought you might like to live in your own +country, now that your thoughts have again turned towards God, and I can +imagine the unpleasantness it must be to a Catholic to live in a +Protestant country. I told my sister this, and she answered that if you +wish to come over here, and if Father O'Grady advises it, she will take +you as music-mistress. You will live in the convent. You can enter it, +if you wish, as a postulant, or if you should remain an extern teacher +the salary they will give you will be fifty pounds a year. I know you +can make more than that in London, but you can live more cheaply here, +and you will be among friends. + +'I shall be glad to hear from you on this subject. + +'Very sincerely yours, + +'OLIVER GOGARTY, P.P.' + + +When he looked up, the darkness under the trees surprised him, and the +geraniums so faintly red on the terrace, and his sister passing up and +down like a phantom. + +'Eliza.' + +He heard her beads drop, and out of a loose sleeve a slim hand took the +letter. There was not enough light in the room to read by, and she +remained outside, leaning against the glass door. + +'You haven't written exactly the letter I should have written, but, +then, we're quite different. I should have written a cold and more +business-like letter.' His face changed expression, and she added: 'I'm +sorry if I'm unsympathetic, Oliver.' + +The touch of her hand and the look in her eyes surprised him, for Eliza +was not demonstrative, and he wondered what had called forth this sudden +betrayal of feeling. He expected her to ask him not to send the letter, +but instead of doing so she said: + +'If the letter were written otherwise it wouldn't be like yourself, +Oliver. Send it, and if she leaves London and comes back here, I will +think better of her. It will be proof that she has repented. I see +you'll not have an easy mind until you make atonement. You exaggerate, I +think; but everyone for himself in a matter like this.' + +'Thank you, Eliza. You always understand.' + +'Not always. I failed to understand when you wanted to set up a +hermitage on Castle Island.' + +'Yes, you did; you have better sense than I. Yet I feel we are more +alike than the others. You have counted for a great deal in my life, +Eliza. Do you remember saying that you intended to be Reverend Mother? +And now you are Reverend Mother.' + +'I don't think I said "I intended." But I felt that if I became a nun, +one day or another I should be Reverend Mother; one knows most often +than not what is going to happen--one's own fate, I mean.' + +'I wonder if Mary knows?' + +'If she does, I wish she'd tell us.' + +'We'll have time to walk round the garden once more. You have no idea +what a pleasure it is for me to see you--to talk with you like this.' + +And, talking of Mary, they walked slowly, forgetful of everything but +each other. + +A bell rang. + +'I must be going; it will be late before I get home.' + +'Which way are you going? Round by Kilronan or across the Bridge of +Keel?' + +'I came by Kilronan. I think I'll take the other way. There will be a +moon to-night.' + +Brother and sister entered the convent. + +'You'll enjoy the drive?' + +'Yes.' And he fell to thinking of the drive home by the southern road, +the mountains unfolding their many aspects in the gray moonlight, and +melting away in misty perspectives. + + + + +VII + + +_From Miss Nora Glynn to Father Oliver Gogarty._ + + +'4, WILSON STREET, LONDON, + +'_June_ 8, 19--, + +'FATHER GOGARTY, + +'I did not answer your first letter because the letters that came into +my mind to write, however they might begin, soon turned to bitterness, +and I felt that writing bitter letters would not help me to forget the +past. But your second letter with its proposal that I should return to +Ireland to teach music in a convent school forces me to break silence, +and it makes me regret that I gave Father O'Grady permission to write to +you; he asked me so often, and his kindness is so winning, that I could +not refuse him anything. He said you would certainly have begun to see +that you had done me a wrong, and I often answered that I saw no reason +why I should trouble to soothe your conscience. I do not wish to return +to Ireland; I am, as Father O'Grady told you, earning my own living, my +work interests me, and very soon I shall have forgotten Ireland. That is +the best thing that can happen, that I should forget Ireland, and that +you should forget the wrong you did me. Put the whole thing, and me, +out of your mind; and now, good-bye, Father Gogarty. + +'NORA GLYNN.' + + +'Good heavens! how she hates me, and she'll hate me till her dying day. +She'll never forget. And this is the end of it, a bitter, unforgiving +letter.' He sat down to think, and it seemed to him that she wouldn't +have written this letter if she had known the agony of mind he had been +through. But of this he wasn't sure. No, no; he could not believe her +spiteful. And he walked up and down the room, trying to quell the +bitterness rising up within him. No other priest would have taken the +trouble; they would have just forgotten all about it, and gone about +congratulating themselves on their wise administration. But he had acted +rightly, Father O'Grady had approved of what he had done; and this was +his reward. She'll never come back, and will never forgive him; and ever +since writing to her he had indulged in dreams of her return to Ireland, +thinking how pleasant it would be to go down to the lake in the +mornings, and stand at the end of the sandy spit looking across the lake +towards Tinnick, full of the thought that she was there with his sisters +earning her living. She wouldn't be in his parish, but they'd have been +friends, neighbours, and he'd have accepted the loss of his organist as +his punishment. Eva Maguire was no good; there would never be any music +worth listening to in his parish again. Such sternness as her letter +betrayed was not characteristic of her; she didn't understand, and +never would. Catherine's step awoke him; the awaking was painful, and he +couldn't collect his thoughts enough to answer Catherine; and feeling +that he must appear to her daft, he tried to speak, but his speech was +only babble. + +'You haven't read your other letter, your reverence.' + +He recognized the handwriting; it was from Father O'Grady. + + +_From Father O'Grady to Father Oliver Gogarty._ + +'_June_ 8, 19--. + +'MY DEAR FATHER GOGARTY, + +'I was very glad to hear that Miss Glynn told her story truthfully; for +if she exaggerated or indulged in equivocation, it would be a great +disappointment to me and to her friends, and would put me in a very +difficult position, for I should have to tell certain friends of mine, +to whom I recommended her, that she was not all that we imagined her to +be. But all's well that ends well; and you will be glad to hear that I +have appointed her organist in my church. It remains, therefore, only +for me to thank you for your manly letter, acknowledging the mistake you +have made. + +'I can imagine the anxiety it must have caused you, and the great relief +it must have been to you to get my letter. Although Miss Glynn spoke +with bitterness, she did not try to persuade me that you were naturally +hard-hearted or cruel. The impression that her story left on my mind was +that your allusions to her in your sermon were unpremeditated. Your +letter is proof that I was not mistaken, and I am sure the lesson you +have received will bear fruit. I trust that you will use your influence +to restrain other priests from similar violence. It is only by +gentleness and kindness that we can do good. I shall be glad to see you +if you ever come to London. + +'I am, sir, 'Very sincerely yours, 'MICHAEL O'GRADY.' + + +'All's well that ends well. So that's how he views it! A different point +of view.' And feeling that he was betraying himself to Catherine, he put +both letters into his pocket and went out of the house. But he had not +gone many yards when he met a parishioner with a long story to tell, +happily not a sick call, only a dispute about land. So he invented an +excuse postponing his intervention until the morrow, and when he +returned home tired with roaming, he stopped on his door-step. 'The +matter is over now, her letter is final,' he said. But he awoke in a +different mood next morning; everything appeared to him in a different +light, and he wondered, surprised to find that he could forget so +easily; and taking her letter out of his pocket, he read it again. 'It's +a hard letter, but she's a wise woman. Much better for us both to forget +each other. "Good-bye, Father Gogarty," she said; "Good-bye, Nora +Glynn," say I.' And he walked about his garden tending his flowers, +wondering at his light-heartedness. + +She thought of her own interests, and would get on very well in London, +and Father O'Grady had been lucky too. Nora was an excellent organist. +But if he went to London he would meet her. A meeting could hardly be +avoided--and after that letter! Perhaps it would be wiser if he didn't +go to London. What excuse? O'Grady would write again. He had been so +kind. In any case he must answer his letter, and that was vexatious. But +was he obliged to answer it? O'Grady wouldn't misunderstand his silence. +But there had been misunderstandings enough; and before he had walked +the garden's length half a dozen conclusive reasons for writing occurred +to him. First of all Father O'Grady's kindness in writing to ask him to +stay with him, added to which the fact that Nora would, of course, tell +Father O'Grady she had been invited to teach in the convent; her vanity +would certainly urge her to do this, and Heaven only knows what account +she would give of his proposal. There would be his letter, but she +mightn't show it. So perhaps on the whole it would be better that he +should write telling O'Grady what had happened. And after his dinner as +he sat thinking, a letter came into his mind; the first sentences +formulated themselves so suddenly that he was compelled to go to his +writing-table. + + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Father O'Grady._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_June_ 12, 19--. + +'DEAR FATHER O'GRADY, + +'I enclose a letter which I received three days ago from Miss Nora +Glynn, and I think you will agree with me that the letter is a harsh +one, and that, all things considered, it would have been better if she +had stinted herself to saying that I had committed an error of judgment +which she forgave. She did not, however, choose to do this. As regards +my sister's invitation to her to come over here to teach, she was, of +course, quite right to consider her own interests. She can make more +money in London than she could in Ireland. I forgot that she couldn't +bring her baby with her, remembering only that my eldest sister is +Mother Abbess in the Tinnick Convent--a very superior woman, if I may +venture to praise my own sister. The convent was very poor at one time, +but she has made the school a success, and, hearing that she wanted +someone who would teach music and singing, I proposed to her that she +should engage Miss Glynn, with whose story she was already acquainted. +She did not think that Miss Glynn would return to Ireland; and in this +opinion she showed her good judgment. She was always a wonderful judge +of character. But she could see that I was anxious to atone for any +wrong that I might have done Miss Glynn, and after some hesitation she +consented, saying: "Well, Oliver, if you wish it." + +'Miss Glynn did not accept the proposal, and I suppose that the episode +now ends so far as I am concerned. She has fallen into good hands; she +is making her living, thanks to your kindness. But I dare not think what +might not have happened if she had not met you. Perhaps when you have +time you will write again; I shall be glad to hear if she succeeds in +improving your choir. My conscience is now at rest; there is a term, +though it may not be at the parish boundary, when our responsibility +ceases. + +'Thanking you again, and hoping one of these days to have the pleasure +of making your acquaintance, + +'I am very truly yours, + +'OLIVER GOGARTY.' + + +_From Father O'Grady to Father Oliver Gogarty._ + +'_June_ 18, 19--. + +'DEAR FATHER GOGARTY, + +'Thank you for sending me Miss Glynn's letter, and I agree with you when +you describe it as harsh; but I understand it in a way. Miss Glynn came +over to London almost penniless, and expecting the birth of her +illegitimate child. She suffered all that a woman suffers in such +circumstances. I do not want to harass you unnecessarily by going over +it all again, but I do wish you to forgive her somewhat intemperate +letter. I'll speak to her about it, and I am sure she will write to you +in a more kindly spirit later on; meanwhile, rest assured that she is +doing well, and not forgetful of the past. I shall try to keep a +watchful eye over her, seeing that she attends to her duties every +month; there is no better safeguard. But in truth I have no fear for +her, and am unable to understand how she could have been guilty of so +grave a sin, especially in Ireland. She seems here most circumspect, +even strict, in her manner. She is an excellent musician, and has +improved my choir. I have been tempted to comply with her request and +spend some more money upon the singing.... + +'While writing these lines I was interrupted. My servant brought me a +letter from Miss Glynn, telling me that a great chance had come her way. +It appears that Mr. Walter Poole, the father of one of her pupils, has +offered her the post of secretaryship, and she would like to put into +practice the shorthand and typewriting that she has been learning for +the last six months. Her duties, she says, will be of a twofold nature: +she will help Mr. Poole with his literary work and she will also give +music lessons to his daughter Edith. Mr. Poole lives in Berkshire, and +wants her to come down at once, which means she will have to leave me in +the lurch. "You will be without an organist," she writes, "and will have +to put up with Miss Ellen McGowan until you can get a better. She may +improve--I hope and think she will; and I'm sorry to give trouble to one +who has been so kind to me, but, you see, I have a child to look after, +and it is difficult to make both ends meet on less than three pounds a +week. More money I cannot hope to earn in my present circumstances; I am +therefore going down to Berkshire to-morrow, so I shall not see you +again for some time. Write and tell me you are not angry with me." + +'On receiving this letter, I went round to Miss Glynn's lodgings, and +found her in the midst of her packing. We talked a long while, and very +often it seemed to me that I was going to persuade her, but when it came +to the point she shook her head. Offer her more money I could not, but I +promised to raise her wages to two pounds a week next year if it were +possible to do so. I don't think it is the money; I think it is change +that tempts her. Well, it tempts us all, and though I am much +disappointed at losing her, I cannot be angry with her, for I cannot +forget that I often want change myself, and the longing to get out of +London is sometimes almost irresistible. I do not know your part of the +country, but I do know what an Irish lake is like, and I often long to +see one again. And very often, I suppose, you would wish to exchange the +romantic solitude of your parish for the hurly-burly of a town, and for +its thick, impure air you would be willing--for a time only, of +course--to change the breezes of your mountain-tops. + +'Very truly yours, + +'MICHAEL O'GRADY.' + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Father O'Grady._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_June_ 22, 19--. + +'DEAR FATHER O'GRADY, + +'No sooner had I begun to feel easier in my conscience and to dream that +my responsibilities were at an end than your letter comes, and I am +thrown back into all my late anxieties regarding Nora Glynn's future, +for which I am and shall always be responsible. + +'It was my words that drove her out of Ireland into a great English city +in which some dreadful fate of misery and death might have befallen her +if you had not met her. But God is good, and he sent you to her, and +everything seems to have happened for the best. She was in your hands, +and I felt safe. But now she has taken her life into her own hands +again, thinking she can manage it without anybody's help! + +'The story you tell seems simple enough, but it doesn't sound all right. +Why should she go away to Berkshire to help Mr. Walter Poole with his +literature without giving you longer notice? It seems strange to write +to one who has taken all the trouble you have to find her work--"I have +discovered a post that suits me better and am going away to-morrow." Of +course she has her child to think of. But have you made inquiries? I +suppose you must have done. You would not let her go away to a man of +whom you know nothing. She says that he is the father of one of her +pupils. But she doesn't know him, yet she is going to live in his house +to help him with his literature. Have you inquired, dear Father O'Grady, +what this man's writings are, if he is a Catholic or a Protestant? I +should not like Miss Nora Glynn to go into a Protestant household, where +she would hear words of disrespect for the religion she has been brought +up in. + +'As I write I ask myself if there is a Catholic chapel within walking +distance; and if there isn't, will he undertake to send her to Mass +every Sunday? I hope you have made all these inquiries, and if you have +not made them, will you make them at once and write to me and relieve my +anxiety? You are aware of the responsibilities I have incurred and will +appreciate the anxiety that I feel. + +'Yours very sincerely, + +'OLIVER GOGARTY.' + + +It seemed to Father Oliver so necessary that Father O'Grady should get +his letter as soon as possible that he walked to Bohola; but soon after +dropping the letter in the box he began to think that he might have +written more judiciously, and on his way home he remembered that he had +told Father O'Grady, and very explicitly, that he should have made +inquiries regarding Mr. Walter Poole's literature before he allowed Nora +Glynn to go down to Berkshire to help him with his literary work. Of +course he hoped, and it was only natural that he should hope, that +Father O'Grady had made all reasonable inquiries; but it seemed to him +now that he had expressed himself somewhat peremptorily. Father O'Grady +was an old man--how old he did not know--but himself was a young man, +and he did not know in what humour Father O'Grady might read his letter. +If the humour wasn't propitious he might understand it as an +impertinence. It vexed him that he had shown so much agitation, and he +stopped to think. But it was so natural that he should be concerned +about Nora Glynn. All the same, his anxiety might strike Father O'Grady +as exaggerated. A temperate letter, he reflected, is always better; and +the evening was spent in writing another letter to Father O'Grady, a +much longer one, in which he thanked Father O'Grady for asking him to +come to see him if he should ever find himself in London. 'Of course,' +he wrote, 'I shall be only too pleased to call on you, and no doubt we +shall have a great deal to talk about--two Irishmen always have; and +when I feel the need of change imminent, I will try to go to London, +and do you, Father O'Grady, when you need a change, come to Ireland. You +write: "I do not know your part of the country, but I know what an Irish +lake is like, and I often long to see one again." Well, come and see my +lake; it's very beautiful. Woods extend down to the very shores with +mountain peaks uplifting behind the woods, and on many islands there are +ruins of the castles of old time. Not far from my house it narrows into +a strait, and after passing this strait it widens out into what might +almost be called another lake. We are trying to persuade the Government +to build a bridge, but it is difficult to get anything done. My +predecessor and myself have been in correspondence on this subject with +the Board of Works; it often seems as if success were about to come, but +it slips away, and everything has to be begun again. I should like to +show you Kilronan Abbey, an old abbey unroofed by Cromwell. The people +have gone there for centuries, kneeling in the snow and rain. We are +sadly in need of subscription. Perhaps one of these days you will be +able to help us; but I shall write again on this subject, and as soon as +I can get a photograph of the abbey I will send it. + +'Yours very sincerely, + +'OLIVER GOGARTY.' + +'Now, what will Father O'Grady answer to all this?' he said under his +breath as he folded up his letter. 'A worthy soul, an excellent soul, +there's no doubt about that.' And he began to feel sorry for Father +O'Grady. But his sorrow was suddenly suspended. If he went to London he +wouldn't be likely to see her. 'Another change,' he said; 'things are +never the same for long. A week ago I knew where she was; I could see +her in her surroundings. Berkshire is not very far from London. But who +is Mr. Poole?' And he sat thinking. + +A few days after he picked up a letter from his table from Father +O'Grady, a long garrulous letter, four pages about Kilronan Abbey, Irish +London, convent schools--topics interesting enough in themselves, but +lacking in immediate interest. The letter contained only three lines +about her. That Mr. Poole explained everything to her, and that she +liked her work. The letter dropped from his hand; the hand that had held +the letter fell upon his knee, and Father Oliver sat looking through the +room. Awaking suddenly, he tried to remember what he had been thinking +about, for he had been thinking a long while; but he could not recall +his thoughts, and went to his writing-table and began a long letter +telling Father O'Grady about Kilronan Abbey and enclosing photographs. +And then, feeling compelled to bring himself into as complete union as +possible with his correspondent, he sat, pen in hand, uncertain if he +should speak of Nora at all. The temptation was by him, and he found +excuse in the thought that after all she was the link; without her he +would not have known Father O'Grady. And so convinced was he of this +that when he mentioned her he did so on account of a supposed obligation +to sympathize once again with Father O'Grady's loss of his organist. +His letter rambled on about the Masses Nora used to play best and the +pieces she used to sing. + +A few days after he caught sight of her handwriting on his +breakfast-table, and he sat reading the letter, to Catherine's +annoyance, who said the rashers were getting cold. + + +_From Miss Nora Glynn to Father Oliver Gogarty._ + +'BEECHWOOD HALL, BERKSHIRE, + +'_July_ 20, 19--. + +'DEAR FATHER GOGARTY, + +'One is not always in a mood to give credit to others for good +intentions, especially when one returns home at the close of day +disappointed, and I wrote a hard, perhaps a cruel, letter; but I'm +feeling differently now. The truth is that your letter arrived at an +unfortunate moment when things were going badly with me.' + +'I'm forgiven,' Father Oliver cried--'I'm forgiven;' and his joy was so +great that the rest of the letter seemed unnecessary, but he continued +to read: + +'Father O'Grady has no doubt told you that I have given up my post of +organist in his church, Mr. Poole having engaged me to teach his +daughter music and to act as his secretary. In a little letter which I +received about a fortnight ago from him he told me he had written to +you, and it appears that you have recovered from your scruples of +conscience, and have forgotten the wrong you did me; but if I know you +at all, you are deceiving yourself. You will never forget the wrong you +did me. But I shall forget. I am not sure that it has not already passed +out of my mind. This will seem contradictory, for didn't I say that I +couldn't forget your cruelty in my first letter? I wonder if I meant it +when I wrote, "Put the whole thing and me out of your mind...." I +suppose I did at the time, and yet I doubt it. Does anyone want to be +forgotten utterly? + +'I should have written to you before, but we have been busy. Mr. Poole's +book has been promised by the end of the year. It's all in type, but he +is never satisfied. To-day he has gone to London to seek information +about the altars of the early Israelites. It's a wonderful book, but I +cannot write about it to-day; the sun is shining, the country is looking +lovely, and my pupil is begging me to finish my letter and go out with +her. + +'Very sincerely yours, + +'NORA GLYNN.' + + +'So forgiveness has come at last,' he said; and as he walked along the +shore he fell to thinking that very soon all her life in Garranard would +be forgotten. 'She seems interested in her work,' he muttered; and his +mind wandered over the past, trying to arrive at a conclusion, if there +was or was not a fundamental seriousness in her character, inclining on +the whole to think there was, for if she was not serious fundamentally, +she would not have been chosen by Mr. Poole for his secretary. 'My +little schoolmistress, the secretary of a great scholar! How very +extraordinary! But why is it extraordinary? When will she write again?' +And every night he wished for the dawn, and every morning he asked if +there were any letters for him. 'No, your reverence, no letters this +morning;' and when Catherine handed him some envelopes they only +contained bills or uninteresting letters from the parishioners or +letters from the Board of Works about the bridge in which he could no +longer feel any interest whatever. + +At last he began to think he had said something to offend her, and to +find out if this were so he would have to write to Father O'Grady +telling him that Miss Glynn had written saying she had forgiven him. Her +forgiveness had brought great relief; but Miss Glynn said in her letter +that she was alone in Berkshire, Mr. Poole having gone to London to seek +information regarding the altars of the early Israelites. + + +_From Father O'Grady to Father Oliver Gogarty._ + +'_August_ 1, 19--. + +'DEAR FATHER GOGARTY, + +'I am sorry I cannot give you the information you require regarding the +nature of Mr. Poole's writings, and if I may venture to advise you, I +will say that I do not think any good will come to her by your inquiry +into the matter. She is one of those women who resent all control; and, +if I may judge from a letter she wrote to me the other day, she is bent +now on educating herself regardless of the conclusions to which her +studies may lead her. I shall pray for her, and that God may watch over +and guide her is my hope. I am sure it is yours too. She is in God's +hands, and we can do nothing to help her. I am convinced of that, and it +would be well for you to put her utterly out of your mind. + +'I am, very truly yours, + +'MICHAEL O'GRADY.' + + +'Put her utterly out of my mind,' Father Oliver cried aloud; 'now what +does he mean by that?' And he asked himself if this piece of advice was +Father O'Grady's attempt to get even with him for having told him that +he should have informed himself regarding Mr. Poole's theological +opinions before permitting her to go down to Berkshire. + +It did not seem to him that Father O'Grady would stoop to such meanness, +but there seemed to be no other explanation, and he fell to thinking of +what manner of man was Father O'Grady--an old man he knew him to be, and +from the tone of his letters he had judged him a clever man, experienced +in the human weakness and conscience. But this last letter! In what +light was he to read it? Did O'Grady fail to understand that there is no +more intimate association than that of an author and his secretary. If +we are to believe at all in spiritual influences--and who denies +them?--can we minimize these? On his way to the writing-table he +stopped. Mr. Poole's age--what was it? He imagined him about sixty. 'It +is at that age,' he said, 'that men begin to think about the altars of +the early Israelites,' and praying at intervals that he might be +seventy, he wrote a short note thanking Father O'Grady for his advice +and promising to bear it in mind. He did not expect to get an answer, +nor did he wish for an answer; for he had begun to feel that he and +Father O'Grady had drifted apart, and had no further need one for the +other. + +'Are there no letters this morning?' he asked Catherine. + +'None, sir. You haven't had one from London for a long time.' + +He turned away. 'An intolerable woman--intolerable! I shall be obliged +to make a change soon,' he said, turning away so that Catherine should +not see the annoyance that he felt on his face. + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_August_ 6, 19--. + +'DEAR MISS GLYNN, + +'You said in your very kind letter, which I received a fortnight ago, +and which I answered hastily, that on some future occasion you would +perhaps tell me about the book Mr. Poole is writing. I wonder if this +occasion will ever arise, and, if so, if it be near or far--near, I +hope, for interested as I naturally am in your welfare, I have begun to +feel some anxiety regarding this book. On the day that--' + + +'Father O'Grady, your reverence.' Father Oliver laid his letter aside, +and then hid it in the blotter, regretting his haste and his fumbling +hands, which perhaps had put the thought into O'Grady's mind that the +letter was to Nora. And so he came forward faintly embarrassed to meet a +small pale man, whom he judged to be seventy or thereabouts, coming +forward nimbly, bent a little, with a long, thin arm and bony hand +extended in a formal languor of welcome. A little disappointing was the +first moment, but it passed away quickly, and when his visitor was +seated Father Oliver noticed a large nose rising out of the pallor and +on either side of it dim blue eyes and some long white locks. + +'You're surprised to see me,' Father O'Grady said in a low, winning +voice. 'Of course you're surprised--how could it be otherwise? but I +hope you're glad.' + +'Very glad,' Father Oliver answered. 'Glad, very glad,' he repeated; and +begged his visitor to allow him to help him off with his overcoat. + +'How pleasant,' Father O'Grady said, as soon as he was back in the +armchair, as if he felt that the duty fell upon him to find a +conversation that would help them across the first five minutes--'how +pleasant it is to see a turf fire again! The turf burns gently, mildly, +a much pleasanter fire than coal; the two races express themselves in +their fires.' + +'Oh, we're fiery enough over here,' Father Oliver returned; and the +priests laughed. + +'I did not feel that I was really in Ireland,' Father O'Grady continued, +'till I saw the turf blazing and falling into white ash. You see I +haven't been in Ireland for many years.' + +Father Oliver threw some more sods of turf into the grate, saying: 'I'm +glad, Father O'Grady, that you enjoy the fire, and I'm indeed glad to +see you. I was just thinking--' + +'Of me?' Father O'Grady asked, raising his Catholic eyes. + +The interruption was a happy one, for Father Oliver would have found +himself embarrassed to finish the sentence he had begun. For he would +not have liked to have admitted that he had just begun a letter to Nora +Glynn, to say, 'There it is on the table.' Father O'Grady's interruption +gave him time to revise his sentence. + +'Yes, I was thinking of you, Father O'Grady. Wondering if I might dare +to write to you again.' + +'But why should you be in doubt?' Father O'Grady asked; and then, +remembering a certain asperity in Father Oliver's last letter, he +thought it prudent to change the conversation. 'Well, here I am and +unexpected, but, apparently, welcome.' + +'Very welcome,' Father Oliver murmured. + +'I'm glad of that,' the old man answered; 'and now to my story.' And he +told how a variety of little incidents had come about, enabling him to +spend his vacation in Ireland. 'A holiday is necessary for every man. +And, after all, it is as easy to go from London to Ireland as it is to +go to Margate, and much more agreeable. But I believe you are +unacquainted with London, and Margate is doubtless unknown to you. Well, +I don't know that you've missed much;' and he began to tell of the month +he had spent wandering in the old country, and how full of memories he +had found it--all sorts of ideas and associations new and old. 'Maybe it +was you that beguiled me to Ireland; if so, I ought to thank you for a +very pleasant month's holiday. Now I'm on my way home, and finding that +I could fit in the railway journey I went to Tinnick, and I couldn't go +to Tinnick without driving over to Garranard.' + +'I should think not, indeed,' Father Oliver answered quickly. 'It was +very good of you to think of me, to undertake the journey to Tinnick and +the long drive from Tinnick over here.' + +'One should never be praised for doing what is agreeable to one to do. I +liked you from your letters; you're like your letters, Father Oliver--at +least I think you are.' + +'I'm certain you're like yours,' Father Oliver returned, 'only I +imagined you to speak slower.' + +'A mumbling old man,' Father O'Grady interjected. + +'You know I don't mean that,' Father Oliver replied, and there was a +trace of emotion in his voice. + +'It was really very good of you to drive over from Tinnick. You say that +you only undertook the journey because it pleased you to do so. If that +philosophy were accepted, there would be no difference between a good +and an evil action; all would be attributed to selfishness.' He was +about to add: 'This visit is a kindness that I did not expect, and one +which I certainly did not deserve;' but to speak these words would +necessitate an apology for the rudeness he felt he was guilty of in his +last letter, and the fact that he knew that Father O'Grady had come to +talk to him about Nora increased his nervousness. But their talk +continued in commonplace and it seemed impossible to lift it out of the +rut. Father O'Grady complimented Father Oliver on his house and Oliver +answered that it was Peter Conway that built it, and while praising its +comfort, he enlarged on the improvements that had been made in the +houses occupied by priests. + +'Yes, indeed,' Father O'Grady answered, 'the average Irish priest lived +in my time in a cottage not far removed from those the peasants lived +in. All the same, there was many a fine scholar among them. Virgil, +Horace, Ovid, Catullus, Cicero in the bookcases. Do you ever turn to +these books? Do you like reading Latin?' + +And Father Oliver replied that sometimes he took down his Virgil. 'I +look into them all sometimes,' he added. + +'And you still read Latin, classical Latin, easily?' Father O'Grady +inquired. + +'Fairly,' Father Oliver replied; 'I read without turning to the +dictionary, though I often come to words I have never seen or have +forgotten the meaning of. I read on. The Latin poets are more useful +than the English to me.' + +'More useful?' Father O'Grady repeated. + +'More useful,' Father Oliver rejoined, 'if your object is a new point of +view, and one wants that sometimes, living alone in the silent country. +One sometimes feels frightened sitting by the fire all alone listening +to the wind. I said just now that I was thinking of you. I often think +of you, Father O'Grady, and envy you your busy parish. If I ever find +myself in London I shall go for long tram drives, and however sordid the +district I shall view the dim congregation of houses with pleasure and +rejoice in the hub of the streets.' + +'You would soon weary of London, I promise you that, Father Oliver.' + +'A promise for which it would be an affectation to thank you,' Father +Oliver answered. And Father O'Grady spoke of the miles and miles of +docks. + +'The great murky Thames,' he said, 'wearies, but it is very wonderful. +Ah, Landor's "Hellenics" in the original Latin: how did that book come +here?' + +'A question I've often asked myself,' Father Oliver returned. 'A most +intellectual volume it is to find in the house of an Irish priest. Books +travel, and my predecessor, Father Peter, is the last man in the world +who would have cared to spend an hour on anything so literary as Landor. +He used to read the newspaper--all the newspapers he could get hold of.' + +Father Peter's personality did not detain them long, and feeling +somewhat ashamed of their inability to talk naturally, without thinking +of what they were to say next, Father O'Grady ventured to doubt if +Horace would approve of Landor's Latin and of the works written in +comparatively modern times. Buchanan, for instance. At last the +conversation became so trite and wearisome that Father O'Grady began to +feel unable to continue it any longer. + +'You've a nice garden, Father Oliver.' + +'You'd like to see my garden?' Father Oliver asked, very much relieved +at having escaped from Buchanan so easily. And the two priests went out, +each hoping that the other would break the ice; and to encourage Father +Oliver to break it, Father O'Grady mentioned that he was going back that +evening to Tinnick--a remark that was intended to remind Father Oliver +that the time was passing by. Father Oliver knew that the time for +speaking of her was passing by, but he could not bring himself to speak, +and instead he tried to persuade Father O'Grady to stay to dinner, but +he could not be persuaded; and they walked to and fro, talking about +their different parishes, Father O'Grady asking Father Oliver questions +about his school and his church. And when Father O'Grady had contributed +a great deal of unnecessary information, he questioned Father O'Grady +about his parish, and gained much information regarding the difficulties +that a Catholic priest met with in London, till religion became as +wearisome as the Latin language. At last it suddenly struck Father +Oliver that if he allowed the talk to continue regarding the +difficulties of the Catholic priest in London, Father O'Grady might +speak of girls that had been driven out of Ireland by the priests, to +become prostitutes in London. A talk on this subject would be too +painful, and to escape from it he spoke of the beauty of the trees about +the garden and the flowers in the garden, calling Father O'Grady's +attention to the chrysanthemums, and, not willing to be outdone in +horticulture, the London priest began to talk about the Japanese mallow +in his garden, Father Oliver listening indifferently, saying, when it +came to him to make a remark, that the time had come to put in the +bulbs. + +'Miss Glynn was very fond of flowers,' he said Suddenly, 'and she +helped me with my garden; it was she who told me to plant roses in that +corner, and to cover the wall with rambling robin. Was it not a very +pretty idea to cover that end of the garden with rambling roses?' + +'It was indeed. She is a woman of great taste in music and in many other +things. She must have regretted your garden.' + +'Why do you think she regretted my garden?' Father Oliver asked. + +'Because she always regretted that mine wasn't larger. She helped me +with my garden;' and feeling that they had at last got into a +conversation that was full of interest for them both, Father Oliver +said: + +'Shall we go into the house? We shall be able to talk more agreeably by +the fireside.' + +'I should like to get back to that turf fire; for it is the last that I +shall probably see. Let us get back to it.' + +'I'm quite agreeable to return to the fire. Catherine will bring in the +tea presently.' + +And as soon as they were back in the parlour, Father Oliver said: + +'Father O'Grady, that is your chair. It was very good of you to take the +trouble to drive over.' + +'I wished to make my correspondent's acquaintance,' Father O'Grady +murmured; 'and there is much that it is difficult to put down on paper +without creating a wrong impression, whereas in talk one is present to +rectify any mistakes one may drop into. I am thinking now of the last +subject dealt with in our correspondence, that I should have informed +myself regarding Mr. Poole's writing before I consented to allow Nora +Glynn to accept the post of secretary.' + +'You must forgive me, Father O'Grady,' Father Oliver cried. + +'There is nothing to forgive, Father Oliver; but this criticism +surprised me, for you have known Miss Nora Glynn longer than I have, and +it seems strange that you should have forgotten already her +steadfastness. Nothing that I could have said would have availed, and it +seems to me that you were mistaken in asking me to urge Miss Glynn to +decline the chance of improving her circumstances. I could not compel +Miss Glynn even if I had wished to compel her. But we have discussed +that question; let it pass.' + +'All the same,' Father Oliver interjected, 'if one sees a woman going +into danger, surely one may warn her. A word of warning dropped casually +is sometimes effective.' + +'But it is fatal to insist,' Father O'Grady remarked; 'and one should +not try to bar the way--that is my experience at least.' + +'Well, your experiences are longer than mine, Father O'Grady, I submit. +The mistake I made will certainly not be repeated. But since hearing +from you I've heard from Miss Glynn, and the remarks she makes in her +letters about Mr. Poole's literary work, unless indeed he be a Catholic, +alarm me.' + +'Biblical criticism is not a Catholic characteristic,' Father O'Grady +answered. 'So Miss Glynn has written to you?' + +'Yes, but nothing definite about Mr. Poole's work--nothing definite. Do +you know anything, Father O'Grady, about this man's writing? What is his +reputation in the literary world?' + +'I've heard a great deal about him,' Father O'Grady answered. 'I've made +inquiries and have read some of Mr. Poole's books, and have seen them +reviewed in the newspapers; I've heard his opinions discussed, and his +opinions are anti-Christian, inasmuch as he denies the divinity of our +Lord.' + +'Could anybody be more anti-Christian than that?' Father Oliver asked. + +'Yes, very much more,' Father O'Grady replied. 'There have always been +people, and their number is increasing, who say that Christianity is not +only untruthful but, what is worse, a great evil, having set men one +against the other, creating wars innumerable. Millions have owed their +deaths to tortures they have received because they differed regarding +some trifling passage in Scripture. There can be no doubt of that, but +it is equally true that Christianity has enabled many more millions to +live as much from a practical point of view as from a spiritual. If +Christianity had not been a necessity it would not have triumphed;' and +Father O'Grady continued to speak of Mr. Poole's historical accounts of +the history of the rise and influence of Christianity till Father Oliver +interrupted him, crying out: + +'And it is with that man her life will henceforth be passed, reading the +books he reads and writes, and, what is worse, listening to his +insidious conversation, to his subtle sophistries, for, no doubt, he is +an eloquent and agreeable talker.' + +'You think, then,' Father O'Grady said, 'that a Christian forfeits his +faith if he inquires?' + +'No, if I thought that I should cease to be a Christian. She is not +inquiring the matter out of her own account; she is an enforced +listener, and hears only one side. Every day a plausible account is +being poured into her ears, and her circumstances are such as would +tempt her to give a willing ear to Mr. Poole's beliefs that God has not +revealed his existence, and that we are free to live as we please, +nature being our only guide. I cannot imagine a young woman living in a +more dangerous atmosphere than this. + +'All you tell me, Father O'Grady, frightens me. I discovered my +suspicions to you in my letters, but I can express myself better in +talking than on paper--far better. It is only now that I realize how +wrongly I acted towards this young woman. I was frightened in a measure +before, but the reality of my guilt has never appeared so distinctly to +me till now. You have revealed it to me, and I'm thinking now of what +account I could give to God were I to die to-morrow. "Thou hast caused a +soul to be lost," he would say. "The sins of the flesh are transitory +like the flesh, the sins of the faith are deeper," may be God's +judgment. Father O'Grady, I'm frightened, frightened; my fear is great, +and at this moment I feel like a man on his deathbed. My agony is worse, +for I'm in good health and can see clearly, whereas the dying man +understands little. The senses numb as death approaches.' + +'Have you spoken of the mistake you made in confession, Father Oliver?' + +'No, why should I?' he answered, 'for none here would understand me. But +I'll confess to you. You may have been sent to hear me. Who knows? Who +can say?' and he dropped on his knees crying: 'Can I be forgiven if that +soul be lost to God? Tell me if such a sin can be forgiven?' + +'We must not fall into the sin of despair,' Father O'Grady answered. And +he murmured the Latin formula _Absolve te_, etc., making the sign of the +cross over the head of his penitent. For a while after the priests knelt +together in prayer, and it was with a feeling that his burden had been +lifted from him that Father Oliver rose from his knees, and, subdued in +body and mind, stood looking through the room, conscious of the green +grass showing through his window, lighted by a last ray of the setting +sun. It was the wanness of this light that put the thought into his mind +that it would soon be time to send round to the stables for his +visitor's car. His visitor! That small, frail man sitting in his +armchair would soon be gone, carrying with him this, Father Oliver's, +confession. What had he confessed? Already he had forgotten, and both +men stood face to face thinking of words wherewith they might break the +silence. + +'I do not know,' Father O'Grady said, 'that I altogether share your fear +that an anti-Christian atmosphere necessarily implies that the Catholic +who comes into it will lose her faith, else faith would not be a pure +gift from God. God doesn't overload his creatures unbearably, nor does +he put any stress upon them from which they cannot extricate themselves. +I could cite many instances of men and women whose faith has been +strengthened by hostile criticism; the very arguments that have been +urged against their faith have forced them to discover other arguments, +and in this way they have been strengthened in their Catholic +convictions.' And to Father Oliver's question if he discerned any other +influence except an intellectual influence in Mr. Poole, he answered +that he had not considered this side of the question. + +'I don't know what manner of man he is in his body,' said Father Oliver, +'but his mind is more dangerous. An intellectual influence is always +more dangerous than a sensual influence, and the sins of faith are worse +than the sins of the flesh. I never thought of him as a possible +seducer. But there may be that danger too. I still think, Father +O'Grady, that you might have warned Nora of her danger. Forgive me; I'm +sure you did all that was necessary. You do forgive me?' + +The men's eyes met, and Father O'Grady said, as if he wished to change +the subject: + +'You were born at Tinnick, were you not?' + +'Yes, I was born in Tinnick,' Father Oliver repeated mechanically, +almost as if he had not heard the question. + +'And your sisters are nuns?' + +'Yes, yes.' + +'Tell me how it all came about.' + +'How all what came about?' Father Oliver asked, for he was a little +dazed and troubled in his mind, and was, therefore, easily led to relate +the story of the shop in Tinnick, his very early religious enthusiasms, +and how he remembered himself always as a pious lad. On looking into the +years gone by, he said that he saw himself more often than not by his +bedside rapt in innocent little prayers. And afterwards at school he had +been considered a pious lad. He rambled on, telling his story almost +unconsciously, getting more thoughtful as he advanced into it, relating +carefully the absurd episode of the hermitage in which, to emulate the +piety of the old time, he chose Castle Island as a suitable spot for him +to live in. + +Father O'Grady listened, seriously moved by the story; and Father Oliver +continued it, telling how Eliza, coming to see the priest in him, gave +up her room to him as soon as their cousin the Bishop was consulted. And +it was at this point of the narrative that Father O'Grady put a +question. + +'Was no attempt,' he asked, 'made to marry you to some girl with a big +fortune?' + +And Father Oliver told of his liking for Annie McGrath and of his +aversion for marriage, acquiescing that aversion might be too strong a +word; indifference would more truthfully represent him. + +'I wasn't interested in Annie McGrath nor in any woman as far as I can +remember until this unfortunate conduct of mine awakened an interest in +Nora Glynn. And it would be strange, indeed, if it hadn't awakened an +interest in me,' he muttered to himself. Father O'Grady suppressed the +words that rose up in his mind, 'Now I'm beginning to understand.' And +Father Oliver continued, like one talking to himself: 'I'm thinking that +I was singularly free from all temptations of the sensual life, +especially those represented by womankind. I was ordained early, when I +was twenty-two, and as soon as I began to hear confessions, the things +that surprised me the most were the stories relating to those passionate +attachments that men experience for women and women for men--attachments +which sometimes are so intense that if the sufferer cannot obtain relief +by the acquiescence of the object of their affections, he, if it be he, +she, if it be she, cannot refrain from suicide. There have been cases of +men and women going mad because their love was not reciprocated, and I +used to listen to these stories wonderingly, unable to understand, bored +by the relation.' + +If Father Oliver had looked up at that moment, Father O'Grady's eyes +would have told him that he had revealed himself, and that perhaps +Father O'Grady now knew more about him than he knew himself. But without +withdrawing his eyes from the fire he continued talking till Catherine's +step was heard outside. + +'She's coming to lay the cloth for our tea,' Father Oliver said. And +Father O'Grady answered: + +'I shall be glad of a cup of tea.' + +'Must you really go after tea?' Father Oliver asked; and again he begged +Father O'Grady to stay for dinner. But Father O'Grady, as if he felt +that the object of his visit had been accomplished, spoke of the drive +back to Tinnick and of the convenience of the branch line of railway. It +was a convenience certainly, but it was also an inconvenience, owing to +the fact that the trains run from Tinnick sometimes missed the mail +train; and this led Father Oliver to speak of the work he was striving +to accomplish, the roofing of Kilronan Abbey, and many other things, and +the time passed without their feeling it till the car came round to take +Father O'Grady away. + +'He goes as a dream goes,' Father Oliver said, and a few minutes +afterwards he was sitting alone by his turf fire, asking himself in what +dreams differed from reality. For like a dream Father O'Grady had come +and he had gone, never to return. 'But does anything return?' he asked +himself, and he looked round his room, wondering why the chairs and +tables did not speak to him, and why life was not different from what it +was. He could hear Catherine at work in the kitchen preparing his +dinner, she would bring it to him as she had done yesterday, he would +eat it, he would sit up smoking his pipe for a while, and about eleven +o'clock go to his bed. He would lie down in it, and rise and say Mass +and see his parishioners. All these things he had done many times +before, and he would go on doing them till the day of his death--Until +the day of my death,' he repeated, 'never seeing her again, never seeing +him. Why did he come here?' And he was surprised that he could find no +answer to any of the questions that he put to himself. 'Nothing will +happen again in my life--nothing of any interest. This is the end! And +if I did go to London, of what should I speak to him? It will be better +to try to forget it all, and return, if I can, to the man I was before I +knew her;' and he stood stock still, thinking that without this memory +he would not be himself. + +Father O'Grady's coming had been a pleasure to him, for they had talked +together; he had confessed to him; had been shriven. At that moment he +caught sight of a newspaper upon his table. '_Illustrated England_,' he +muttered, his thoughts half away; and he fell to wondering how it had +come into the house. 'Father O'Grady must have left it,' he said, and +began to unroll the paper. But while unrolling it he stopped. Half his +mind was still away, and he sat for fully ten minutes lost in sad +sensations, and it was the newspaper slipping from his hand that awoke +him. The first thing that caught his eye on opening the paper was an +interview with Mr. Walter Poole, embellished with many photographs of +Beechwood Hall. + +'Did O'Grady leave this paper here for me to read,' he asked himself, +'or did he forget to take it away with him? We talked of so many things +that he may have forgotten it, forgotten even to mention it. How very +strange!' + +The lodge gates and the long drive, winding between different woods, +ascending gradually to the hilltop on which Beechwood Hall was placed by +an early eighteenth-century architect, seemed to the priest to be +described with too much unction by the representative of _Illustrated +England_. To the journalist Beechwood Hall stood on its hill, a sign and +symbol of the spacious leisure of the eighteenth century and the long +tradition that it represented, one that had not even begun to drop into +decadence till 1850, a tradition that still existed, despite the fact +that democracy was finding its way into the agricultural parts of +England. The journalist was impressed, perhaps unduly impressed, by the +noble hall and the quiet passages that seemed to preserve a memory of +the many generations that had passed through them on different errands, +now all hushed in the family vault. + +Father Oliver looked down the column rapidly, and it was not until the +footman who admitted the journalist was dismissed by the butler, who +himself conducted the journalist to the library, that Father Oliver +said: 'We have at last arrived at the castle of learning in which the +great Mr. Poole sits sharpening the pen which is to slay Christianity. +But Christianity will escape Mr. Poole's pen. It, has outlived many such +attacks in the past. We shall see, however, what kind of nib he uses, +fine or blunt?' The journalist followed the butler down the long library +overlooking green sward to a quiet nook, if he might venture to speak +of Mr. Walter Poole's study as a quiet nook. It seemed to surprise him +that Mr. Walter Poole should rise from his writing-table and come +forward to meet him, and he expressed his gratitude to Mr. Walter Poole, +whose time was of great importance, for receiving him. And after all +this unction came a flattering description of Mr. Walter Poole himself. + +He was, in the interviewer's words, a young man, tall and clean-shaven, +with a high nose which goes well with an eye-glass. The chin is long and +drops straight; his hair is mustard-coloured and glossy, and it curls +very prettily about the broad, well-shapen forehead. He is reserved at +first, and this lends a charm to the promise, which is very soon granted +you, of making the acquaintance with the thoughts and ideas which have +interested Mr. Walter Poole since boyhood--in fine, which have given him +his character. If he seems at first sight to conceal himself from you, +it is from shyness, or because he is reluctant to throw open his mind to +the casual curious. Why should he not keep his mind for his own +enjoyment and for the enjoyment of his friends, treating it like his +pleasure grounds or park? His books are not written for the many but for +the few, and he does not desire a larger audience than those with whom +he is in natural communion from the first, and this without any faintest +appearance of affectation. + +'I suppose it isn't fair,' the priest said, 'to judge a man through his +interviewer; but if this interviewer doesn't misrepresent Mr. Walter +Poole, Mr. Walter Poole is what is commonly known as a very superior +person. He would appear from this paper,' the priest said, 'to be a man +between thirty and forty, not many years older than myself.' The +priest's thoughts floated away back into the past, and, returning +suddenly with a little start to the present, he continued reading the +interview, learning from it that Mr. Walter Poole's conversation was +usually gentle, like a quiet river, and very often, like a quiet river, +it rushed rapidly when Mr. Walter Poole became interested in his +subject. + +'How very superior all this is,' the priest said. 'The river of thought +in him,' the interviewer continued, 'is deep or shallow, according to +the need of the moment. If, for instance, Mr. Walter Poole is asked if +he be altogether sure that it is wise to disturb people in their belief +in the traditions and symbols that have held sway for centuries, he will +answer quickly that if truth lies behind the symbols and traditions, it +will be in the interest of the symbols and traditions to inquire out the +truth, for blind belief--in other words, faith--is hardly a merit, or if +it be a merit it is a merit that cannot be denied to the savages who +adore idols. But the civilized man is interested in his history, and the +Bible deserves scientific recognition, for it has a history certainly +and is a history. "We are justified, therefore," Mr. Walter Poole +pleaded, "in seeking out the facts, and the search is conducted as much +in the interests of theology as of science; for though history owes +nothing to theology, it cannot be denied that theology owes a great deal +to history."' + +'He must have thought himself very clever when he made that remark to +the interviewer,' the priest muttered; and he walked up and down his +room, thinking of Nora Glynn living in this unchristian atmosphere. + +He picked up the paper again and continued reading, for he would have to +write to Nora about Father O'Grady's visit and about the interview in +_Illustrated England_. + +The interviewer inquired if Mr. Walter Poole was returning to Palestine, +and Mr. Walter Poole replied that there were many places that he would +like to revisit, Galilee, for instance, a country that St. Paul never +seemed to have visited, which, to say the least, was strange. Whereupon +a long talk began about Paul and Jesus, Mr. Walter Poole maintaining +that Paul's teaching was identical with that of Jesus, and that Peter +was a clown despised by Paul and Jesus. + +'How very superior,' Father Oliver muttered--how very superior.' He read +that Mr. Walter Poole was convinced that the three Synoptic Gospels were +written towards the close of the first century; and one of the reasons +he gave for this attribution was as in Matthew, chapter xxvii., verse 7, +'And they took counsel, and bought with them (the thirty pieces of +silver) the potter's field, to bury strangers in. Wherefore that field +was called, The field of blood, unto this day'--a passage which showed +that the Gospel could not have been written till fifty or sixty years +after the death of Jesus. + +'England must be falling into atheism if newspapers dare to print such +interviews,' Father Oliver said; and he threw the paper aside angrily. +'And it was I,' he continued, dropping into his armchair, 'that drove +her into this atheistical country. I am responsible, I alone.' + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Glynn._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_August_ 10, 19--. + +'DEAR Miss Glynn, + +'I have a piece of news for you. Father O'Grady has been here, and left +me a few hours ago. Catherine threw open the door, saying, "Father +O'Grady, your reverence," and the small, frail man whom you know so well +walked into the room, surprising me, who was altogether taken aback by +the unexpectedness of his visit. + +'He was the last person in the world I expected at that moment to meet, +yet it was natural that an Irish priest, on the mission in England, +would like to spend his holidays in Ireland, and still more natural +that, finding himself in Ireland, Father O'Grady should come to see me. +He drove over from Tinnick, and we talked about you. He did not seem on +the whole as anxious for your spiritual safety as I am, which is only +what one might expect, for it was not he that drove you out of a +Catholic country into a Protestant one. He tried to allay my fears, +saying that I must not let remorse of conscience get hold of me, and he +encouraged me to believe that my responsibility had long ago ended. It +was pleasant to hear these things said, and I believed him in a way; +but he left by accident or design a copy of _Illustrated England_ on my +table. I am sufficiently broad-minded to believe that it is better to be +a good Protestant than a bad Catholic; but Mr. Walter Poole is neither +Catholic nor Protestant, but an agnostic, which is only a polite word +for an atheist. Week in and week out you will hear every argument that +may be used against our holy religion. It is true that you have the +advantage of being born a Catholic, and were well instructed in your +religion; and no doubt you will accept with caution his statements, +particularly that very insidious statement that Jesus lays no claim to +divinity in the three Synoptic Gospels, and that these were not written +by the apostles themselves, but by Greeks sixty, seventy, or perhaps +eighty years after his death. I do not say he will try to undermine your +faith, but how can he do otherwise if he believe in what he writes? +However careful he may be to avoid blasphemy in your presence, the fact +remains that you are living in an essentially unchristian atmosphere, +and little by little the poison which you are taking in will accumulate, +and you will find that you have been influenced without knowing when or +how. + +'If you lose your faith, I am responsible for it; and I am not +exaggerating when I say the thought that I may have lost a soul to God +is always before me. I can imagine no greater responsibility than this, +and there seems to be no way of escaping from it. Father O'Grady says +that you have passed out of our care, that all we can do is to pray for +you. But I would like to do something more, and if you happen upon some +passages in the books you are reading that seem in contradiction to the +doctrines taught by the Catholic Church, I hope you will not conclude +that the Church is without an answer. The Church has an answer ready for +every single thing that may be said against her doctrines. I am not +qualified to undertake the defence of the Church against anyone. I quite +recognize my own deficiency in this matter, but even I may be able to +explain away some doubts that may arise. If so, I beg of you not to +hesitate to write to me. If I cannot do so myself, I may be able to put +you in the way of finding out the best Catholic opinion on matters of +doctrine. + +'Very sincerely yours, + +'OLIVER GOGARTY.' + + +_From Miss Nora Glynn to Father Oliver Gogarty._ + +'BEECHWOOD HALL, BERKSHIRE, + +'_August_ 15, 19--. + +'I am sorry indeed that I am causing you so much trouble of conscience. +You must try to put it out of your mind that you are responsible for me. +The idea is too absurd. When I was in your parish I was interested in +you, and that was why I tried to improve the choir and took trouble to +decorate the altar. Have you forgotten how anxious I was that you should +write the history of the lake and its castles? Why don't you write it +and send it to me? I shall be interested in it, though for the moment I +have hardly time to think of anything but Jewish history. Within the +next few weeks, for certain, the last chapter of Mr. Poole's book will +be passed for press, and then we shall go abroad and shall visit all the +great men in Europe. Some are in Amsterdam, some are in Paris, some live +in Switzerland. I wish I understood French a little better. Isn't it all +like a dream? Do you know, I can hardly believe I ever was in forlorn +Garranard teaching little barefooted children their Catechism and their +A, B, C. + +'Good-bye, Father Gogarty. We go abroad next week. I lie awake thinking +of this trip--the places I shall see and the people I shall meet. + +'Very sincerely yours, + +'NORA GLYNN.' + + +It seemed to him that her letter gave very little idea of her. Some can +express themselves on paper, and are more real in the words they write +than in the words they speak. But hardly anything of his idea of her +transpired in that letter--only in her desire of new ideas and new +people. She was interested in everything--in his projected book about +the raiders faring forth from the island castles, and now in the source +of the Christian River; and he began to meditate a destructive criticism +of Mr. Poole's ideas in a letter addressed to the editor of _Illustrated +England_, losing heart suddenly, he knew not why, feeling the task to be +beyond him. Perhaps it would be better not to write to Nora again. + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_August_ 22, 19--. + +'DEAR MISS GLYNN, + +'I gather from your letter that religion has ceased to interest you, +except as a subject for argument, and I will not begin to argue with +you, but will put instead a simple question to you: In what faith do you +intend to bring up your child? and what will be your answer when your +child asks: "Who made me?" Mr. Poole may be a learned man, but all the +learning in the world will not tell you what answer to make to your +child's questions; only the Church can do that. + +'I have thought a great deal about the danger that your post of +secretary to Mr. Poole involves and am not sure that the state of +indifference is not the worst state of all. One day you will find that +indifference has passed into unbelief, and you will write to me (if we +continue to write to each other) in such a way that I shall understand +that you have come to regard our holy religion as a tale fit only for +childhood's ears. I write this to you, because I have been suddenly +impelled to write, and it seems to me that in writing to you in this +simple way I am doing better than if I spent hours in argument. You will +not always think as you do now; the world will not always interest you +as much as it does now. I will say no more on this point but will break +off abruptly to tell you that I think you are right when you say that we +all want change. I feel I have lived too long by the side of this lake, +and I am thinking of going to London....' + + +The room darkened gradually, and, going to the window, he longed for +something to break the silence, and was glad when the rain pattered +among the leaves. The trees stood stark against the sky, in a green that +seemed unnatural. The sheep moved as if in fear towards the sycamores, +and from all sides came the lowing of cattle. A flash drove him back +from the window. He thought he was blinded. The thunder rattled; it was +as if a God had taken the mountains in his arms and was shaking them +together. Crash followed crash; the rain came down; it was as if the +rivers of heaven had been opened suddenly. Once he thought the storm was +over; but the thunder crashed again, the rain began to thicken; there +was another flash and another crash, and the pour began again. But all +the while the storm was wearing itself out, and he began to wonder if a +sullen day, ending in this apocalypse, would pass into a cheerful +evening. It seemed as if it would, for some blue was showing between the +clouds drifting westward, threatening every moment to blot out the blue, +but the clouds continued to brighten at the edges. 'The beginning of the +sunset,' the priest said; and he went out on his lawn and stood watching +the swallows in the shining air, their dipping, swerving flight showing +against a background of dappled clouds. He had never known so +extraordinary a change; and he walked to and fro in the freshened air, +thinking that Nora's health might not have withstood the strain of +trudging from street to street, teaching the piano at two shillings an +hour, returning home late at night to a poky little lodging, eating any +food a landlady might choose to give her. As a music teacher she would +have had great difficulty in supporting herself and her baby, and it +pleased him to imagine the child as very like her mother; and returning +to the house, he added this paragraph: + +'I was interrupted while writing this letter by a sudden darkening of +the light, and when I went to the window the sky seemed to have sunk +close to the earth, and there was a dreadful silence underneath it. I +was driven back by a flash of lightning, and the thunder was terrifying. +A most extraordinary storm lasting for no more than an hour, if that, +and then dispersing into a fine evening. It was a pleasure to see the +change--the lake shrouded in mist, with ducks talking softly in the +reeds, and swallows high up, advancing in groups like dancers on a +background of dappled clouds. + + +'I have come back to my letter to ask if you would like me to go to see +your baby? Father O'Grady and I will go together if I go to London, and +I will write to you about it. You will be glad, no doubt, to hear that +the child is going on well. + +'Very sincerely yours, + +'OLIVER GOGARTY.' + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_September_ 4, 19--. + +'Forgive me, my dear friend, but I am compelled to write to apologize +for the introduction of my troubles of conscience and my anxiety for +your spiritual welfare into my last letter. You found a way out of +difficulties--difficulties into which I plunged you. But we will say no +more on that point: enough has been said. You have created a life for +yourself. You have shown yourself to be a strong woman in more ways than +one, and are entitled to judge whether your work and the ideas you live +among are likely to prove prejudicial to your faith and morals. By a +virtue of forgiveness which I admire and thank you for, you write +telling me of the literary work you are engaged upon. If I had thought +before writing the letter I am now apologizing for, I could not have +failed to see that you write to me because you would relieve my +loneliness as far as you are able. But I did not think: I yielded to my +mood, and see now that my letters are disgracefully egotistical, and +very often absurd; for have I not begged of you to remember that since +God will hold me responsible for your soul, it would be well that you +should live a life of virtue and renunciation, so that I shall be saved +the humiliation of looking down from above upon you in hell? + +'Loneliness begets sleeplessness, and sleeplessness begets a sort of +madness. I suffer from nightmare, and I cannot find words to tell you +how terrible are the visions one sees at dawn. It is not so much that +one sees unpleasant and ugly things--life is not always pretty or +agreeable, that we know--but when one lies between sleeping and waking, +life itself is shown in mean aspects, and it is whispered that one has +been duped till now; that now, and for the first time, one knows the +truth. You remember how the wind wails about the hilltop on which I +live. The wailing of wind has something to do with my condition of mind; +one cannot sit from eight o'clock in the evening till twelve at night +staring at the lamp, hearing the wind, and remain perfectly sane. + +'But why am I writing about myself? I want to escape from myself, and +your letters enable me to do so. The names of the cities you are going +to visit transport me in imagination, and last night I sat a long while +wondering why I could not summon courage to go abroad. Something holds +me back. I think if I once left Garranard, I should never return to the +lake and its island. I hope you haven't forgotten Marban, the hermit who +lived at the end of the lake in Church Island. I visited his island +yesterday. I should have liked to have rowed myself through the strait +and along the shores, seeing Castle Cara and Castle Burke as I passed; +but Church Island is nearly eight miles from here, and I don't know if I +should have been man enough to pull the fisherman's boat so far, so I +put the gray horse into the shafts and went round by road. + +'Church Island lies in a bay under a rocky shore, and the farmer who +cuts the grass there in the summer-time has a boat to bring away the +hay. It was delightful to step into it, and as the oars chimed I said to +myself, "I have Marban's poem in my pocket--and will read it walking up +the little path leading from his cell to his church." The lake was like +a sheet of blue glass, and the island lay yellow and red in it. As we +rowed, seeking a landing-place under the tall trees that grow along the +shores, the smell of autumn leaves mingled with the freshness of the +water. We rowed up a beautiful little inlet overhung with bushes. The +quay is at the end of it, and on getting out of the boat, I asked the +boatman to point out to me what remained of Marban's Church. He led me +across the island--a large one, the largest in the lake--not less than +seven acres or nine, and no doubt some parts of it were once cultivated +by Marban. Of his church, however, very little remains--only one piece +of wall, and we had great difficulty in seeing it, for it is now +surrounded by a dense thicket. The little pathway leading from his cell +to the church still exists; it is almost the same as he left it--a +little overgrown, that is all. + +'Marban was no ordinary hermit; he was a sympathetic naturalist, a true +poet, and his brother who came to see him, and whose visit gave rise to +the colloquy, was a king. I hope I am not wronging Marban, but the +island is so beautiful that I cannot but think that he was attracted by +its beauty and went there because he loved Nature as well as God. His +poem is full of charming observations of nature, of birds and beasts and +trees, and it proves how very false the belief is that primitive man had +no eyes to see the beauties of the forest and felt no interest in the +habits of animals or of birds, but regarded them merely as food. It +pleases me to think of the hermit sitting under the walls of his church +or by his cell writing the poem which has given me so much pleasure, +including in it all the little lives that cams to visit him--the birds +and the beasts--enumerating them as carefully as Wordsworth would, and +loving them as tenderly. Marban! Could one find a more beautiful name +for a hermit? Guaire is the brother's name. Marban and King Guaire. Now, +imagine the two brothers meeting for a poetic disputation regarding the +value of life, and each speaking from his different point of view! True +that Guaire's point of view is only just indicated--he listens to his +brother, for a hermit's view of life is more his own than a king's. It +pleases me to think that the day the twain met to discourse of life and +its mission was the counterpart of the day I spent on the island. My day +was full of drifting cloud and sunshine, and the lake lay like a mirror +reflecting the red shadow of the island. So you will understand that the +reasons Marban gave for living there in preference to living the life of +the world seemed valid, and I could not help peering into the bushes, +trying to find a rowan-tree--for he speaks of one. The rowan is the +mountain-ash. I found several. One tree was covered with red berries, +and I broke off a branch and brought it home, thinking that perchance it +might have come down to us from one planted by Marban's hand. Of +blackthorns there are plenty. The adjective he uses is "dusky." Could he +have chosen a more appropriate one? I thought, too, of "the clutch of +eggs, the honey and the mast" that God sent him, of "the sweet apples +and red whortleberries," and of his dish of "strawberries of good taste +and colour." + +'It is hard to give in an English translation an idea of the richness of +the verse, heavily rhymed and winningly alliterated, but you will see +that he enumerates the natural objects with skill. The eternal +summer--the same in his day as in ours--he speaks of as "a coloured +mantle," and he mentions "the fragrance of the woods." And seeing the +crisp leaves--for the summer was waning--I repeated his phrase, "the +summer's coloured mantle," and remembered: + + + "Swarms of bees and chafers, the little musicians of the world-- + A gentle chorus." + + +"The wren," he says, "is an active songster among the hazel boughs. +Beautifully hooded birds, wood-peckers, fair white birds, herons, +sea-gulls, come to visit me." There is no mournful music in his island; +and as for loneliness, there is no such thing in + + + "My lowly little abode, hidden in a mane of green-barked yew-tree. + Near is an apple-tree, + Big like a hostel; + A pretty bush thick as a fist of hazel-nuts, a choice spring and + water fit for a Prince to drink. + Round it tame swine lie down, + Wild swine, grazing deer, + A badger's brood, + A peaceful troop, a heavy host of denizens of the soil + A-trysting at my house. + To meet them foxes come. + How delightful!" + + +'The island is about a hundred yards from the shore, and I wondered how +the animals crossed from the mainland as I sat under the porch of the +ruined church. I suppose the water was shallower than it is now. But why +and how the foxes came to meet the wild swine is a matter of little +moment; suffice it that he lived in this island aware of its +loneliness, "without the din of strife, grateful to the Prince who +giveth every good to me in my bower." To which Guaire answered: + + + '"I would give my glorious kingship + With my share of our father's heritage,-- + To the hour of my death let me forfeit it, + So that I may be in thy company, O Marban." + + +'There are many such beautiful poems in early Irish. I know of another, +and I'll send it to you one of these days. In it is a monk who tells how +he and his cat sit together, himself puzzling out some literary or +historical problem, the cat thinking of hunting mice, and how the +catching of each is difficult and requires much patience. + +'Ireland attained certainly to a high degree of civilization in the +seventh and eighth centuries, and if the Danes had not come, Ireland +might have anticipated Italy. The poems I have in mind are the first +written in Europe since classical times, and though Italy and France be +searched, none will be found to match them. + +'I write these things to you because I wish you to remember that, when +religion is represented as hard and austere, it is the fault of those +who administer religion, and not of religion itself. Religion in Ireland +in the seventh and eighth centuries was clearly a homely thing, full of +tender joy and hope, and the inspiration not only of poems, but of many +churches and much ornament of all kinds, illuminated missals, carven +porches. If Ireland had been left to herselfif it had not been for the +invasion of the Danes, and the still worse invasion of the +English--there is no saying what high place she might not have taken in +the history of the world. But I am afraid the halcyon light that paused +and passed on in those centuries will never return. We have gotten the +after-glow, and the past should incite us; and I am much obliged to you +for reminding me that the history of the lake and its castles would make +a book. I will try to write this book, and while writing will look +forward to the day when I shall send you a copy of the work, if God +gives me strength and patience to complete it. Little is ever completed +in Ireland.... But I mustn't begin to doubt before I begin the work, and +while you and Mr. Poole are studying dry texts, trying to prove that the +things that men have believed and loved for centuries are false, I shall +be engaged in writing a sympathetic history--the history of natural +things and natural love. + +'Very sincerely yours, + +'OLIVER GOGARTY.' + + +_From Miss Nora Glynn to Father Oliver Gogarty._ + +'ANTWERP, + +'_September_ 3, 19--. + +'DEAR FATHER GOGARTY, + +'You are a very human person after all, and it was very kind of you to +think about my baby and kind of you to write to me about her. My baby is +a little girl, and she has reddish hair like mine, and if ever you see +her I think you will see me in her. The address of the woman who is +looking after her is Mrs. Cust, 25, Henry Street, Guildford. Do go to +see her and write me a long letter, telling me what you think of her. I +am sure a trip to London will do you a great deal of good. Pack up your +portmanteau, Father Gogarty, and go to London at once. Promise me that +you will, and write to me about your impressions of London and Father +O'Grady, and when you are tired of London come abroad. We are going on +to Munich, that is all I know, but I will write again. + +'Very sincerely yours, + +'NORA GLYNN.' + + +Father Oliver sat wondering, and then, waking up suddenly, he went about +his business, asking himself if she really meant all she said, for why +should she wish him to go abroad, for his health or in the hope of +meeting him--where? In Munich! + +'A riddle, a riddle, which'--he reflected a moment--'which my experience +of life is not sufficient to solve.' + +On his way to Derrinrush he was met by a man hurrying towards him. 'Sure +it is I that am in luck this day, meeting your reverence on the road, +for we shall be spared half a mile if you have the sacred elements about +you.' So much the peasant blurted out between the gasps, and when his +breath came easier the priest learnt that Catherine, the man's wife, was +dying. 'Me brother's run for the doctor, but I, being the speedier, came +for yourself, and if your reverence has the sacred elements about you, +we'll go along together by a short cut over the hill.' 'I'm afraid I +have not got the oil and there's nothing for it but to go back to the +house.' 'Then I'm afeard that Catherine will be too late to get the +Sacrament. But she is a good woman, sorra better, and maybe don't need +the oil,' which indeed proved to be a fact, for when they reached the +cabin they found the doctor there before them, who rising from his chair +by the bedside, said, 'The woman is out of danger, if she ever was in +any.' 'All the same,' cried the peasant, 'Catherine wouldn't refuse the +Sacrament.' 'But if she be in no danger, of what use would the Sacrament +be to her?' the doctor asked; the peasant answering, 'Faith, you must +have been a Protestant before you were a Catholic to be talking like +that,' and Father Oliver hesitated, and left the cabin sorrowed by the +unseemliness of the wrangle. He was not, however, many yards down the +road when the dispute regarding the efficacy of the Sacrament +administered out of due time was wiped out by a memory of something Nora +had told him of herself: she had announced to the monitresses, who were +discussing their ambitions, that hers was to be the secretary of a man +of letters. 'So it would seem that she had an instinct of her destiny +from the beginning, just as I had of mine. But had I? Her path took an +odd turn round by Garranard. But she has reached her goal, or nearly. +The end may be marriage--with whom? Poole most likely. Be that as it +may, she will pass on to middle age; we shall grow older and seas and +continents will divide our graves. Why did she come to Garranard?' + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + +'_September_ 10, 19--. + +'DEAR MISS GLYNN, + +'I received your letter this morning, written from Antwerp, and it has +set me thinking that Mr. Poole's interests in scholarship must have +procured for him many acquaintances among Dutch scholars, men with whom +he has been in correspondence. You will meet them and hear them pour +their vast erudition across dinner-tables. Rubens' great picture, "The +Descent from the Cross," is in Antwerp; you will go to see it, and in +Munich Mr. Poole will treat you to the works of Wagner and Mozart. You +are very happy; everything has gone well with you, and it would ill +befit me, who brought so much unhappiness upon you, to complain that you +are too happy, too much intent on the things of this world. Yet, if you +will allow me to speak candidly, I will tell you what I really think. +You are changing; the woman I once knew hardly corresponds with the +woman who writes to me. In reading the letters of the English Nora, I +perceive many traces here and there of the Irish Nora, for the Irish +Nora was not without a sense of duty, of kindness towards others, but +the English Nora seems bent upon a life of pleasure, intellectual and +worldly adventures. She delights in foreign travel, and no doubt places +feelings above ideas, and regards our instincts as our sovereign guides. +Now, when we find ourselves delighting to this extent in the visible, +we may be sure that our lives have wandered far away from spiritual +things. There is ever a divorce between the world of sense and the world +of spirit, and the question of how much love we may expend upon external +things will always arise, and will always be a cause of perplexity to +those who do not choose to abandon themselves to the general drift of +sensual life. This question is as difficult as the cognate question of +what are our duties toward ourselves and our duties toward others. And +your letters raise all these questions. I ponder them in my walks by the +lake in the afternoon. In the evening in my house on the hilltop I sit +thinking, seeing in imagination the country where I have been born and +where I have always lived--the lake winding in and out of headlands, the +highroad shaded by sycamores at one spot, a little further on wandering +like a gray thread among barren lands, with here and there a village; +and I make application of all the suggestions your letters contain to my +own case. Every house in Garranard I know, and I see each gable end and +each doorway as I sit thinking, and all the faces of my parishioners. I +see lights springing up far and near. Wherever there is a light there is +a poor family. + +'Upon these people I am dependent for my daily bread, and they are +dependent upon me for spiritual consolation. I baptize them, I marry +them, and I bury them. How they think of me, I know not. I suppose they +hardly think at all. When they return home at night they have little +time for thinking; their bodies are too fatigued with the labour of the +fields. But as I sit thinking of them, I regret to say that my fear +often is that I shall never see any human beings but them; and I dream +of long rambles in the French country, resting at towns, reading in +libraries. A voice whispers, "You could do very well with a little of +her life, but you will never know any other life but your present one." +A great bitterness comes up, a little madness gathers behind the eyes; I +walk about the room and then I sit down, stunned by the sudden +conviction that life is, after all, a very squalid thing--something that +I would like to kick like an old hat down a road. + +'The conflict going on within me goes on within every man, but without +this conflict life would be superficial; we shouldn't know the deeper +life. Duty has its rewards as well as its pain, and the knowledge that I +am passing through a time of probationship sustains me. I know I shall +come out of it all a stronger man. + +'OLIVER GOGARTY.' + + +After posting his letter he walked home, congratulating himself that he +had made it plain to her that he was not a man she could dupe. Her +letter was written plainly, and the more he thought of her letter the +clearer did it seem that it was inspired by Poole. But what could +Poole's reason be for wishing him to leave Ireland, to go abroad? It was +certain that if Poole were in love with Nora he would do all in his +power to keep a poor priest (was it thus they spoke of him?) in Ireland. +Poole might wish to make a fool of him, but what was her reason for +advising him to go abroad? Revenge was too strong a word. + +In the course of the evening it suddenly struck him that, after all, +she might have written her letter with a view of inducing him to come to +Rome. She was so capricious that it was not impossible that she had +written quite sincerely, and wished him out there with her. She was so +many-sided, and he fell to thinking of her character, without being able +to arrive at any clear estimate of it, with this result, however--that +he could not drive out the belief that she had written him an insincere +letter. Or did she wish to revenge herself? The thought brought him to +his feet, for he could never forget how deeply he had wronged her--it +was through his fault that she had become Mr. Poole's secretary--maybe +his mistress. If he had not preached that sermon, she would be teaching +the choir in his parish. But, good heavens! what use was there in going +over all that again? He walked to the window and stood there watching +the still autumn weather--a dull leaden sky, without a ray of light upon +the grass, or a wind in the trees--thinking that these gray days +deprived him of all courage. And then he remembered suddenly how a +villager's horse coming from market had tripped and fallen by the +roadside. Would that he, too, might fall by the roadside, so weary was +he. 'If I could only make known my suffering, she would take pity on me; +but no one knows another's suffering.' He walked from his window +sighing, and a moment after stopped in front of his writing-table. +Perhaps it was the writing-table that put the thought into his mind that +she might like to read a description of an Irish autumn. + + _From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_September_. + +'You know the wind is hardly ever at rest about the hilltop on which my +house stands. Even in summer the wind sighs, a long, gentle little sigh, +sometimes not unpleasant to hear. You used to speak of an Æolian harp, +and say that I should place one on my window-sill. A doleful instrument +it must be--loud wailing sound in winter-time, and in the summer a +little sigh. But in these autumn days an Æolian harp would be mute. +There is not wind enough to-day on the hillside to cause the faintest +vibration. Yesterday I went for a long walk in the woods, and I can find +no words that would convey an idea of the stillness. It is easy to speak +of a tomb, but it was more than that. The dead are dead, and +somnambulism is more mysterious than death. The season seemed to stand +on the edge of a precipice, will-less, like a sleep-walker. Now and +then the sound of a falling leaf caught my ear, and I shall always +remember how a crow, flying high overhead towards the mountains, uttered +an ominous "caw"; another crow answered, and there was silence again. +The branches dropped, and the leaves hung out at the end of long stems. +One could not help pitying the trees, though one knew one's pity was +vain. + +'As I wandered in Derrinrush, I came suddenly upon some blood-red +beech-trees, and the hollow was full of blood-red leaves. You have been +to Derrinrush: you know how mystic and melancholy the wood is, full of +hazels and Druid stones. After wandering a long while I turned into a +path. It led me to a rough western shore, and in front of me stood a +great Scotch fir. The trunk has divided, and the two crowns showed +against the leaden sky. It has two birch-trees on either side, and their +graceful stems and faint foliage, pale like gold, made me think of +dancers with sequins in their hair and sleeves. There seemed to be +nothing but silence in the wood, silence, and leaves ready to fall. I +had not spoken to anyone for a fortnight--I mean I had no conversation +with anyone--and my loneliness helped me to perceive the loneliness of +the wood, and the absence of birds made me feel it. The lake is never +without gulls, but I didn't see one yesterday. "The swallows are gone," +I said; "the wild geese will soon be here," and I remembered their +doleful cry as I scrambled under some blackthorn bushes, glad to get out +of the wood into the fields. Though I knew the field I was in well, I +didn't remember the young sycamores growing in one corner of it. +Yesterday I could not but notice them, for they seemed to be like +children dying of consumption in a hospital ward--girls of twelve or +thirteen. You will think the comparison far-fetched and unhealthy, one +that could only come out of a morbidly excited imagination. Well, I +cannot help that; like you, I must write as I feel. + +'Suddenly I heard the sound of an axe, and I can find no words to tell +you how impressive its sound was in the still autumn day. "How soon +will the tree fall?" I thought; and, desirous of seeing it fall, I +walked on, guided by the sound, till I saw at the end of the glade--whom +do you think? Do you remember an old man called Patsy Murphy? He had +once been a very good carpenter, and had made and saved money. But he is +now ninety-five, and I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw him +trying to cut down a larch. What his object could be in felling the tree +I could not tell, and, feeling some curiosity, I walked forward. He +continued to chip away pieces of the bark till his strength failed him, +and he had to sit down to rest. Seeing me, he took off his hat--you know +the tall hat he wears--a hat given him twenty or thirty years ago by +whom? Patsy Murphy's mind is beginning to wander. He tells stories as +long as you will listen to him, and it appears now that his +daughter-in-law turned him out of his house--the house he had built +himself, and that he had lived in for half a century. This, however, is +not the greatest wrong she had done him. He could forgive her this +wrong, but he cannot forgive her stealing of his sword. "There never was +a Murphy," he said, "who hadn't a sword." Whether this sword is an +imagination of Patsy's fading brain, I cannot say; perhaps he had some +old sword and lost it. The tale he tells to-day differs wholly from the +tale he told yesterday and the tale he will tell to-morrow. He told me +once he had been obliged to give up all his savings to his son. I went +to interview the son, determined to sift the matter to the bottom, and +discovered that Patsy had still one hundred and twenty pounds in the +bank. Ten pounds had been taken out for--I needn't trouble you with +further details. Sufficient has been said to enable you to understand +how affecting it was to meet this old man in the red and yellow woods, +at the end of a breathless autumn day, trying to fell a young larch. He +talked so rapidly, and one story flowed so easily into another, that it +was a long time before I could get in a word. At last I was able to get +out of him that the Colonel had given him leave to build a house on the +shore, where he would be out of everybody's way. "All my old friends are +gone, the Colonel's father and his mother. God be merciful to her! she +was a good woman, the very best. And all I want now is time to think of +them that's gone.... Didn't I know the Colonel's grandfather and his +grandmother? They're all buried in the cemetery yonder in Kiltoon, and +on a fine evenin' I do like to be sittin' on a stone by the lake, +thinking of them all." + +'It was at once touching and impressive to see this old man, weak as a +child, the only trembling thing in a moveless day, telling these +wanderings of an almost insane brain. You will say, "But what matter? +They may not be true in fact, but they are his truth, they are himself, +they are his age." His ninety-five years are represented in his confused +talk, half recollection, half complaints about the present. He knew my +father and mother, too, and, peering into my face, he caught sight of a +gray hair, and I heard him mutter: + +'"Ah! they grow gray quicker now than they used to." + +'As I walked home in the darkening light, I bethought myself of the few +years left to me to live, though I am still a young man, that in a few +years, which would pass like a dream, I should be as frail as Patsy +Murphy, who is ninety-five. "Why should I not live as long?" I asked +myself, losing my teeth one by one and my wits.' + +'_September_. + +'I was interrupted in my description of the melancholy season, and I +don't know how I should have finished that letter if I had not been +interrupted. The truth is that the season was but a pretext. I did not +dare to write asking you to forgive me for having returned your letter. +I do not do so now. I will merely say that I returned the letter because +it annoyed me, and, shameful as the admission may be, I admit that I +returned it because I wished to annoy you. I said to myself, "If this be +so--if, in return for kind thought--Why shouldn't she suffer? I +suffer." One isn't--one cannot be--held responsible for every base +thought that enters the mind. How long the mind shall entertain a +thought before responsibility is incurred I am not ready to say. One's +mood changes. A storm gathers, rages for a while, and disperses; but the +traces of the storm remain after the storm has passed away. I am +thinking now that perhaps, after all, you were sincere when you asked me +to leave Garranard and take my holiday in Rome, and the baseness of +which for a moment I deemed you capable was the creation of my own soul. +I don't mean that my mind, my soul, is always base. At times we are more +or less unworthy. Our tempers are part of ourselves? I have been +pondering this question lately. Which self is the true self--the +peaceful or the choleric? My wretched temper aggravated my +disappointment, and my failure to write the history of the lake and its +castles no doubt contributed to produce the nervous depression from +which I am suffering. But this is not all; it seems to me that I may +point out that your--I hardly know what word to use: "irrelevancy" does +not express my meaning; "inconsequences" is nearer, yet it isn't the +word I want--well, your inconsequences perplex and distract my thoughts. +If you will look through the letter you sent me last you will find that +you have written many things that might annoy a man living in the +conditions in which I live. You follow the current of your mood, but the +transitions you omit, and the reader is left hopelessly +conjecturing....' + + +She seemed so strange, so inconclusive. There seemed to be at least two, +if not three, different women in the letters she had written to him, and +he sat wondering how a woman with cheeks like hers, and a voice like +hers, and laughter like hers, could take an interest in such arid +studies. Her very name, Nora Glynn, seemed so unlike the woman who would +accompany Mr. Poole into National Libraries, and sit by him surrounded +by learned tomes. Moreover a mistress does not read Hebrew in a +National Library with her paramour. But what did he know about such +women? He had heard of them supping in fashionable restaurants covered +with diamonds, and he thought of them with painted faces and dyed hair, +and he was sure that Nora did not dye her hair or paint her face. No, +she was not Poole's mistress. It was only his ignorance of life that +could have led him to think of anything so absurd.... And then, weary of +thinking and debating with himself, he took down a book that was lent +some months ago, a monograph on a learned woman, a learned philosophical +writer and translator of exegetical works from the German. Like Nora, +she came from the middle classes, and, like Nora, she transgressed, how +often he did not know, but with another woman's husband certainly. A +critical writer and exponent of serious literature. Taste for learned +studies did not preclude abstinence from those sins which in his +ignorance of life he had associated with worldlings! Of course, St. +Augustine was such a one. But is a man's truth also woman's truth? +Apparently it is, and if he could believe the book he had been reading, +Nora might very well be Poole's mistress. Therewith the question came up +again, demanding answer: Why did she write declining any correspondence +with him, and three weeks afterwards write another letter inveigling +him, tempting him, bringing him to this last pitch of unhappiness? Was +the letter he returned to her prompted by Mr. Poole and by a spirit of +revenge? Three days after he took up his pen and added this paragraph to +his unfinished letter: + + +'I laid aside my pen, fearing I should ask what are your relations with +Mr. Poole. I have tried to keep myself from putting this question to +you, but the torture of doubt overcomes me, and even if you should never +write to me again, I must ask it. Remember that I am responsible to God +for the life you lead. Had it not been for me, you would never have +known Poole. You must grant to every man his point of view, and, as a +Christian, I cannot put my responsibility out of mind. If you lose your +soul, I am responsible for it. Should you write that your relations with +Mr. Poole are not innocent, I shall not be relieved of my +responsibility, but it will be a relief to me to know the truth. I shall +pray for you, and you will repent your sins if you are living in sin. +Forgive me the question I am putting to you. I have no right to do so +whatever. Whatever right I had over you when you were in my parish has +passed from me. I exceeded that right, but that is the old story. Maybe +I am repeating my very fault again. It is not unlikely, for what do we +do all through our lives but to repeat ourselves? You have forgiven me, +and, having forgiven me once, maybe you will forgive me again. However +this may be, do not delay writing, for every day will be an agony till I +hear from you. At the end of an autumn day, when the dusk is sinking +into the room, one lacks courage to live. Religion seems to desert one, +and I am thinking of the leaves falling, falling in Derrinrush. All +night long they will be falling, like my hopes. Forgive me this +miserable letter. But if I didn't write it, I should not be able to get +through the evening. Write to me. A letter from Italy will cheer me and +help me to live. All my letters are not like this one. Not very long ago +I wrote to you about a hermit who never wearied of life, though he lived +upon an island in this lake. Did you receive that letter? I wonder. It +is still following you about maybe. It was a pleasant letter, and I +should be sorry if you did not get it. Write to me about Italy--about +sunshine, about statues and pictures. + +'Ever sincerely yours, + +'OLIVER GOGARTY.' + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_October_ 20, 19--. + +'DEAR MISS GLYNN, + +'I wrote last week apologizing for troubling you again with a letter, +pleading that the melancholy of autumn and the falling of the leaf +forced me to write to someone. I wrote asking for a letter, saying that +a letter about Italian sunshine would help me to live. I am afraid my +letter must have seemed exaggerated. One writes out of a mood. The mood +passes, but when it is with one, one is the victim of it. And this +letter is written to say I have recovered somewhat from my depression of +spirits.... I have found consolation in a book, and I feel that I must +send it to you, for even you may one day feel depressed and lonely. Did +you ever read "The Imitation of Christ"? There is no book more soothing +to the spirit than it; and on the very first page I found some lines +which apply marvellously well to your case: + +'"If thou didst know the whole Bible outwardly, and the sayings of all +the philosophers, what would it all profit thee without charity and the +grace of God?" + +'Over the page the saint says: "Every man naturally desireth to know; +but what doth knowledge avail without the fear of God?" + +'"Truly, a lowly rustic that serveth God is better than a proud +philosopher who pondereth the course of the stars and neglecteth +himself." + +'"He that knoweth himself becometh vile to himself, and taketh no +delight in the praises of men." + +'"If I knew all things that are in the world, and were not in charity, +what would it profit me in the sight of God, who will judge according to +deeds?" + +'"Cease from overweening desire of knowledge, because many distractions +are found there, and much delusion." + +'I might go on quoting till I reached the end, for on every page I note +something that I would have you read. But why quote when I can send you +the book? You have lost interest in the sentimental side of religion, +but your loss is only momentary. You will never find anyone who will +understand you better than this book. You are engaged now in the vain +pursuit of knowledge, but some day, when you are weary of knowledge, you +will turn to it. I do not ask you to read it now, but promise me that +you will keep it. It will be a great consolation to me to know that it +is by you. + +'Very sincerely yours, + +'OLIVER GOGARTY, P.P.' + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_November_ 3, 19--. + +'DEAR MISS GLYNN, + +'I sent you--I think it must be a fortnight ago--a copy of "The +Imitation of Christ." The copy I sent is one of the original Elizabethan +edition, a somewhat rare book and difficult to obtain. I sent you this +copy in order to make sure that you would keep it; the English is better +than the English of our modern translations. You must not think that I +feel hurt because you did not write to thank me at once for having sent +you the book. My reason for writing is merely because I should like to +know if it reached you. If you have not received it, I think it would be +better to make inquiries at once in the post. It would be a pity that a +copy of the original Elizabethan edition should be lost. Just write a +little short note saying that you have received it. + +'Very sincerely yours, + +'OLIVER GOGARTY, P.P.' + + + + +IX + + +'The Imitation' dropped on his knees, and he wondered if the spiritual +impulse it had awakened in him was exhausted, or if the continual +splashing of the rain on the pane had got upon his nerves. + +'But it isn't raining in Italy,' he said, getting up from his chair; +'and I am weary of the rain, of myself--I am weary of everything.' And +going to the window, he tried to take ant interest in the weather, +asking himself if it would clear up about 3 o'clock. It cleared usually +late in the afternoon for a short while, and he would be able to go out +for half an hour. But where should he go? He foresaw his walk from end +to end before he began it: the descent of the hill, the cart-track and +the old ruts full of water, the dead reeds on the shore soaking, the +dripping trees. But he knew that about 3 o'clock the clouds would lift, +and the sunset begin in the gaps in the mountains. He might go as far as +the little fields between Derrinrush and the plantations, and from there +he could watch the sunset. But the sunset would soon be over, and he +would have to return home, for a long evening without a book. Terrible! +And he began to feel that he must have an occupation--his book! To write +the story of the island castles would pass the time, and wondering how +he might write it, whether from oral tradition or from the books and +manuscripts which he might find in national libraries, he went out about +3 o'clock and wandered down the old cart-track, getting his feet very +wet, till he came to the pine-wood, into which he went, and stood +looking across the lake, wondering if he should go out to Castle Island +in a boat--there was no boat, but he might borrow one somewhere--and +examine what remained of the castle. But he knew every heap of old +stones, every brown bush, and the thick ivy that twined round the last +corner wall. Castle Hag had an interest Castle Island had not. The +cormorants roosted there; and they must be hungry, for the lake had been +too windy for fishing this long while. A great gust whirled past, and he +stood watching the clouds drifting overhead--the same thick vapour +drifting and going out. For nearly a month he was waiting for a space of +blue sky, and a great sadness fell upon him, a sick longing for a +change; but if he yielded to this longing he would never return to +Garranard. There seemed to be no way out of the difficulty--at least, he +could see none. + +A last ray lit up a distant hillside, his shadow floated on the wet +sand. The evening darkened rapidly, and he walked in a vague diffused +light, inexpressibly sad to find Moran waiting for him at the end of an +old cart-track, where the hawthorns grew out of a tumbled wall. He would +keep Moran for supper. Moran was a human being, and-- + +'I've come to see you, Gogarty; I don't know if I'm welcome.' + +'It's joking you are. You'll stay and have some supper with me?' + +'Indeed I will, if you give me some drink, for it's drink that I'm +after, and not eating. I'd better get the truth out at once and have +done with it. I've felt the craving coming on me for the last few +days--you know what I mean--and now it's got me by the throat. I must +have drink. Come along, Gogarty, and give me some, and then I'll say +good-bye to you for ever.' + +'Now what are you saying?' + +'Don't stand arguing with me, for you can't understand, Gogarty--no one +can; I can't myself. But it doesn't matter what anybody understands--I'm +done for.' + +'We'll have a bit of supper together. It will pass from you.' + +'Ah, you little know;' and the priests walked up the hill in silence. + +'Gogarty, there's no use talking; I'm done for. Let me go.' + +'Come in, will you?' and he took him by the arm. 'Come in. I'm a bigger +man than you, Moran; come in!' + +'I'm done for,' Father Moran said again. + +Father Oliver made a sign of silence, and when they were in the parlour, +and the door shut behind them, he said: + +'You mustn't talk like that, and Catherine within a step of you.' + +'I've told you, Gogarty, I'm done for, and I've just come here to bid +you good-bye; but before we part I'd like to hear you say that I haven't +been wanting in my duties--that in all the rest, as far as you know, +I've been as good a man as another.' + +'In all but one thing I know no better man, and I'll not hear that +there's no hope.' + +'Better waste no time talking. Just let me hear you say again that I've +been a good man in everything but one thing.' + +'Yes, indeed;' and the priests grasped hands. + +And Catherine came into the room to ask if Father Moran was stopping to +supper. Father Oliver answered hurriedly: 'Yes, yes, he's staying. Bring +in supper as soon as you can;' and she went away, to come back soon +after with the cloth. And while she laid it the priests sat looking at +each other, not daring to speak, hoping that Catherine did not suspect +from their silence and manner that anything was wrong. She seemed to be +a long while laying the cloth and bringing in the food; it seemed to +them as if she was delaying on purpose. At last the door was closed, and +they were alone. + +'Now, Moran, sit down and eat a bit, won't you?' + +'I can't eat anything. Give me some whisky; that is what I want. Give me +some whisky, and I will go away and you'll never see me again. Just a +glass to keep me going, and I will go straight out of your parish, so +that none of the disgrace will fall upon you; or--what do you think? You +could put me up here; no one need know I'm here. All I want are a few +bottles of whisky.' + +'You mean that I should put you up here and let you get drunk?' + +'You know what I mean well enough. I'm like that. And it's well for you +who don't want whisky. But if it hadn't been for whisky I should have +been in a mad-house long ago. Now, just tell me if you'll give me drink. +If you will, I'll stay and talk with you, for I know you're lonely; if +not, I'll just be off with myself.' + +'Moran, you'll be better when you've had something to eat. It will pass +from you. I will give you a glass of beer.' + +'A glass of beer! Ah, if I could tell you the truth! We've all our +troubles, Gogarty--trouble that none knows but God. I haven't been +watching you--I've been too tormented about myself to think much of +anyone else--but now and then I've caught sight of a thought passing +across your mind. We all suffer, you like another, and when the ache +becomes too great to be borne we drink. Whisky is the remedy; there's +none better. We drink and forget, and that is the great thing. There are +times, Gogarty, when one doesn't want to think, when one's afraid, +aren't there?--when one wants to forget that one's alive. You've had +that feeling, Gogarty. We all have it. And now I must be off. I must +forget everything. I want to drink and to feel the miles passing under +my feet.' + +And on that he got up from the fire. + +'Come, Moran, I won't hear you speak like that.' + +'Let me go. It's no use; I'm done for;' and Father Oliver saw his eyes +light up. + +'I'll not keep you against your will, but I'll go a piece of the road +with you.' + +'I'd sooner you didn't come, Gogarty.' + +Without answering, Father Oliver caught up his hat and followed Father +Moran out of the house. They walked without speaking, and when they got +to the gate Father Oliver began to wonder which way his unhappy curate +would choose for escape. 'Now why does he take the southern road?' And a +moment after he guessed that Moran was making for Michael Garvey's +public-house, 'and after drinking there,' he said to himself, 'he'll go +on to Tinnick.' After a couple of miles, however, Moran turned into a +by-road leading through the mountains, and they walked on without saying +a word. + +And they walked mile after mile through the worn mountain road. + +'You've come far enough, Gogarty; go back. Regan's public-house is +outside of your parish.' + +'If it's outside my parish, it's only the other side of the boundary; +and you said, Moran, that you wouldn't touch whisky till to-morrow +morning.' + +The priests walked on again, and Father Oliver fell to thinking now what +might be the end of this adventure. He could see there was no hope of +persuading Father Moran from the bottle of whisky. + +'What time do you be making it, Gogarty?' + +'It isn't ten o'clock yet.' + +'Then I'll walk up and down till the stroke of twelve ... I'll keep my +promise to you.' + +'But they'll all be in bed by twelve. What will you do then?' + +Father Moran didn't give Father Gogarty an answer, but started off +again, and this time he was walking very fast; and when they got as far +as Regan's public-house Father Oliver took his friend by the arm, +reminding him again of his promise. + +'You promised not to disgrace the parish.' + +'I said that.... Well, if it's walking your heart is set upon, you +shall have your bellyful of it.' + +And he was off again like a man walking for a wager. But Father Oliver, +who wouldn't be out-walked, kept pace with him, and they went striding +along, walking without speaking. + +Full of ruts and broken stones, the road straggled through the hills, +and Father Oliver wondered what would happen when they got to the top of +the hill. For the sea lay beyond the hill. The road bent round a +shoulder of the hill, and when Father Oliver saw the long road before +him his heart began to fail him, and a cry of despair rose to his lips; +but at that moment Moran stopped. + +'You've saved me, Gogarty.' + +He did not notice that Father Gogarty was breathless, almost fainting, +and he began talking hurriedly, telling Father Oliver how he had +committed himself to the resolution of breaking into a run as soon as +they got to the top of the hill. + +'My throat was on fire then, but now all the fire is out of it; your +prayer has been answered. But what's the matter, Gogarty? You're not +speaking.' + +'What you say is wonderful indeed, Moran, for I was praying for you. I +prayed as long as I had breath; one can't pray without breath or speak. +We'll talk of this presently.' + +The priests turned back, walking very slowly. + +'I feel no more wish to drink whisky than I do to drink bog-water. But +I'm a bit hot, and I think I'd like a drink, and a drink of water will +do me first-rate. Now look here, Gogarty: a miracle has happened, and +we should thank God for it. Shall we kneel down?' + +The road was very wet, and they thought it would do as well if they +leant over the little wall and said some prayers together. + +'I've conquered the devil; I know it. But I've been through a terrible +time, Gogarty. It's all lifted from me now. I'm sorry I've brought you +out for such a walk as this.' + +'Never mind the walk, Moran, so long as the temptation has passed from +you--that's the principal thing.' + +To speak of ordinary things was impossible, for they believed in the +miracle, and, thanking God for this act of grace, they walked on until +they reached Father Oliver's gate. + +'I believe you're right, Moran; I believe that a miracle has happened. +You'll go home straight, won't you?' + +Father Moran grasped Father Oliver's hand. + +'Indeed I will.' + +And Father Oliver stood by his gate looking down the road, and he didn't +open it and go through until Father Moran had passed out of sight. +Pushing it open, he walked up the gravel path, saying to himself, 'A +miracle, without doubt. Moran called it a miracle and it seems like one, +but will it last? Moran believes himself cured, that is certain;' and +Father Oliver thought how his curate had gripped his hand, and felt sure +that the grip meant, 'You've done me a great service, one I can never +repay.' + +It was a pleasure to think that Moran would always think well of him. +'Yes, Moran will always think well of me,' he repeated as he groped his +way into the dark and lonely house in search of a box of matches. When +his lamp was lighted he threw himself into his armchair so that he might +ponder better on what had happened. 'I've been a good friend to him, and +it's a great support to a man to think that he's been a good friend to +another, that he kept him in the straight path, saved him from himself. +Saved himself from himself,' he repeated;' can anybody be saved from +himself?' and he began to wonder if Moran would conquer in the end and +take pride in his conquest over himself. + +There was no sound, only an occasional spit of the lamp, and in the +silence Father Oliver asked if it were the end of man's life to trample +upon self or to encourage self. 'Nora,' he said, 'would answer that self +is all we have, and to destroy it and put in its place conventions and +prejudices is to put man's work above God's. But Nora would not answer +in these words till she had spoken with Mr. Walter Poole.' The name +brought a tightening about his heart, and when Father Oliver stumbled to +his feet--he had walked many miles, and was tired--he began to think he +must tell Nora of the miracle that had happened about a mile--he thought +it was just a mile--beyond Patsy Regan's public-house. The miracle would +impress her, and he looked round the room. It was then he caught sight +of a letter--her letter. The envelope and foreign stamp told him that +before he read the address--her writing! His hand trembled and his cheek +paled, for she was telling him the very things he had longed to know. +She was in love with Poole! she was not only in love with him--she was +his mistress! + +The room seemed to tumble about him, and he grasped the end of the +chimney-piece. And then, feeling that he must get out into the open air, +he thought of Moran. He began to feel he must speak to him. He couldn't +remember exactly what he had to say to him, but there was something on +his mind which he must speak to Moran about. It seemed to him that he +must go away with Moran to some public-house far away and drink. Hadn't +Moran said that there were times when we all wanted drink? He tried to +collect his thoughts.... Something had gone wrong, but he couldn't +remember what had gone wrong or where he was. It seemed to him that +somebody had lost her soul. He must seek it. It was his duty. Being a +priest, he must go forth and find the soul, and bring it back to God. He +remembered no more until he found himself in the midst of a great wood, +standing in an open space; about him were dripping trees, and a ghostly +sky overhead, and no sound but that of falling leaves. Large leaves +floated down, and each interested him till it reached the wet earth. + +And then he began to wonder why he was in the wood at night, and why he +should be waiting there, looking at the glimmering sky, seeing the +oak-leaves falling, remembering suddenly that he was looking for her +soul, for her lost soul, and that something had told him he would find +the soul he was seeking in the wood; so he was drawn from glade to glade +through the underwoods, and through places so thickly overgrown that it +seemed impossible to pass through. And then the thorn-bushes gave way +before him, for he was no longer alone. She had descended from the trees +into his arms, white and cold, and every moment the wood grew dimmer; +but when he expected it to disappear, when he thought he was going to +escape for ever with her, an opening in the trees discovered the lake, +and in fear he turned back into the wood, seeking out paths where there +was little light. + +Once he was within the wood, the mist seemed to incorporate again; she +descended again into his arms, and this time he would have lifted the +veil and looked into her face, but she seemed to forbid him to recognize +her under penalty of loss. His desire overcame him, and he put out his +hand to lift the veil. As he did so his eyes opened, he saw the wet +wood, the shining sky, and she sitting by a stone waiting for him. A +little later she came to meet him from behind the hawthorns that grew +along the cart-track--a tall woman with a little bend in her walk. + +He wondered why he was so foolish as to disobey her, and besought her to +return to him, and they roamed again in the paths that led round the +rocks overgrown with briars, by the great oak-tree where the leaves were +falling. And wandering they went, smiling gently on each other, till she +began to tell him that he must abide by the shores of the lake--why, he +could not understand, for the wood was much more beautiful, and he was +more alone with her in the wood than by the lake. + +The sympathy was so complete that words were not needed, but they had +begun in his ears. He strove to apprehend the dim words sounding in his +ears. Not her words, surely, for there was a roughness in the voice, and +presently he heard somebody asking him why he was about this time of +night, and very slowly he began to understand that one of his +parishioners was by him, asking him whither he was going. + +'You'll be catching your death at this hour of the night, Father +Oliver.' + +And the man told Father Oliver he was on his way to a fair, and for a +short-cut he had come through the wood. And Father Oliver listened, +thinking all the while that he must have been dreaming, for he could +remember nothing. + +'Now, your reverence, we're at your own door, and the door is open. +When you went out you forgot to close it.' + +The priest didn't answer. + +'I hope no harm will come to your reverence; and you'll be lucky if you +haven't caught your death.' + + + + +X + + +He stopped in his undressing to ponder how Moran had come to tell him +that he was going away on a drinking-bout, and all their long walk +together to within a mile of Regan's public-house returned to him bit by +bit, how Moran knelt down by the roadside to drink bog-water, which he +said would take the thirst from him as well as whisky; and after bidding +Moran good-night he had fallen into his armchair. It was not till he +rose to his feet to go to bed that he had caught sight of the letter. +Nora wrote--he could not remember exactly what she wrote, and threw +himself into bed. After sleeping for many hours, his eyes at last +opened, and he awoke wondering, asking himself where he was. Even the +familiar room surprised him. And once more he began the process of +picking his way back, but he couldn't recall what had happened from the +time he left his house in search of Moran till he was overtaken by Alec +in the wood. In some semi-conscious state he must have wandered off to +Derrinrush. He must have wandered a long while--two hours, maybe more +--through the familiar paths, but unaware that he was choosing them. To +escape from the effort of remembrance he was glad to listen to +Catherine, who was telling him that Alec was at the door, come up from +the village to inquire how the priest was. + +She waited to hear Father Oliver's account of himself, but not having a +story prepared, he pretended he was too tired to speak; and as he lay +back in his chair he composed a little story, telling how he had been +for a long walk with Father Moran, and, coming back in the dark, had +missed his way on the outskirts of the wood. She began to raise some +objections, but he said she was not to excite herself, and went out to +see Alec, who, not being a quick-witted fellow, was easily persuaded +into an acceptance of a very modified version of the incident, and +Father Oliver lay back in his chair wondering if he had succeeded in +deceiving Catherine. It would seem that he had, for when she came to +visit him again from her kitchen she spoke of something quite different, +which surprised him, for she was a very observant woman of inexhaustible +curiosity. But this time, however, he had managed to keep his secret +from her, and, dismissing her, he thought of Nora's letter. + + +_From Miss Nora Glynn to Father Oliver Gogarty._ + +'RAPALLO, ITALY, + +'_December_ 12, 19--. + +'DEAR FATHER GOGARTY, + +'I received "The Imitation" to-day and your two letters, one asking me +if I had got the book. We had left Munich without giving instructions +about our letters, so please accept my apologies and my best thanks. +The Elizabethan translation, as you point out, is beautiful English, and +I am glad to have the book; it will remind me of you, and I will keep it +by me even if I do not read it very often. I passed the book over to Mr. +Poole; he read it for a few minutes, and then returned it to me. "A +worthy man, no doubt," he said, "but prone to taking things for granted. +'The Imitation,'" he continued, "reminds me of a flower growing in the +shade of a cloister, dying for lack of sun, and this is surely not the +right kind of reading for you or your friend Father Oliver." I feel sure +you want a change. Change of scene brings a change of mind. Why don't +you come to Italy? Italy is the place for you. Italy is your proper +mind. Mr. Poole says that Italy is every man's proper mind, and you're +evidently thinking of Italy, for you ask for a description of where I am +staying, saying that a ray of Italian sunlight will cheer you. Come to +Italy. You can come here without danger of meeting us. We are leaving at +the end of the month. + +'But I could go on chattering page after page, telling you about gardens +and orange-trees (the orange-trees are the best part of the decoration; +even now the great fruit hangs in the green leaves); and when I had +described Italy, and you had described all the castles and the islands, +we could turn back and discuss our religious differences. But I doubt if +any good would come of this correspondence. You see, I have got my work +to do, and you have got yours, and, notwithstanding all you say, I do +not believe you to be unable to write the history of the lake and its +castles. Your letters prove that you can, only your mind is unhinged by +fears for my spiritual safety, and depressed by the Irish climate. It is +very depressing, I know. I remember how you used to attribute the +history of Ireland to the climate: a beautiful climate in a way, without +extremes of heat and cold, as you said once, without an accent upon it. +But you are not the ordinary Irishman; there is enough vitality in you +to resist the languor of the climate. Your mood will pass away.... Your +letter about the hermit that lived on Church Island is most beautiful. +You have struck the right note--the wistful Irish note--and if you can +write a book in that strain I am sure it will meet with great success. +Go on with your book, and don't write to me any more--at least, not for +the present. I have got too much to do, and cannot attend to a lengthy +correspondence. We are going to Paris, and are looking forward to +spending a great deal of time reading in the National Library. Some day +we may meet, or take up this correspondence again. At present I feel +that it is better for you and better for me that it should cease. But +you will not think hardly of me because I write you this. I am writing +in your own interests, dear Father Gogarty. + +'Very sincerely yours, + +'NORA GLYNN.' + + +He read the letter slowly, pondering every sentence and every word, and +when he had finished it his hand dropped upon his knee; and when the +letter fell upon the hearthrug he did not stoop to pick it up, but sat +looking into the fire, convinced that everything was over and done. +There was nothing to look forward to; his life would drag on from day to +day, from week to week, month to month, year to year, till at last he +would be taken away to the grave. The grave is dreamless! But there +might be a long time before he reached it, living for years without +seeing or even hearing from her, for she would weary of writing to him. +He began to dream of a hunt, the quarry hearing with dying ears the +horns calling to each other in the distance, and cast in his chair, his +arms hanging like dead arms, his senses mercifully benumbed, he lay, how +long he knew not, but it must have been a long time. + +Catherine came into the room with some spoons in her hands, and asked +him what was the matter, and, jumping up, he answered her rudely, for +her curiosity annoyed him. It was irritating to have to wait for her to +leave the room, but he did not dare to begin thinking while she was +there. The door closed at last; he was alone again, and his thoughts +fixed themselves at once on the end of her letter, on the words, 'Go on +with your book, and don't write to me any more--at least, not for the +present. I have too much to do, and cannot attend to a lengthy +correspondence.' The evident cruelty of her words surprised him. There +was nothing like this in any of her other letters. She intended these +words as a _coup de grâce_. There was little mercy in them, for they +left him living; he still lived--in a way. + +There was no use trying to misunderstand her words. To do so would be +foolish, even if it were possible for him to deceive himself, and the +rest of her letter mattered nothing to him. The two little sentences +with which she dismissed him were his sole concern; they were the keys +to the whole of this correspondence which had beguiled him. Fool that he +had been not to see it! Alas! we see only what we want to see. He +wandered about the lake, trying to bring himself to hate her. He even +stopped in his walks to address insulting words to her. Words of common +abuse came to his tongue readily, but there was an unconquerable +tenderness in his heart always; and one day the thought went by that it +was nobler of her to make him suffer than to have meekly forgiven him, +as many women would have done, because he was a priest. He stopped +affrighted, and began to wonder if this were the first time her easy +forgiveness of his mistake had seemed suspicious. No, he felt sure that +some sort of shadow of disappointment had passed at the back of his mind +when he read her first letter, and after having lain for months at the +back of his mind, this idea had come to the surface. An extraordinary +perversion, truly, which he could only account for by the fact that he +had always looked upon her as being more like what the primitive woman +must have been than anybody else in the world; and the first instinct of +the primitive woman would be to revenge any slight on her sexual pride. +He had misread her character, and in this new reading he found a +temporary consolation. + +As he sat thinking of her he heard a mouse gnawing under the boards, +and every night after the mouse came to gnaw. 'The teeth of regret are +the same; my life is being gnawed away. Never shall I see her.' It +seemed impossible that life would close on him without his seeing her +face or hearing her voice again, and he began to think how it would be +if they were to meet on the other side. For he believed in heaven, and +that was a good thing. Without such belief there would be nothing for +him to do but to go down to the lake and make an end of himself. But +believing as he did in heaven and the holy Catholic Church to be the +surest way of getting there, he had a great deal to be thankful for. +Poole's possession of her was but temporary, a few years at most, +whereas his possession of her, if he were so fortunate as to gain +heaven, and by his prayers to bring her back to the true fold, would +endure for ever and ever. The wisest thing, therefore, for him to do +would be to enter a Trappist monastery. But our Lord says that in heaven +there is neither marriage nor giving in marriage, and what would heaven +be to him without Nora? No more than a union of souls, and he wanted her +body as well as her soul. He must pray. He knew the feeling well--a sort +of mental giddiness, a delirium in the brain; and it increased rapidly, +urging him to fall on his knees. If he resisted, it was because he was +ashamed and feared to pray to God to reserve Nora for him. But the whirl +in his brain soon deprived him of all power of resistance, and, looking +round the room hurriedly to assure himself he was not watched, he fell +on his knees and burst into extemporary prayer: '_O my God, whatever +punishment there is to be borne, let me bear it. She sinned, no doubt, +and her sins must be atoned for. Let me bear the punishment that thou, +in thine infinite wisdom, must adjudge to her, poor sinful woman that +she is, poor woman persecuted by men, persecuted by me. O my God, +remember that I lent a willing ear to scandalmongers, that I went down +that day to the school and lost my temper with her, that I spoke against +her in my church. All the sins that have been committed are my sins; let +me bear the punishment. O my Lord Jesus Christ, do thou intercede with +thy Father and ask him to heap all the punishment on my head. Oh, dear +Lord Jesus, if I had only thought of thee when I went down to the +school, if I had remembered thy words, "Let him who is without sin cast +the first stone," I should have been spared this anguish. If I had +remembered thy words, she might have gone to Dublin and had her baby +there, and come back to the parish. O my God, the fault is mine; all the +faults that have been committed can be traced back to me, therefore I +beseech of thee, I call upon thee, to let me bear all the punishment +that she has earned by her sins, poor erring creature that she is. O my +God, do this for me; remember that I served thee well for many years +when I lived among the poor folk in the mountains. For all these years I +ask this thing of thee, that thou wilt let me bear her punishment. Is it +too much I am asking of thee, O my God, is it too much?'_ + +When he rose from his knees, bells seemed to be ringing in his head, +and he began to wonder if another miracle had befallen him, for it was +as if someone had laid hands on him and forced him on his knees. But to +ask the Almighty to extend his protection to him rather than to Mr. +Poole, who was a Protestant, seemed not a little gross. Father Oliver +experienced a shyness that he had never known before, and he hoped the +Almighty would not be offended at the familiarity of the language, or +the intimate nature of the request, for to ask for Nora's body as well +as her soul did not seem altogether seemly. + +It was queer to think like that. Perhaps his brain was giving way. And +he pushed the plates aside; he could not eat any dinner, nor could he +take any interest in his garden. + +The dahlias were over, the chrysanthemums were beginning. Never had the +country seemed so still: dead birds in the woods, and the sounds of +leaves, and the fitful December sunlight on the strands--these were his +distractions when he went out for a walk, and when he came in he often +thought it would be well if he did not live to see another day, so heavy +did the days seem, so uneventful, and in these languid autumn days the +desire to write to Nora crept nearer, until it always seemed about him +like some familiar animal. + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_December_ 30, 19--. + +'DEAR MISS GLYNN, + +'I should have written to you before, but I lacked courage. Do you +remember saying that the loneliness of the country sometimes forced you +to kneel down to pray that you might die? I think the loneliness that +overcame you was the loneliness that comes at the end of an autumn day +when the dusk gathers in the room. It seems to steal all one's courage +away, and one looks up from one's work in despair, asking of what value +is one's life. The world goes on just the same, grinding our souls away. +Nobody seems to care; nothing seems to make any difference. + +'Human life is a very lonely thing, and for that it is perhaps +religious. But there are days when religion fails us, when we lack +courage, lonesomeness being our national failing. We were always +lonesome, hundreds of years ago as much as to-day. You know it, you have +been through it and will sympathize. A caged bird simply beats its wings +and dies, but a human being does not die of loneliness, even when he +prays for death. You have experienced it all, and will know what I feel +when I tell you that I spend my time watching the rain, thinking of +sunshine, picture-galleries, and libraries. + +'But you were right to bid me go on with the book I spoke to you about. +If I had gone away, as you first suggested, I should have been unhappy; +I should have thought continually of the poor people I left behind; my +abandonment of them would have preyed on my mind, for the conviction is +dead in me that I should have been able to return to them; we mayn't +return to places where we have been unhappy. I might have been able to +get a parish in England or a chaplaincy, but I should have always looked +upon the desertion of my poor people as a moral delinquency. A quiet +conscience is, after all, a great possession, and for the sake of a +quiet conscience I will remain here, and you will be able to understand +my scruple when you think how helpless my people are, and how essential +is the kindly guidance of the priest. + +'Without a leader, the people are helpless; they wander like sheep on a +mountain-side, falling over rocks or dying amid snowdrifts. Sometimes +the shepherd grows weary of watching, and the question comes, Has a man +no duty towards himself? And then one begins to wonder what is one's +duty and what is duty--if duty is something more than the opinions of +others, something more than a convention which we would not like to hear +called into question, because we feel instinctively that it is well for +everyone to continue in the rut, for, after all, a rut means a road, and +roads are necessary. If one lets one's self go on thinking, one very +soon finds that wrong and right are indistinguishable, so perhaps it is +better to follow the rut if one can. But the rut is beset with +difficulties; there are big holes on either side. Sometimes the road +ends nowhere, and one gets lost in spite of one's self. But why am I +writing all these things to you?' + + +Why, indeed? If he were to send this letter she would show it to Mr. +Poole, and they would laugh over it together. 'Poor priesty!' they would +say, and the paper was crumpled and thrown into the fire. 'My life is +unendurable, and it will grow worse,' he said, and fell to thinking how +he would grow old, getting every day more like an old stereotyped plate, +the Mass and the rosary at the end of his tongue, and nothing in his +heart. He had seen many priests like this. Could he fall into such +miserable decadence? Could such obedience to rule be any man's duty? But +where should he go? It mattered little whither he went, for he would +never see her any more, and she was, after all, the only real thing in +the world for him. + +So did he continue to suffer like an animal, mutely, instinctively, +mourning his life away, forgetful of everything but his grief; unmindful +of his food, and unable to sleep when he lay down, or to distinguish +between familiar things--the birds about his house, the boys and girls +he had baptized. Very often he had to think a moment before he knew +which was Mary and which was Bridget, which was Patsy and which was +Mike, and very often Catherine was in the parlour many minutes before he +noticed her presence. She stood watching him, wondering of what he was +thinking, for he sat in his chair, getting weaker and thinner; and soon +he began to look haggard as an old man or one about to die. He seemed to +grow feebler in mind; his attention wandered away every few minutes from +the book he was reading. Catherine noticed the change, and, thinking +that a little chat would be of help, she often came up from her kitchen +to tell him the gossip of the parish; but he could not listen to her, +her garrulousness seemed to him more than ever tiresome, and he kept a +book by him, an old copy of 'Ivanhoe,' which he pretended he was reading +when he heard her step. + +Father Moran came to discuss the business of the parish with him and +insisted on relieving Father Oliver of a great deal of it, saying that +he wanted a rest, and he often urged Father Oliver to go away for a +holiday. He was kind, but his talk was wearisome, and Father Oliver +thought he would prefer to read about the fabulous Rowena than to hear +any more about the Archbishop. But when Father Moran left Rowena bored +him, and so completely that he could not remember at what point he had +left off reading, and his thoughts wandered from the tournament to some +phrase he had made use of in writing to Nora, or, it might be, some +phrase of hers that would suddenly spring into his mind. He sought no +longer to discover her character from her letters, nor did he criticize +the many contradictions which had perplexed him: it seemed to him that +he accepted her now, as the phrase goes, 'as she was,' thinking of her +as he might of some supernatural being whom he had offended, and who had +revenged herself. Her wickedness became in his eyes an added grace, and +from the rack on which he lay he admired his executioner. Even her +liking for Mr. Poole became submerged in a tide of suffering, and of +longing, and weakness of spirit. He no longer had any strength to +question her liking for the minor prophets: there were discrepancies in +everyone, and no doubt there were in him as well as in her. He had once +been very different from what he was to-day. Once he was an ardent +student in Maynooth, he had been an energetic curate; and now what was +he? Worse still, what was he becoming? And he allowed his thoughts to +dwell on the fact that every day she was receding from him. He, too, was +receding. All things were receding--becoming dimmer. + +He piled the grate up with turf, and when the blaze came leaned over it, +warming his hands, asking himself why she liked Mr. Poole rather than +him. For he no longer tried to conceal from himself the fact that he +loved her. He had played the hypocrite long enough; he had spoken about +her soul, but it was herself that he wanted. This admission brought some +little relief, but he felt that the relief would only be temporary. +Alas! it was surrender. It was worse than surrender--it was abandonment. +He could sink no deeper. But he could; we can all sink deeper. Now what +would the end be? There is an end to everything; there must be an end +even to humiliation, to self-abasement. It was Moran over again. Moran +was ashamed of his vice, but he had to accept it, and Father Oliver +thought how much it must have cost his curate to come to tell him that +he wanted to lie drunk for some days in an outhouse in order to escape +for a few days from the agony of living. 'That is what he called it, and +I, too, would escape from it.' + +His thoughts turned suddenly to a poem written by a peasant in County +Cork a hundred years ago to a woman who inspired a passion that wrecked +his mind altogether in the end. And he wondered if madness would be the +end of his suffering, or if he would go down to the lake and find rest +in it. + + + 'Oh, succour me, dear one, give me a kiss from thy mouth, + And lift me up to thee from death, + Or bid them make for me a narrow bed, a coffin of boards, + In the dark neighbourhood of the worm and his friends. + My life is not life but death, my voice is no voice but a wind, + There is no colour in me, nor life, nor richness, nor health; + But in tears and sorrow and weakness, without music, without + sport, without power, + I go into captivity and woe, and in the pain of my love of thee.' + + + + + +XI + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_March_ 12, 19--. + +'A long time has passed without your hearing from me, and I am sure you +must have said more than once: "Well, that priest has more sense than I +gave him credit for. He took the hint. He understood that it would be +useless for us to continue to write long letters to each other about +remorse of conscience and Mr. Poole's criticism of the Bible." But the +sight of my handwriting will call into question the opinion you have +formed of my good sense, and you will say: "Here he is, beginning it all +over again." No, I am not. I am a little ashamed of my former letters, +and am writing to tell you so. My letters, if I write any, will be quite +different in the future, thanks to your candour. Your letter from +Rapallo cured me; like a surgeon's knife, it took out the ulcer that was +eating my life away. The expression will seem exaggerated, I know; but +let it remain. You no doubt felt that I was in ignorance of my own state +of feelings regarding you, and you wrote just such a letter as would +force me to look into my heart and to discover who I really was. You +felt that you could help me to some knowledge of myself by telling me +about yourself. + +'The shock on reading your confession--for I look upon your Rapallo +letter as one--was very great, for on reading it I felt that a good deal +that I had written to you about the salvation of your soul was inspired, +not by any pure fear that I had done anything that might lose a soul to +God, but by pure selfishness. I did not dare to write boldly that I +loved yourself, and would always love you; I wore a mask and a disguise, +and in order to come to terms with myself I feel it necessary to confess +to you; otherwise all the suffering I have endured would be wasted. + +'But this is not all my confession; worse still remains. I have +discovered that when I spoke against you in church, and said things that +caused you to leave the parish, I did not do so, as I thought, because I +believed that the morality of my parish must be maintained at any cost. +I know now that jealousy--yes, sensual jealousy--prompted me. And when I +went to my sisters to ask them to appoint you to the post of +music-teacher in their school, I did not do so for their sake, but for +my own, because I wished to have you back in the parish. But I do not +wish you to think that when I wrote about atonement I wrote what I knew +to be untrue. I did not; the truth was hidden from me. Nor did I wish to +get you back to the parish in order that I might gratify my passion. All +these things were very vague, and I didn't understand myself until now. +I never had any experience of life till I met you. And is it not curious +that one should know so little of one's self, for I might have gone down +to my grave without knowing how false I was at heart, if I had not been +stricken down with a great illness. + +'One day, Catherine told me that the lake was frozen over, and, as I had +been within doors a long while, she advised me to go out and see the +boys sliding on the ice. Her advice put an idea into my head, that I +might take out my skates and skate recklessly without trying to avoid +the deeper portions where the ice was likely to be thin, for I was weary +of life, and knowing that I could not go back upon the past, and that no +one would ever love me, I wished to bring my suffering to an end. You +will wonder why I did not think of the sufferings that I might have +earned for myself in the next world. I had suffered so much that I could +think of nothing but the present moment. God was good, and he saved me, +for as I stood irresolute before a piece of ice which I knew wouldn't +bear me, I felt a great sickness creeping over me. I returned home, and +for several days the doctor could not say whether I would live or die. +You remember Catherine, my servant? She told me that the only answer the +doctor would give her was that if I were not better within a certain +time there would be no hope of my recovery. At the end of the week he +came into my room. Catherine was waiting outside, and I hear that she +fell on her knees to thank God when the doctor said: "Yes, he is a +little better; if there's no relapse he'll live." + +'After a severe illness one is alone with one's self, the whole of one's +life sings in one's head like a song, and listening to it, I learned +that it was jealousy that prompted me to speak against you, and not any +real care for the morality of my parish. I discovered, too, that my +moral ideas were not my own. They were borrowed from others, and badly +assimilated. I remembered, too, how at Maynooth the tradition was always +to despise women, and in order to convince myself I used to exaggerate +this view, and say things that made my fellow-students look at me +askance, if not with suspicion. But while dozing through long +convalescent hours many things hitherto obscure to me became clear, and +it seems now to me to be clearly wrong to withhold our sympathy from any +side of life. It seems to me that it is only by our sympathy we can do +any good at all. God gave us our human nature; we may misuse and degrade +our nature, but we must never forget that it came originally from God. + +'What I am saying may not be in accordance with current theology, but I +am not thinking of theology, but of the things that were revealed to me +during my sickness. It was through my fault that you met Mr. Walter +Poole, and I must pray to God that he will bring you back to the fold. I +shall pray for you both. I wish you all happiness, and I thank you for +the many kind things you have said, for the good advice you have given +me. You are quite right: I want a change. You advise me to go to Italy, +and you are right to advise me to go there, for my heart yearns for +Italy. But I dare not go; for I still feel that if I left my parish I +should never return to it; and if I were to go away and not return a +great scandal would be caused, and I am more than ever resolved not to +do anything to grieve the poor people, who have been very good to me, +and whose interests I have neglected this long while. + +'I send this letter to Beechwood Hall, where you will find it on your +return. As I have already said, you need not answer it; no good will +come by answering it. In years to come, perhaps, when we are both +different, we may meet again. + +'OLIVER GOGARTY.' + + +_From Miss Nora Glynn to Father Oliver Gogarty._ + +'IMPERIAL HOTEL, CAIRO, EGYPT, + +'_May_ 5, 19--. + +'DEAR FATHER GOGARTY, + +'By the address on the top of this sheet of paper you will see that I +have travelled a long way since you last heard from me, and ever since +your letter has been following me about from hotel to hotel. It is lucky +that it has caught me up in Egypt, for we are going East to visit +countries where the postal service has not yet been introduced. We leave +here to-morrow. If your letter had been a day later it would have missed +me; it would have remained here unclaimed--unless, indeed, we come back +this way, which is not likely. You see what a near thing it was; and as +I have much to say to you, I should be sorry not to have had an +opportunity of writing. + +'Your last letter put many thoughts into my head, and made me anxious to +explain many things which I feel sure you do not know about my conduct +since I left London, and the letters I have written to you. Has it not +often seemed strange to you that we go through life without ever being +able to reveal the soul that is in us? Is it because we are ashamed, or +is it that we do not know ourselves? It is certainly a hard task to +learn the truth about ourselves, and I appreciate the courage your last +letter shows; you have faced the truth, and having learned it, you write +it to me in all simplicity. I like you better now, Oliver Gogarty, than +I ever did before, and I always liked you. But it seems to me that to +allow you to confess yourself without confessing myself, without +revealing the woman's soul in me as you have revealed the man's soul in +yourself, would be unworthy. + +'Our destinies got somehow entangled, there was a wrench, the knot was +broken, and the thread was wound upon another spool. The unravelling of +the piece must have perplexed you, and you must have wondered why the +shape and the pattern should have passed suddenly away into thread +again, and then, after a lapse of time, why the weaving should have +begun again. + +'You must have wondered why I wrote to you, and you must have wondered +why I forgave you for the wrong you did me. I guessed that our +friendship when I was in the parish was a little more than the platonic +friendship that you thought it was, so when you turned against me, and +were unkind, I found an excuse for you. When my hatred was bitterest, I +knew somehow, at the back of my mind--for I only allowed myself to think +of it occasionally--that you acted from--there is but one word--jealousy +(not a pretty word from your point of view); and it must have shocked +you, as a man and as a priest, to find that the woman whom you thought +so much of, and whose society gave you so much pleasure (I know the +times we passed together were as pleasant to you as they were to me), +should suddenly without warning appear in a totally different light, and +in a light which must have seemed to you mean and sordid. The discovery +that I was going to have a baby threw me suddenly down from the pedestal +on which you had placed me; your idol was broken, and your feelings--for +you are one of those men who feel deeply--got the better of you, and you +indulged in a few incautious words in your church. + +'I thought of these things sometimes, not often, I admit, in the little +London lodging where I lived till my baby was born, seeing my gown in +front getting shorter, and telling lies to good Mrs. Dent about the +husband whom I said was abroad, whom I was expecting to return. That was +a miserable time, but we won't talk of it any more. When Father O'Grady +showed me the letter that you wrote him, I forgave you in a way. A woman +forgives a man the wrongs he does when these wrongs are prompted by +jealousy, for, after all, a woman is never really satisfied if a man is +not a little jealous. His jealousy may prove inconvenient, and she may +learn to hate it and think it an ugly thing and a crooked thing, but, +from her point of view, love would not be complete without it. + +'I smiled, of course, when I got your letter telling me that you had +been to your sisters to ask them if they would take me as a +schoolmistress in the convent, and I walked about smiling, thinking of +your long innocent drive round the lake. I can see it all, dear man that +you are, thinking you could settle everything, and that I would return +to Ireland to teach barefooted little children their Catechism and their +A, B, C. How often has the phrase been used in our letters! It was a +pretty idea of yours to go to your sisters; you did not know then that +you cared for me--you only thought of atonement. I suppose we must +always be deceived. Mr. Poole says self-deception is the very law of +life. We live enveloped in self-deception as in a film; now and again +the film breaks like a cloud and the light shines through. We veil our +eyes, for we do not like the light. It is really very difficult to tell +the truth, Father Gogarty; I find it difficult now to tell you why I +wrote all these letters. Because I liked you? Yes, and a little bit +because I wished you to suffer; I don't think I shall ever get nearer +the truth than that. But when I asked you to meet us abroad, I did so in +good faith, for you are a clever man, and Mr. Poole's studies would +please you. At the back of my mind I suppose I thought to meet him +would do you good; I thought, perhaps, that he might redeem you from +some conventions and prejudices. I don't like priests; the priest was +the only thing about you I never liked. Was it in some vain, +proselytizing idea that I invited you? Candidly, I don't know, and I +don't think I ever shall. We know so very little about this world that +it seems to me waste of time to think about the next. My notion is that +the wisest plan is to follow the mood of the moment, with an object more +or less definite in view.... Nothing is worth more than that. I am at +the present moment genuinely interested in culture, and therefore I did +not like at all the book you sent me, "The Imitation," and I wrote to +tell you to put it by, to come abroad and see pictures and statues in a +beautiful country where people do not drink horrid porter, but nice +wine, and where Sacraments are left to the old people who have nothing +else to interest them. I suppose it was a cruel, callous letter, but I +did not mean it so; I merely wanted to give you a glimpse of my new life +and my new point of view. As for this letter, Heaven knows how you will +take it--whether you will hate me for it or like me; but since you wrote +quite frankly to me, confessing yourself from end to end, I feel bound +to tell you everything I know about myself--and since I left Ireland I +have learned a great deal about myself and about life. Perhaps I should +have gone on writing to you if Mr. Poole had not one day said that no +good would come of this long correspondence; he suspected I was a +disturbing influence, and, as you were determined to live in Ireland, +he said it were better that you should live in conventions and +prejudices, without them your life would be impossible. + +'Then came your last letter, and it showed me how right Mr. Poole was. +Nothing remains now but to beg your forgiveness for having disturbed +your life. The disturbance is, perhaps, only a passing one. You may +recover your ideas--the ideas that are necessary to you--or you may go +on discovering the truth, and in the end may perhaps find a way whereby +you may leave your parish without causing scandal. To be quite truthful, +that is what I hope will happen. However this may be, I hope if we ever +meet again it will not be till you have ceased to be a priest. But all +this is a long way ahead. We are going East, and shall not be back for +many months; we are going to visit the buried cities in Turkestan. I do +not know if you have ever heard about these cities. They were buried in +sand somewhere about a thousand years ago, and some parts have been +disinterred lately. Vaults were broken into in search of treasure. Gold +and precious stones were discovered, but far more valuable than the gold +and silver, so says Mr. Poole, are certain papyri now being deciphered +by the learned professors of Berlin. + +'You know the name of Mr. Poole's book, "The Source of the Christian +River"? He had not suspected that its source went further back than +Palestine, but now he says that some papyri may be found that will take +it far back into Central Asia. + +'I am going with him on this quest. It sounds a little absurd, doesn't +it? my going in quest of the Christian river? But if one thinks for a +moment, one thing is as absurd as another. Do you know, I find it +difficult to take life seriously, and I walk about the streets thinking +of you, Father Gogarty, and the smile that will come over your face, +half angry, half pleased, when you read that your schoolmistress is +going to Central Asia in quest of the Christian river. What will you be +doing all this time? You say that you cannot leave your parish because +you fear to give scandal; you fear to pain the poor people, who have +been good to you and who have given you money, and your scruple is a +noble one; I appreciate and respect it. But we must not think entirely +of our duties to others; we must think of our duties to ourselves. Each +one must try to realize himself--I mean that we must try to bring the +gifts that Nature gave us to fruition. Nature has given you many gifts: +I wonder what will become of you? + +'Very sincerely yours, + +'NORA GLYNN.' + + +'Good God, how I love that woman!' the priest said, awaking from his +reverie, for the clock told him that he had sat for nearly +three-quarters of an hour, her letter in his hand, after having read it. +And lying back in his armchair, his hands clasped, his eyes fixed on the +window, listening to the birds singing in the vine--it was already in +leaf, and the shadows of the leaves danced across the carpet--he sought +to define that sense of delight--he could find no other words for +it--which she exhaled unconsciously as a flower exhales its perfume, +that joy of life which she scattered with as little premeditation as the +birds scattered their songs. But though he was constantly seeking some +new form of expression of her charm, he always came back to the words +'sense of delight.' Sometimes he added that sense of delight which we +experience when we go out of the house on an April morning and find +everything growing about us, the sky wilful and blue, and the clouds +going by, saying, 'Be happy, as we are.' + +She was so different from every other woman. All other women were plain +instincts, come into the world for the accomplishment of things that +women had accomplished for thousands of years. Other women think as +their mothers thought, and as their daughters will think, expressing the +thoughts of the countless generations behind and in front of them. But +this woman was moved merely by impulses; and what is more inexplicable +than an impulse? What is the spring but an impulse? and this woman was +mysterious, evanescent as its breath, with the same irresponsible +seduction. He was certain that she was at last clear to him, though she +might become dark to him again. One day she had come to gather flowers, +and while arranging her posy she said casually: 'You are a ruler in this +parish; you direct it, the administration of the parish is your +business, and I am the little amusement that you turn to when your +business is done.' He had not known how to answer her. In this way her +remarks often covered him with confusion. She just thought as she +pleased, and spoke as she pleased, and he returned to his idea that she +was more like the primitive woman than anybody else. + +Pondering on her words for the hundredth time, they seemed to him +stranger than ever. That any human being should admit that she was but +the delight of another's life seemed at first only extraordinary, but if +one considered her words, it seemed to signify knowledge--latent, no +doubt--that her beauty was part of the great agency. Her words implied +that she was aware of her mission. It was her unconscious self that +spoke, and it was that which gave significance to her words. + +His thoughts melted into nothingness, and when he awoke from his reverie +he was thinking that Nora Glynn had come into his life like a fountain, +shedding living water upon it, awakening it. And taking pleasure in the +simile, he said, 'A fountain better than anything else expresses this +natural woman,' controlled, no doubt, by a law, but one hidden from him. +'A fountain springs out of earth into air; it sings a tune that cannot +be caught and written down in notes; the rising and falling water is +full of iridescent colour, and to the wilting roses the fountain must +seem not a natural thing, but a spirit, and I too think of her as a +spirit.' And his thoughts falling away again he became vaguely but +intensely conscious of all the beauty and grace and the enchantment of +the senses that appeared to him in the name of Nora Glynn. + +At that moment Catherine came into the room. 'No, not now,' he said; and +he went into the garden and through the wicket at the other end, +thinking tenderly how he had gone out last year on a day just like the +present day, trying to keep thoughts of her out of his mind. + +The same fifteenth of May! But last year the sky was low and full of +cotton-like clouds; and he remembered how the lake warbled about the +smooth limestone shingle, and how the ducks talked in the reeds, how the +reeds themselves seemed to be talking. This year the clouds lifted; +there was more blue in the sky, less mist upon the water, and it was +this day last year that sorrow began to lap about his heart like soft +lakewater. He thought then that he was grieving deeply, but since last +year he had learned all that a man could know of grief. For last year he +was able to take an interest in the spring, to watch for the +hawthorn-bloom; but this year he did not trouble to look their way. +What matter whether they bloomed a week earlier or a week later? As a +matter of fact they were late, the frost having thrown them back, and +there would be no flowers till June. How beautifully the tasselled +branches of the larches swayed, throwing shadows on the long May grass! +'And they are not less beautiful this year, though they are less +interesting to me,' he said. + +He wandered through the woods, over the country, noting the different +signs of spring, for, in spite of his sorrow, he could not but admire +the slender spring. He could not tell why, perhaps because he had always +associated Nora with the gaiety of the spring-time. She was thin like +the spring, and her laughter was blithe like the spring. She seemed to +him like a spirit, and isn't the spring like a spirit? She was there in +the cow-parsley just coming up, and the sight of the campions between +the white spangles reminded him of the pink flowers she wore in her hat. +The underwood was full of bluebells, but her eyes were not blue. The +aspens were still brown, but in a month the dull green leaves, silvery +underneath, would be fluttering at the end of their long stems. And the +continual agitation of the aspen-leaf seemed to him rather foolish, +reminding him of a weak-minded woman clamouring for sympathy always. The +aspen was an untidy tree; he was not sure that he liked the tree, and if +one is in doubt whether one likes or dislikes, the chances are that one +dislikes. Who would think of asking himself if he liked beech-trees, or +larches, or willows? A little later he stood lost in admiration of a +line of willows all a-row in front of a stream; they seemed to him like +girls curtseying, and the delicacy of the green and yellow buds induced +him to meditate on the mysteries that common things disclose. + +Seeing a bird disappear into a hole in the wall, he climbed up. The bird +pecked at him, for she was hatching. 'A starling,' he said. In the field +behind his house, under the old hawthorn-tree, an amiable-looking donkey +had given birth to a foal, and he watched the little thing, no bigger +than a sheep, covered with long gray hair ... There were some +parishioners he would be sorry to part with, and there was Catherine. If +he went away he would never see her again, nor those who lived in the +village. All this present reality would fade, his old church, +surrounded with gravestones and stunted Scotch firs, would become like a +dream, every year losing a little in colour and outline. He was going, +he did not know when, but he was going. For a long time the feeling had +been gathering in him that he was going, and her letter increased that +feeling. He would go just as soon as a reputable way of leaving his +parish was revealed to him. + +By the help of his reason he could not hope to find out the way. Nothing +seemed more impossible than that a way should be found for him to leave +his parish without giving scandal; but however impossible things may +seem to us, nothing is impossible to Nature. He must put his confidence +in Nature; he must listen to her. She would tell him. And he lay all the +afternoon listening to the reeds and the ducks talking together in the +lake. Very often the wood was like a harp; a breeze touched the strings, +and every now and then the murmur seemed about to break into a little +tune, and as if in emulation, or because he remembered his part in the +music, a blackbird, perched near to his mate, whose nest was in the +hawthorns growing out of the tumbled wall, began to sing a joyful lay in +a rich round contralto, soft and deep as velvet. 'All nature,' he said, +'is talking or singing. This is talking and singing time. But my heart +can speak to no one, and I seek places where no one will come.' And he +began to ask if God would answer his prayer if he prayed that he might +die. + +The sunlit grass, already long and almost ready for the scythe, was +swept by shadows of the larches, those long, shelving boughs hung with +green tassels, moving mysteriously above him. Birds came and went, each +on its special errand. Never was Nature more inveigling, more restful. +He shut his eyes, shapes passed, dreams filled the interspaces. Little +thoughts began. Why had he never brought her here? A memory of her +walking under these larches would be delightful. The murmur of the +boughs dissipated his dreams or changed them, or brought new ones; his +consciousness grew fainter, and he could not remember what his last +thoughts were when he opened his eyes. + +And then he wandered out of the wood, into the sunlit country, along the +dusty road, trying to take an interest in everyone whom he met. It was +fairday. He met drovers and chatted to them about the cattle; he heard a +wonderful story about a heifer that one of them had sold, and that found +her way back home again, twenty-five miles, and a little further on a +man came across the fields towards him with a sheep-dog at his heels, a +beautiful bitch who showed her teeth prettily when she was spoken to; +she had long gold hair, and it was easy to see that she liked to be +admired. + +'They're all alike, the feminine sex,' the priest thought. 'She's as +pretty as Nora, and acts very much the same.' + +He walked on again, stopping to speak with everybody, glad to listen to +every story. One was of a man who lived by poaching. He hadn't slept in +a bed for years, but lay down in the mountains and the woods. He +trapped rabbits and beat people; sometimes he enticed boys far away, and +then turned upon them savagely. Well, the police had caught him again, +and this time he wouldn't get off with less than five years. Listening +to Mike Mulroy's talk, Father Oliver forgot his own grief. A little +further on they came upon a cart filled with pigs. The cart broke down +suddenly, and the pigs escaped in all directions, and the efforts of a +great number of country people were directed to collecting them. Father +Oliver joined in the chase, and it proved a difficult one, owing to the +density of the wood that the pigs had taken refuge in. At last he saw +them driven along the road, for it had been found impossible to mend the +cart, and at this moment Father Oliver began to think that he would like +to be a pig-driver, or better still, a poacher like Carmody. A wandering +mood was upon him. Anything were better than to return to his parish, +and the thought of the confessions he would have to hear on Saturday +night and of the Mass he would have to say on Sunday was bitter indeed, +for he had ceased to believe in these things. To say Mass, believing the +Mass to be but a mummery, was detestable. To remain in his parish meant +a constant degradation of himself. When a parishioner sent to ask him to +attend a sick call, he could barely bring himself to anoint the dying +man. Some way out of the dilemma must be found, and stopping suddenly so +that he might think more clearly, he asked himself why he did not wander +out of the parish instead of following the path which led him back to +the lake? thinking that it was because it is hard to break with habits, +convictions, prejudices. The beautiful evening did not engage his +thoughts, and he barely listened to the cuckoo, and altogether forgot to +notice the bluebells, campions, and cow-parsley; and it was not till he +stood on the hilltop overlooking the lake that he began to recover his +self-possession. + +'The hills,' he said, 'are turned hither and thither, not all seen in +profile, and that is why they are so beautiful.' + +The sunlit crests and the shadow-filled valleys roused him. In the sky a +lake was forming, the very image and likeness of the lake under the +hill. One glittered like silver, the other like gold, and so wonderful +was this celestial lake that he began to think of immortals, of an +assembly of goddesses waiting for their gods, or a goddess waiting on an +island for some mortal, sending bird messengers to him. A sort of pagan +enchantment was put upon him, and he rose up from the ferns to see an +evening as fair as Nora and as fragrant. He tried to think of the colour +of her eyes, which were fervid and oracular, and of her hands, which +were long and curved, with fragile fingers, of her breath, which was +sweet, and her white, even teeth. The evening was like her, as subtle +and as persuasive, and the sensation of her presence became so clear +that he shut his eyes, feeling her about him--as near to him as if she +lay in his arms, just as he had felt her that night in the wood, but +then she was colder and more remote. He walked along the foreshore +feeling like an instrument that had been tuned. His perception seemed to +have been indefinitely increased, and it seemed to him as if he were in +communion with the stones in the earth and the clouds in heaven; it +seemed to him as if the past and the future had become one. + +The moment was one of extraordinary sweetness; never might such a moment +happen in his life again. And he watched the earth and sky enfolded in +one tender harmony of rose and blue--blue fading to gray, and the lake +afloat amid vague shores, receding like a dream through sleep. + + + + +XII + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_June_ 18, 19--. + +'Thoughts are rising up in my mind, and I am eager to write them down +quickly, and with as little consideration as possible. Perhaps my +thoughts will seem trivial when I have written them, but the emotion +that inspired them was very wonderful and overpowering. I am, as it +were, propelled to my writing-table. I must write: my emotion must find +expression. Even if I were sure you would not get this letter for +months, I should write it. I believe if I knew you would never get it, I +should write. But if I send it to Beechwood Hall it will be forwarded, I +suppose, for you will not remain whole months without hearing from +Europe.... In any case, you will get this letter on your return, and it +will ease my heart to write it. Above all things, I would have you know +that the report that I was drowned while bathing is not true, for a +report to this effect will certainly find its way into the local papers, +and in these days, once a piece of news gets reported, it flies along +from newspaper to newspaper, and newspapers have a knack of straying +into our hands when they contain a disagreeable item of news. + +'You will remember how the interview with Mr. Poole, published in +_Illustrated England_, came into my hands. That was the first number of +_Illustrated England_ I had seen. Father O'Grady brought it here and +left it upon the table, and only the fate that is over us knows why. In +the same way, a paper containing a report of my supposed drowning may +reach you when you return to England, and, as I do not want you to think +that I have gone out of this life, I am writing to tell you that the +report of my death is untrue, or, to speak more exactly, it will not be +true, if my arms and legs can make it a false report. These lines will +set you wondering if I have taken leave of my senses. Read on, and my +sanity will become manifest. Some day next month I intend to swim across +the lake, and you will, I think, appreciate this adventure. You praised +my decision not to leave my parish because of the pain it would give the +poor people. You said that you liked me better for it, and it is just +because my resolve has not wavered that I have decided to swim across +the lake. Only in this way can I quit my parish without leaving a +scandalous name behind me. Moreover, the means whereby I was enlightened +are so strange that I find it difficult to believe that Providence is +not on my side. + +'Have not men always believed in bird augury from the beginning of time? +and have not prognostications a knack of coming true? I feel sure that +you would think as I do if what had happened to me happened to you. Yet +when you read this letter you will say, "No sooner has he disentangled +himself from one superstition than he drops into another!" However this +may be, I cannot get it out of my head that the strangely ill-fated bird +that came out of the wood last February was sent for a purpose. But I +have not told you about that bird. In my last letter my mind was +occupied by other things, and there was no reason why I should have +mentioned it, for it seemed at the time merely a curious accident--no +more curious than the hundred and one accidents that happen every day. I +believe these things are called coincidences. But to the story. The day +I went out skating there was a shooting-party in Derrinrush, and at the +close of day, in the dusk, a bird got up from the sedge, and one of the +shooters, mistaking it for a woodcock, fired, wounding the bird. + +'We watched it till we saw it fall on the shore of Castle Island, and, +thinking that it would linger there for days, dying by inches, I started +off with the intention of saving it from a lingering death, but a shot +had done that. One pellet would have been enough, for the bird was but a +heap of skin and feathers, not to be wondered at, its legs being tied +together with a piece of stout string, twisted and tied so that it would +last for years. And this strangely ill-fated curlew set me thinking if +it were a tame bird escaped from captivity, but tame birds lose quickly +their instinct of finding food. "It must have been freed yesterday or +the day before," I said to myself, and in pondering how far a bird might +fly in the night, this curlew came to occupy a sort of symbolic +relation towards my past and my future life, and it was in thinking of +it that the idea occurred to me that, if I could cross the lake on the +ice, I might swim it in the summer-time when the weather was warm, +having, of course, hidden a bundle of clothes amid the rocks on the +Joycetown side. My clerical clothes will be found on this side, and the +assumption will be, of course, that I swam out too far. + +'This way of escape seemed at first fantastic and unreal, but it has +come to seem to me the only practical way out of my difficulty. In no +other way can I leave the parish without giving pain to the poor people, +who have been very good to me. And you, who appreciated my scruples on +this point, will, I am sure, understand the great pain it would give my +sisters if I were to leave the Church. It would give them so much pain +that I shrink from trying to imagine it. They would look upon themselves +as disgraced, and the whole family. My disappearance from the parish +would ever do them harm--Eliza's school would suffer for sure. This may +seem an exaggeration, but certainly Eliza would never quite get over it. +If this way of escape had not been revealed to me, I don't think I ever +should have found courage to leave, and if I didn't leave I should die. +Life is so ordered that a trace remains of every act, but the trace is +not always discovered, and I trust you implicitly. You will never show +this letter to anyone; you will never tell anyone. + +'The Church would allow me, no doubt, to pick up a living as best I +could, and would not interfere with me till I said something or wrote +something that the Church thought would lessen its power; then the cry +of unfrocked priest would be raised against me, and calumny, the great +ecclesiastical weapon, would be used. I do not know what my future life +will be: my past has been so beset with misfortune that, once I reach +the other side, I shall never look back. I cannot find words to tell you +of the impatience with which I wait the summer-time, the fifteenth of +July, when the moon will be full. I cannot think what would have +happened to me if I had stayed at home the afternoon that the curlew was +shot; something would have happened, for we cannot go on always +sacrificing ourselves. We can sacrifice ourselves for a time, but we +cannot sacrifice ourselves all our life long, unless we begin to take +pleasure in the immolation of self, and then it is no longer sacrifice. +Something must have happened, or I should have gone mad. + +'I had suffered so much in the parish. I think the places in which we +have suffered become distasteful to us, and the instinct to wander takes +us. A migratory bird goes, or dies of home-sickness; home is not always +where we are born--it is among ideas that are dear to us: and it is +exile to live among people who do not share our ideas. Something must +have happened to me. I can think of nothing except suicide or what did +happen, for I could never have made up my mind to give pain to the poor +people and to leave a scandalous name behind; still less could I +continue to administer Sacraments that I ceased to believe in. I can +imagine nothing more shameful than the life of a man who continues his +administrations after he has ceased to believe in them, especially a +Catholic priest, so precise and explicit are the Roman Sacraments. A +very abject life it is to murmur _Absolve te_ over the heads of +parishioners, and to place wafers on their tongues, when we have ceased +to believe that we have power to forgive sins and to turn biscuits into +God. A layman may have doubts, and continue to live his life as before, +without troubling to take the world into his confidence, but a priest +may not. The priest is a paid agent and the money an unbelieving priest +receives, if he be not inconceivably hardened in sin, must be hateful to +him, and his conscience can leave him no rest. + +'At first I used to suspect my conversion, and began to think it +unseemly that a man should cease to believe that we must renounce this +life in order to gain another, without much preliminary study of the +Scriptures; I began to look upon myself as a somewhat superficial person +whose religious beliefs yielded before the charm of a pretty face and +winsome personality, but this view of the question no longer seems +superficial. I believe now that the superficial ones are those who think +that it is only in the Scriptures that we may discover whether we have a +right to live. Our belief in books rather than in Nature is one of +humanity's most curious characteristics, and a very irreligious one, it +seems to me; and I am glad to think that it was your sunny face that +raised up my crushed instincts, that brought me back to life, and ever +since you have been associated in my mind with the sun and the +spring-tide. + +'One day in the beginning of March, coming back from a long walk on the +hills, I heard the bleat of the lamb and the impatient cawing of the +rook that could not put its nest together in the windy branches, and as +I stopped to listen it seemed to me that something passed by in the +dusk: the spring-tide itself seemed to be fleeting across the tillage +towards the scant fields. As the spring-tide advanced I discovered a new +likeness to you in the daffodil; it is so shapely a flower. I should be +puzzled to give a reason, but it reminds me of antiquity, and you were +always a thing divorced from the Christian ideal. While mourning you, my +poor instincts discovered you in the wind-shaken trees, and in the +gaiety of the sun, and the flowers that May gives us. I shall be gone at +the end of July, when the carnations are in bloom, but were I here I am +certain many of them would remind me of you. There have been saints who +have loved Nature, but I always wondered how it was so, for Nature is +like a woman. I might have read the Scriptures again and again, and all +the arguments that Mr. Poole can put forward, without my faith being in +the least shaken. When the brain alone thinks, the thinking is very thin +and impoverished. It seems to me that the best thinking is done when the +whole man thinks, the flesh and the brain together, and for the whole +man to think the whole man must live; and the life I have lived hitherto +has been a thin life, for my body lived only. And not even all my body. +My mind and body were separated: neither were of any use to me. I owe +everything to you. My case cannot be defined merely as that of a priest +who gave up his religion because a pretty woman came by. He who says +that does not try to understand; he merely contents himself with +uttering facile commonplace. What he has to learn is the great oneness +in Nature. There is but one element, and we but one of its many +manifestations. If this were not so, why should your whiteness and +colour and gaiety remind me always of the spring-time? + +'My pen is running fast, I hardly know what I am writing, but it seems +to me that I am beginning to see much clearer. The mists are dissolving, +and life emerges like the world at daybreak. I am thinking now of an old +decrepit house with sagging roof and lichen-covered walls, and all the +doors and windows nailed up. Every generation nailed up a door or a +window till all were nailed up. In the dusty twilight creatures wilt and +pray. About the house the sound of shutters creaking on rusty hinges +never ceases. Your hand touched one, and the shutters fell, and I found +myself looking upon the splendid sun shining on hills and fields, wooded +prospects with rivers winding through the great green expanses. At first +I dared not look, and withdrew into the shadow tremblingly; but the +light drew me forth again, and now I look upon the world without fear. I +am going to leave that decrepit dusty house and mix with my fellows, and +maybe blow a horn on the hillside to call comrades together. My hands +and eyes are eager to know what I have become possessed of. I owe to +you my liberation from prejudices and conventions. Ideas are passed on. +We learn more from each other than from books. I was unconsciously +affected by your example. You dared to stretch out both hands to life +and grasp it; you accepted the spontaneous natural living wisdom of your +instincts when I was rolled up like a dormouse in the dead wisdom of +codes and formulas, dogmas and opinions. I never told you how I became a +priest. I did not know until quite lately. I think I began to suspect my +vocation when you left the parish. + +'I remember walking by the lake just this time last year, with the story +of my life singing in my head, and you in the background beating the +time. You know, we had a shop in Tinnick, and I had seen my father +standing before a high desk by a dusty window year after year, selling +half-pounds of tea, hanks of onions, and farm implements, and felt that +if I married my cousin, Annie McGrath, our lives would reproduce those +of my father and mother in every detail. I couldn't undertake the job, +and for that began to believe I had a vocation for the priesthood; but I +can see now that it was not piety that sent me to Maynooth, but a +certain spirit of adventure, a dislike of the commonplace, of the +prosaic--that is to say, of the repetition of the same things. I was +interested in myself, in my own soul, and I did not want to accept +something that was outside of myself, such as the life of a shopman +behind a counter, or that of a clerk of the petty sessions, or the habit +of a policeman. These were the careers that were open to me, and when I +was hesitating, wondering if I should be able to buy up the old mills +and revive the trade in Tinnick, my sister Eliza reminded me that there +had always been a priest in the family. The priesthood seemed to offer +opportunities of realizing myself, of preserving the spirit within me. +It offered no such opportunities to me. I might as well have become a +policeman, and all that I have learned since is that everyone must try +to cling to his own soul; that is the only binding law. If we are here +for anything, it is surely for that. + +'But one does not free one's self from habits and ideas, that have grown +almost inveterate, without much pain and struggle; one falls back many +times, and there are always good reasons for following the rut. We +believe that the rutted way leads us somewhere: it leads us nowhere, the +rutted way is only a seeming; for each man received his truth in the +womb. You say in your letter that our destinies got entangled, and that +the piece that was being woven ran out into thread, and was rewound upon +another spool. It seemed to you and it seemed to me that there is no +pattern; we think there is none because Nature's pattern is +undistinguishable to our eyes, her looms are so vast, but sometimes even +our little sight can follow a design here and there. And does it not +seem to you that, after all, there was some design in what has happened? +You came and released me from conventions, just as the spring releases +the world from winter rust. + +'A strange idea has come into my mind, and I cannot help smiling at the +topsyturvydom of Nature, or what seems to be topsyturvydom. You, who +began by living in your instincts, are now wandering beyond Palestine in +search of scrolls; and I, who began my life in scrolls, am now going to +try to pick up the lost thread of my instincts in some great commercial +town, in London or New York. My life for a long time will be that of +some poor clerk or some hack journalist, picking up thirty shillings a +week when he is in luck. I imagine myself in a threadbare suit of +clothes edging my way along the pavement, nearing a great building, and +making my way to my desk, and, when the day's work is done, returning +home along the same pavement to a room high up among the rafters, close +to the sky, in some cheap quarter. + +'I do not doubt my ability to pick up a living--it will be a shameful +thing indeed if I cannot; for the poor curlew with its legs tied +together managed to live somehow, and cannot I do as much? And I have +taken care that no fetters shall be placed upon my legs or chain about +my neck. Anything may happen--life is full of possibilities--but my +first concern must be how I may earn my living. To earn one's living is +an obligation that can only be dispensed with at one's own great risk. +What may happen afterwards, Heaven knows! I may meet you, or I may meet +another woman, or I may remain unmarried. I do not intend to allow +myself to think of these things; my thoughts are set on one thing +only--how to get to New York, and how I shall pick up a living when I +get there. Again I thank you for what you have done for me, for the +liberation you have brought me of body and mind. I need not have added +the words "body and mind," for these are not two things, but one thing. +And that is the lesson I have learned. Good-bye. + +'OLIVER GOGARTY.' + + + + +XIII + + +It would be a full moon on the fifteenth of July, and every night he +went out on the hillside to watch the horned moon swelling to a disc. + +And on the fifteenth, the day he had settled for his departure, as he +sat thinking how he would go down to the lake in a few hours, a letter +started to his mind which, as well as he could remember, was written in +a foolish, vainglorious mood--a stupid letter that must have made him +appear a fool in her eyes. Had he not said something about--The +thought eluded him; he could only remember the general tone of his +letter, and in it he seemed to consider Nora as a sort of medicine--a +cure for religion. + +He should have written her a simple little letter, telling her that he +was leaving Ireland because he had suffered a great deal, and would +write to her from New York, whereas he had written her the letter of a +booby. And feeling he must do something to rectify his mistake, he went +to his writing-table, but he had hardly put the pen to the paper when he +heard a step on the gravel outside his door. + +'Father Moran, your reverence.' + +'I see that I'm interrupting you. You're writing.' + +'No, I assure you.' + +'But you've got a pen in your hand.' + +'It can wait--a matter of no importance. Sit down.' + +'Now, you'll tell me if I'm in the way?' + +'My good man, why are you talking like that? Why should you be in the +way?' + +'Well, if you're sure you've nothing to do, may I stay to supper?' + +'To supper?' + +'But I see that I'm in the way.' + +'No; I tell you you're not in the way. And you're going to stay to +supper.' + +Father Oliver flung himself between Father Moran and the door; Father +Moran allowed himself to be led back to the armchair. Father Oliver took +the chair opposite him, for he couldn't send Moran away; he mustn't do +anything that would give rise to suspicion. + +'You're quite sure I'm not in the way--I'm not interfering with any +plans?' + +'Quite sure. I'm glad you have come this evening.' + +'Are you? Well, I had to come.' + +'You had to come!' + +'Yes, I had to come; I had to come to see if anything had happened. You +needn't look at me like that; I haven't been drinking, and I haven't +gone out of my mind. I can only tell you that I had to come to see you +this evening.' + +'And you don't know why?' + +'No, I don't; I can't tell you exactly why I've come. As I was reading +my breviary, walking up and down the road in front of the house, I felt +that I must see you. I never felt anything like it in my life before. I +had to come.' + +'And you didn't expect to find me?' + +'Well, I didn't. How did you guess that?' + +'You'd have hardly come all that way to find me sitting here in this +armchair.' + +'That's right. It wasn't sitting in that chair I expected to see you; I +didn't expect to see you at all--at least, I don't think I did. You see, +it was all very queer, for it was as if somebody had got me by the +shoulders. It was as if I were being pushed every yard of the road. +Something was running in my mind that I shouldn't see you again, or if I +did see you that it would be for the last time. You seemed to me as if +you were going away on a long journey.' + +'Was it dying or dead you saw me?' + +'That I can't say. If I said any more I shouldn't be telling the truth. +No, it wasn't the same feeling when I came to tell you I couldn't put up +with the loneliness any more--the night I came here roaring for drink. I +was thinking of myself then, and that you might save me or do something +for me--give me drink or cure me. I don't know which thought it was that +was running in my head, but I had to come to you all the same, just as I +had to come to you to-day. I say it was different, because then I was on +my own business; but this time it seemed to me that I was on yours. One +good turn deserves another, as they say; and something was beating in my +head that I could help you, serve as a stay; so I had to come. Where +should I be now if it were not for you? I can see you're thinking that +it was only nonsense that was running in my head, but you won't be +saying it was nonsense that brought me the night I came like a madman +roaring for drink. If there was a miracle that night, why shouldn't +there be a miracle to-night? And if a miracle ever happened in the +world, it happened that night, I'm thinking. Do you remember the dark +gray clouds tearing across the sky, and we walking side by side, I +trying to get away from you? I was that mad that I might have thrown you +into the bog-hole if the craving had not passed from me. And it was just +lifted from me as one might take the cap off one's head. You remember +the prayer we said, leaning over the bit of wall looking across the bog? +There was no lonesomeness that night coming home, Gogarty, though a +curlew might have felt a bit.' + +'A curlew!' + +'Well, there were curlews and plovers about, and a starving ass picking +grass between the road and the bog-hole. That night will be ever in my +mind. Where would I be now if it hadn't been that you kept on with me +and brought me back, cured? It wouldn't be a cassock that would be on my +back, but some old rag of a coat. There's nothing in this world, +Gogarty, more unlucky than a suspended priest. I think I can see myself +in the streets, hanging about some public-house, holding horses attached +to a cab-rank.' + +'Lord of Heaven, Moran! what are you coming here to talk to me in this +way for? The night you're speaking of was bad enough, but your memory of +it is worse. Nothing of what you're saying would have happened; a man +like you would be always able to pick up a living.' + +'And where would I be picking up a living if it weren't on a cab-rank, +or you either?' + +'Well, 'tis melancholy enough you are this evening.' + +'And all for nothing, for there you are, sitting in your old chair. I +see I've made a fool of myself.' + +'That doesn't matter. You see, if one didn't do what one felt like +doing, one would have remorse of conscience for ever after.' + +'I suppose so. It was very kind of you, Moran, to come all this way.' + +'What is it but a step? Three miles--' + +'And a half.' + +Moved by a febrile impatience, which he could not control, Father Oliver +got up from his chair. + +'Now, Moran, isn't it strange? I wonder how it was that you should have +come to tell me that you were going off to drink somewhere. You said you +were going to lie up in a public-house and drink for days, and yet you +didn't think of giving up the priesthood.' + +'What are you saying, Gogarty? Don't you know well enough I'd have been +suspended? Didn't I tell you that drink had taken that power over me +that, if roaring hell were open, and I sitting on the brink of it and a +table beside me with whisky on it, I should fill myself a glass?' + +'And knowing you were going down to hell?' + +'Yes, that night nothing would have stopped me. But, talking of hell, I +heard a good story yesterday. Pat Carabine was telling his flock last +Sunday of the tortures of the damned, and having said all he could about +devils and pitchforks and caldrons, he came to a sudden pause--a blank +look came into his face, and, looking round the church and seeing the +sunlight streaming through the door, his thoughts went off at a tangent. +"Now, boys," he said, "if this fine weather continues, I hope you'll be +all out in the bog next Tuesday bringing home my turf."' + +Father Oliver laughed, but his laughter did not satisfy Father Moran, +and he told how on another occasion Father Pat had finished his sermon +on hell by telling his parishioners that the devil was the landlord of +hell. 'And I leave yourself to imagine the groaning that was heard in +the church that morning, for weren't they all small tenants? But I'm +afraid my visit has upset you, Gogarty.' + +'How is that?' + +'You don't seem to enjoy a laugh like you used to.' + +'Well, I was thinking at that moment that I've heard you say that, even +though you gave way to drink, you never had any doubts about the reality +of the hell that awaited you for your sins.' + +'That's the way it is, Gogarty, one believes, but one doesn't act up to +one's belief. Human nature is inconsistent. Nothing is queerer than +human nature, and will you be surprised if I tell you that I believe I +was a better priest when I was drinking than I am now that I'm sober? I +was saying that human nature is very queer; and it used to seem queer to +myself. I looked upon drink as a sort of blackmail I paid to the devil +so that he might let me be a good priest in everything else. That's the +way it was with me, and there was more sense in the idea than you'd be +thinking, for when the drunken fit was over I used to pray as I have +never prayed since. If there was not a bit of wickedness in the world, +there would be no goodness. And as for faith, drink never does any harm +to one's faith whatsoever; there's only one thing that takes a man's +faith from him, and that is woman. You remember the expulsions at +Maynooth, and you know what they were for. Well, that sin is a bad one, +but I don't think it affects a man's faith any more than drink does. It +is woman that kills the faith in men.' + +'I think you're right: woman is the danger. The Church dreads her. Woman +is life.' + +'I don't quite understand you.' + +Catherine came into the room to lay the cloth, and Father Oliver asked +Father Moran to come out into the garden. It was now nearing its prime. +In a few days more the carnations would be all in bloom, and Father +Oliver pondered that very soon it would begin to look neglected. 'In a +year or two it will have drifted back to the original wilderness, to +briar and weed,' he said to himself; and he dwelt on his love of this +tiny plot of ground, with a wide path running down the centre, flower +borders on each side, and a narrow path round the garden beside the +hedge. The potato ridges, and the runners, and the cabbages came in the +middle. Gooseberry-bushes and currant-bushes grew thickly, there were +little apple-trees here and there, and in one corner the two large +apple-trees under which he sat and smoked his pipe in the evenings. + +'You're very snug here, smoking your pipe under your apple-trees.' + +'Yes, in a way; but I think I was happier where you are.' + +'The past is always pleasant to look upon.' + +'You think so?' + +The priests walked to the end of the garden, and, leaning on the wicket, +Father Moran said: + +'We've had queer weather lately--dull heavy weather. See how low the +swallows are flying. When I came up the drive, the gravel space in front +of the house was covered with them, the old birds feeding the young +ones.' + +'And you were noticing these things, and believing that Providence had +sent you here to bid me good-bye.' + +'Isn't it when the nerves are on a stretch that we notice little things +that don't concern us at all?' + +'Yes, Moran; you are right. I've never known you as wise as you are this +evening.' + +Catherine appeared in the kitchen door. She had come to tell them their +supper was ready. During the meal the conversation turned on the roofing +of the abbey and the price of timber, and when the tablecloth had been +removed the conversation swayed between the price of building materials +and the Archbishop's fear lest he should meet a violent death, as it had +been prophesied if he allowed a roof to be put upon Kilronan. + +'You know I don't altogether blame him, and I don't think anyone does at +the bottom of his heart, for what has been foretold generally comes to +pass sooner or later.' + +'The Archbishop is a good Catholic who believes in everything the Church +teaches--in the Divinity of our Lord, the Immaculate Conception, and the +Pope's indulgences. And why should he be disbelieving in that which has +been prophesied for generations about the Abbot of Kilronan?' + +'Don't you believe in these things?' + +'Does anyone know exactly what he believes? Does the Archbishop really +believe every day of the year and every hour of every day that the Abbot +of Kilronan will be slain on the highroad when a De Stanton is again +Abbot?' Father Oliver was thinking of the slip of the tongue he had been +guilty of before supper, when he said that the Church looks upon woman +as the real danger, because she is the life of the world. He shouldn't +have made that remark, for it might be remembered against him, and he +fell to thinking of something to say that would explain it away. + +'Well, Moran, we've had a pleasant evening; we've talked a good deal, +and you've said many pleasant things and many wise ones. We've never had +a talk that I enjoyed more, and I shall not forget it easily.' + +'How is that?' + +'Didn't you say that it isn't drink that destroys a man's faith, but +woman? And you said rightly, for woman is life.' + +'I was just about to ask you what you meant, when Catherine came in and +interrupted us.' + +'Love of woman means estrangement from the Church, because you have to +protect her and her children.' + +'Yes, that is so; that's how it works out. Now you won't be thinking me +a fool for having come to see you this evening, Gogarty? One never knows +when one's impulses are true and when they're false. If I hadn't come +the night when the drink craving was upon me, I shouldn't have been here +now.' + +'You did quite right to come, Moran; we've talked of a great many +things.' + +'I've never talked so plainly to anyone before; I wonder what made me +talk as I've been talking. We never talked like this before, did we, +Gogarty? And I wouldn't have talked to another as I've talked to you. I +shall never forget what I owe to you.' + +'You said you were going to leave the parish.' + +'I don't think I thought of anything except to burn myself up with +drink. I wanted to forget, and I saw myself walking ahead day after day, +drinking at every public-house.' + +'And just because I saved you, you thought you would come to save me?' + +'There was something of that in it. Gad! it's very queer; there's no +saying where things will begin and end. Pass me the tobacco, will you?' + +Father Moran began to fill his pipe, and when he had finished filling +it, he said: + +'Now I must be going, and don't be trying to keep me; I've stopped long +enough. If I were sent for a purpose--' + +'But you don't believe seriously, Moran, that you were sent for a +purpose?' Moran didn't answer, and his silence irritated Father Oliver, +and, determined to probe his curate's conscience, he said: 'Aren't you +satisfied now that it was only an idea of your own? You thought to find +me gone, and here I am sitting before you.' After waiting for some time +for Moran to speak, he said: 'You haven't answered me.' + +'What should I be answering?' + +'Do you still think you were sent for a purpose?' + +'Well, I do.' + +'You do?' + +The priests stood looking at each other for a while. + +'Can't you give a reason?' + +'No; I can give no reason. It's a feeling. I know I haven't reason on my +side. There you are before me.' + +'It's very queer.' + +He would have liked to have called back Moran. It seemed a pity to let +him go without having probed this matter to the bottom. He hadn't asked +him if he had any idea in his mind about the future, as to what was +going to happen; but it was too late now. 'Why did he come here +disturbing me with his beliefs,' he cried out, 'poisoning my will?' for +he had already begun to fear that Moran's visit might come between him +and his project. The wind sighed a little louder, and Father Oliver +said: 'I wouldn't be minding his coming here to warn me, though he did +say that it wasn't of his own will that he came, but something from the +outside that kept pushing him along the road--I wouldn't be minding all +that if this wind hadn't risen. But the omen may be a double one.' At +that moment the wind shook the trees about the house, and he fell to +thinking that if he had started to swim the lake that night he would be +now somewhere between Castle Island and the Joycetown shore, in the +deepest and windiest part of the lake. 'And pretty well tired I'd be at +the time. If I'd started to-night a corpse would be floating about by +now.' The wind grew louder. Father Oliver imagined the waves slapping in +his face, and then he imagined them slapping about the face of a corpse +drifting towards the Joycetown shore. + + + + +XIV + + +There was little sleep in him that night, and turning on his pillow, he +sought sleep vainly, getting up at last when the dawn looked through the +curtains. A wind was shaking the apple-trees, and he went back to bed, +thinking that if it did not drop suddenly he would not be able to swim +across the lake that evening. The hours passed between sleeping and +waking, thinking of the newspaper articles he would write when he got to +America, and dreaming of a fight between himself and an otter on the +shore of Castle Island. Awaking with a cry, he sat up, afraid to seek +sleep again lest he might dream of drowning men. 'A dream robs a man of +all courage,' and then falling back on his pillow, he said, 'Whatever my +dreams may be I shall go. Anything were better than to remain taking +money from the poor people, playing the part of a hypocrite.' + +And telling Catherine that he could not look through her accounts that +morning, he went out of the house to see what the lake was like. +'Boisterous enough; it would take a good swimmer to get across to-day. +Maybe the wind will drop in the afternoon.' + +The wind continued to rise, and next day he could only see white waves, +tossing trees, and clouds tumbling over the mountains. He sat alone in +his study staring at the lamp, the wind often awaking him from his +reverie; and one night he remembered suddenly that it was no longer +possible for him to cross the lake that month, even if the wind should +cease, for he required not only a calm, but a moonlight night. And going +out of the house, he walked about the hilltop, about the old thorn-bush, +his hands clasped behind his back. He stood watching the moon setting +high above the south-western horizon. But the lake--where was it? Had he +not known that a lake was there, he would hardly have been able to +discover one. All faint traces of one had disappeared, every shape was +lost in blue shadow, and he wondered if his desire to go had gone with +the lake. 'The lake will return,' he said, and next night he was on the +hillside waiting for the lake to reappear. And every night it emerged +from the shadow, growing clearer, till he could follow its winding +shores. 'In a few days, if this weather lasts, I shall be swimming out +there.' The thought crossed his mind that if the wind should rise again +about the time of the full moon he would not be able to cross that year, +for in September the water would be too cold for so long a swim. 'But it +isn't likely,' he said; 'the weather seems settled.' + +And the same close, blue weather that had prevailed before the storm +returned, the same diffused sunlight. + +'There is nothing so depressing,' the priest said, 'as seeing swallows +flying a few feet from the ground.' + +It was about eight o'clock--the day had begun to droop in his +garden--that he walked up and down the beds admiring his carnations. +Every now and again the swallows collected into groups of some six or +seven, and fled round the gables of his house shrieking. 'This is their +dinner-hour; the moths are about.' He wondered on, thinking Nora +lacking; for she had never appreciated that beautiful flower Miss +Shifner. But her ear was finer than his; she found her delight in music. + +A thought broke through his memories. He had forgotten to tell her he +would write if he succeeded in crossing the lake, and if he didn't write +she would never know whether he was living or dead. Perhaps it would be +better so. After hesitating a moment, the desire to write to her took +strong hold upon him, and he sought an excuse for writing. If he didn't +write, she might think that he remained in Garranard. She knew nothing +of Moran's visit, nor of the rising of the wind, nor of the waning of +the moon; and he must write to her about these things, for if he were +drowned she would think that God had willed it. But if he believed in +God's intervention, he should stay in his parish and pray that grace +might be given to him. 'God doesn't bother himself about such trifles as +my staying or my going,' he muttered as he hastened towards his house, +overcome by an immense joy. For he was happy only when he was thinking +of her, or doing something connected with her, and to tell her of the +fatality that seemed to pursue him would occupy an evening. + + +_From Father Oliver Gogarty to Miss Nora Glynn._ + +'GARRANARD, BOHOLA, + +'_July_ 25, 19--. + +'You will be surprised to hear from me so soon again, but I forgot to +say in my last letter that, if I succeeded in crossing the lake, I would +write to you from New York. And since then many things have happened, +strange and significant coincidences.' + +And when he had related the circumstance of Father Moran's visit and the +storm, he sought to excuse his half-beliefs that these were part of +God's providence sent to warn him against leaving his parish. + +'Only time can rid us of ideas that have been implanted in us in our +youth, and that have grown up in our flesh and in our mind. A sudden +influence may impel us to tear them up and cast them aside, but the seed +is in us always, and it grows again. "One year's seed, seven years' +weed." And behind imported Palestinian supernature, if I may be +permitted to drop into Mr. Poole's style, or what I imagine to be his +style, there is the home belief in fairies, spirits, and ghosts, and the +reading of omens. Who amongst us does not remember the old nurse who +told him stories of magic and witchcraft? Nor can it be denied that +things happen that seem in contradiction to all we know of Nature's +laws. Moreover, these unusual occurrences have a knack of happening to +men at the moment of their setting out on some irrevocable enterprise. + +'You who are so sympathetic will understand how my will has been +affected by Father Moran's visit. Had you heard him tell how he was +propelled, as it were, out of his house towards me, you, too, would +believe that he was a messenger. He stopped on his threshold to try to +find a reason for coming to see me; he couldn't find any, and he walked +on, feeling that something had happened. He must have thought himself a +fool when he found me sitting here in the thick flesh. But what he said +did not seem nonsense to me; it seemed like some immortal wisdom come +from another world. Remember that I was on the point of going. Nor is +this all. If nothing else had happened, I might have looked upon Father +Moran's visit as a coincidence. But why should the wind rise? So far as +I can make out, it began to rise between eleven and twelve, at the very +time I should have been swimming between Castle Island and the Joycetown +shore. I know that belief in signs and omens and prognostics can be +laughed at; nothing is more ridiculous than the belief that man's fate +is governed by the flight of birds, yet men have believed in bird augury +from the beginning of the world. + +'I wrote to you about a curlew (I can still see it in the air, its +beautifully shapen body and wings, its long beak, and its trailing legs; +it staggered a little in its flight when the shot was fired, but it had +strength enough to reach Castle Island: it then toppled over, falling +dead on the shore); and I ask you if it is wonderful that I should have +been impressed? Such a thing was never heard of before--a wild bird with +its legs tied together! + +'At first I believed that this bird was sent to warn me from going, but +it was that bird that put the idea into my head how I might escape from +the parish without giving scandal. Life is so strange that one doesn't +know what to think. Of what use are signs and omens if the +interpretation is always obscure? They merely wring the will out of us; +and well we may ask, Who would care for his life if he knew he was going +to lose it on the morrow? And what mother would love her children if she +were certain they would fall into evil ways, or if she believed the +soothsayers who told her that her children would oppose her ideas? She +might love them independent of their opposition, but how could she love +them if she knew they were only born to do wrong? Volumes have been +written on the subject of predestination and freewill, and the truth is +that it is as impossible to believe in one as in the other. +Nevertheless, prognostications have a knack of coming true, and if I am +drowned crossing the lake you will be convinced of the truth of omens. +Perhaps I should not write you these things, but the truth is, I cannot +help myself; there is no power of resistance in me. I do not know if I +am well or ill; my brain is on fire, and I go on thinking and thinking, +trying to arrive at some rational belief, but never succeeding. +Sometimes I think of myself as a fly on a window-pane, crawling and +buzzing, and crawling and buzzing again, and so on and so on.... + +'You are one of those who seem to have been born without much interest +in religion or fear of the here-after, and in a way I am like you, but +with a difference: I acquiesced in early childhood, and accepted +traditional beliefs, and tried to find happiness in the familiar rather +than in the unknown. Whether I should have found the familiar enough if +I hadn't met you, I shall never know. I've thought a good deal on this +subject, and it has come to seem to me that we are too much in the habit +of thinking of the intellect and the flesh as separate things, whereas +they are but one thing. I could write a great deal on this subject, but +I stop, as it were, on the threshold of my thought, for this is no time +for philosophical writing. I am all a-tremble, and though my brain is +working quickly, my thoughts are not mature and deliberate. My brain +reminds me at times of the skies that followed Father Moran's +visit--skies restlessly flowing, always different and always the same. +These last days are merciless days, and I have to write to you in order +to get some respite from purposeless thinking. Sometimes I stop in my +walk to ask myself who I am and what I am, and where I am going. Will +you be shocked to hear that, when I awoke and heard the wind howling, I +nearly got out of bed to pray to God, to thank him for having sent Moran +to warn me from crossing the lake? I think I did say a prayer, thanking +him for his mercy. Then I felt that I should pray to him for grace that +I might remain at home and be a good priest always, but that prayer I +couldn't formulate, and I suffered a great deal. I know that such +vacillations between belief and unbelief are neither profitable nor +admirable; I know that to pray to God to thank him for having saved me +from death while in mortal sin, and yet to find myself unable to pray to +him to do his will, is illogical, and I confess that my fear is now lest +old beliefs will claim me before the time comes. A poor, weak, tried +mortal man am I, but being what I am, I cannot be different. I am calm +enough now, and it seems as if my sufferings were at an end; but +to-morrow some new fear will rise up like mist, and I shall be +enveloped. What an awful thing it would be if I should find myself +without will on the fifteenth, or the sixteenth, or the seventeenth of +August! If the wind should rise again, and the lake be windy while the +moon is full, my chance for leaving here this summer will be at an end. +The water will be too cold in September. + +'And now you know all, and if you don't get a letter from New York, +understand that what appears in the newspapers is true--that I was +drowned whilst bathing. I needn't apologize for this long letter; you +will understand that the writing of it has taken me out of myself, and +that is a great gain. There is no one else to whom I can write, and it +pleases me to know this. I am sorry for my sisters in the convent; they +will believe me dead. I have a brother in America, the one who sent the +harmonium that you used to play on so beautifully. He will believe in my +death, unless we meet in America, and that is not likely. I look forward +to writing to you from New York. + +'OLIVER GOGARTY.' + + +Two evenings were passed pleasantly on the composition and the copying +of this letter, and, not daring to entrust it to the postboy, he took it +himself to Bohola; and he measured the time carefully, so as to get +there a few minutes before the postmistress sealed up the bag. He +delayed in the office till she sealed it, and returned home, following +the letter in imagination to Dublin, across the Channel to Beechwood +Hall. The servant in charge would redirect it. His thoughts were at +ramble, and they followed the steamer down the Mediterranean. It would +lie in the post-office at Jerusalem or some frontier town, or maybe a +dragoman attached to some Turkish caravansary would take charge of it, +and it might reach Nora by caravan. She might read it in the waste. Or +maybe it would have been better if he had written 'Not to be forwarded' +on the envelope. But the servant at Beechwood Hall would know what to +do, and he returned home smiling, unable to believe in himself or in +anything else, so extraordinary did it seem to him that he should be +writing to Nora Glynn, who was going in search of the Christian river, +while he was planning a journey westward. + +A few days more, and the day of departure was almost at hand; but it +seemed a very long time coming. What he needed was a material +occupation, and he spent hours in his garden watering and weeding, and +at gaze in front of a bed of fiery-cross. Was its scarlet not finer than +Lady Hindlip? Lady Hindlip, like fiery-cross, is scentless, and not so +hardy. No white carnation compares with Shiela; but her calyx often +bursts, and he considered the claims of an old pink-flaked clove +carnation, striped like a French brocade. But it straggled a little in +growth, and he decided that for hardiness he must give the verdict to +Raby Castle. True that everyone grows Raby Castle, but no carnation is +so hardy or flowers so freely. As he stood admiring her great trusses of +bloom among the tea-roses, he remembered suddenly that it was his love +of flowers that had brought him to Garranard, and if he hadn't come to +this parish, he wouldn't have known her. And if he hadn't known her, he +wouldn't have been himself. And which self did he think the worthier, +his present or his dead self? + +His brain would not cease thinking; his bodily life seemed to have +dissipated, and he seemed to himself to be no more than a mind, and, +glad to interest himself in the business of the parish, he listened with +greater attention than he had ever listened before to the complaints +that were brought to him--to the man who had failed to give up a piece +of land that he had promised to include in his daughter's fortune, and +to Patsy Murphy, who had come to tell him that his house had been broken +into while he was away in Tinnick. The old man had spent the winter in +Tinnick with some relations, for the house that the Colonel had given +him permission to build at the edge of the lake proved too cold for a +winter residence. + +Patsy seemed to have grown older since the autumn; he seemed like a doll +out of which the sawdust was running, a poor shaking thing--a large head +afloat on a weak neck. Tresses of white hair hung on his shoulders, and +his watery eyes were red and restless like a ferret's. He opened his +mouth, and there were two teeth on either side like tusks. Gray stubble +covered his face, and he wore a brown suit, the trousers retained about +his pot-belly--all that remained of his body--by a scarf. There was some +limp linen and a red muffler about his throat. He spoke of his age--he +was ninety-five--and the priest said he was a fine-looking, hearty man +for his years. There wasn't a doubt but he'd pass the hundred. Patsy was +inclined to believe he would go to one hundred and one; for he had been +told in a vision he would go as far as that. + +'You see, living in the house alone, the brain empties and the vision +comes.' + +That was how he explained his belief as he flopped along by the priest's +side, his head shaking and his tongue going, telling tales of all kinds, +half-remembered things: how the Gormleys and the Actons had driven the +Colonel out of the country, and dispersed all his family with their +goings-on. That was why they didn't want him--he knew too much about +them. One of his tales was how they had frightened the Colonel's mother +by tying a lame hare by a horsehair to the knocker of the hall door. +Whenever the hare moved a rapping was heard at the front-door. But +nobody could discover the horsehair, and the rapping was attributed to a +family ghost. + +He seemed to have forgotten his sword, and was now inclined to talk of +his fists, and he stopped the priest in the middle of the road to tell +a long tale how once, in Liverpool, someone had spoken against the +Colonel, and, holding up his clenched fist, he said that no one ever +escaped alive from the fist of Patsy Murphy. + +It was a trial to Father Oliver to hear him, for he could not help +thinking that to become like him it was only necessary to live as long +as he. But it was difficult to get rid of the old fellow, who followed +the priest as far as the village, and would have followed him further if +Mrs. Egan were not standing there waiting for Father Oliver--a +delicate-featured woman with a thin aquiline nose, who was still +good-looking, though her age was apparent. She was forty-five, or +perhaps fifty, and she held her daughter's baby in her coarse peasant +hands. Since the birth of the child a dispute had been raging between +the two mothers-in-law: the whole village was talking, and wondering +what was going to happen next. + +Mrs. Egan's daughter had married a soldier, a Protestant, some two years +ago, a man called Rean. Father Oliver always found him a straightforward +fellow, who, although he would not give up his own religion, never tried +to interfere with his wife's; he always said that if Mary liked she +could bring up her children Catholics. But hitherto they were not +blessed with children, and Mary was jeered at more than once, the people +saying that her barrenness was a punishment sent by God. At last a child +was given them, and all would have gone well if Rean's mother had not +come to Garranard for her daughter-in-law's confinement. Being a black +Protestant, she wouldn't hear of the child being brought up a Catholic +or even baptized in a Catholic Church. The child was now a week old and +Rean was fairly distracted, for neither his own mother nor his +mother-in-law would give way; each was trying to outdo the other. Mrs. +Rean watched Mrs. Egan, and Mrs. Egan watched Mrs. Rean, and the poor +mother lay all day with the baby at her breast, listening to the two of +them quarrelling. + +'She's gone behind the hedge for a minute, your reverence, so I whipped +the child out of me daughter's bed; and if your reverence would only +hurry up we could have the poor cratur baptized in the Holy Faith. Only +there's no time to be lost; she do be watchin' every stir, your +reverence.' + +'Very well, Mrs. Egan: I'll be waiting for you up at the chapel.' + +'A strange rusticity of mind,' he said to himself as he wended his way +along the village street, and at the chapel gate a smile gathered about +his lips, for he couldn't help thinking how Mrs. Rean the elder would +rage when the child was brought back to her a Catholic. So this was +going to be his last priestly act, the baptism of the child, the saving +of the child to the Holy Faith. He told Mike to get the things ready, +and turned into the sacristy to put on his surplice. + +The familiar presses gave out a pleasant odour, and the vestments which +he might never wear again interested him, and he stood seemingly lost in +thought. 'But I mustn't keep the child waiting,' he said, waking up +suddenly; and coming out of the sacristy, he found twenty villagers +collected round the font, come up from the cottages to see the child +baptized in the holy religion. + +'Where's the child, Mrs. Egan?' + +The group began talking suddenly, trying to make plain to him what had +happened. + +'Now, if you all talk together, I shall never understand.' + +'Will you leave off pushing me?' said one. + +'Wasn't it I that saw Patsy? Will your reverence listen to me?' said +Mrs. Egan. 'It was just as I was telling your reverence, if they'd be +letting me alone. Your reverence had only just turned in the chapel gate +when Mrs. Rean ran from behind the hedge, and, getting in front of me +who was going to the chapel with the baby in me arms, she said: "Now +I'll be damned if I'll have that child christened a Catholic!" and +didn't she snatch the child and run away, taking a short-cut across the +fields to the minister's.' + +'Patsy Kivel has gone after her, and he'll catch up on her, surely, and +she with six ditches forninst her.' + +'If he doesn't itself, maybe the minister isn't there, and then she'll +be bet.' + +'All I'm hopin' is that the poor child won't come to any harm between +them; but isn't she a fearful terrible woman, and may the curse of the +Son of God be on her for stealin' away a poor child the like of that!' + +'I'd cut the livers out of the likes of them.' + +'Now will you mind what you're sayin', and the priest listenin' to you?' + +'Your reverence, will the child be always a Protestant? Hasn't the holy +water of the Church more power in it than the water they have? Don't +they only throw it at the child?' + +'Now, Mrs. Egan--' + +'Ah, your reverence, you're going to say that I shouldn't have given the +child to her, and I wouldn't if I hadn't trod on a stone and fallen +against the wall, and got afeard the child might be hurt.' + +'Well, well,' said Father Oliver, 'you see there's no child--' + +'But you'll be waitin' a minute for the sake of the poor child, your +reverence? Patsy will be comin' back in a minute.' + +On that Mrs. Egan went to the chapel door and stood there, so that she +might catch the first glimpse of him as he came across the fields. And +it was about ten minutes after, when the priest and his parishioners +were talking of other things, that Mrs. Egan began to wave her arm, +crying out that somebody should hurry. + +'Will you make haste, and his reverence waitin' here this half-hour to +baptize the innocent child! He'll be here in less than a minute now, +your reverence. Will you have patience, and the poor child will be +safe?' + +The child was snatched from Patsy, and so violently that the infant +began to cry, and Mrs. Egan didn't know if it was a hurt it had +received, for the panting Patsy was unable to answer her. + +'The child's all right,' he blurted out at last. 'She said I might take +it and welcome, now it was a Protestant.' + +'Ah, sure, you great thickhead of a boy! weren't you quick enough for +her?' + +'Now, what are you talkin' about? Hadn't she half a mile start of me, +and the minister at the door just as I was gettin' over the last bit of +a wall!' + +'And didn't you go in after them?' + +'What would I be doin', going into a Protestant church?' + +Patsy's sense of his responsibility was discussed violently until Father +Oliver said: + +'Now, I can't be waiting any longer. Do you want me to baptize the child +or not?' + +'It would be safer, wouldn't it?' said Mrs. Egan. + +'It would,' said Father Oliver; 'the parson mightn't have said the words +while he was pouring the water.' + +And, going towards the font with the child, Father Oliver took a cup of +water, but, having regard for the child's cries, he was a little sparing +with it. + +'Now don't be sparin' with the water, your reverence, and don't be a +mindin' its noise; it's twicest the quantity of holy water it'll be +wanting, and it half an hour a Protestant.' + +It was at that moment Mrs. Rean appeared in the doorway, and Patsy +Kivel, who didn't care to enter the Protestant church, rushed to put her +out of his. + +'You can do what you like now with the child; it's a Protestant, for all +your tricks.' + +'Go along, you old heretic bitch!' + +'Now, Patsy, will you behave yourself when you're standing in the +Church of God! Be leaving the woman alone,' said Father Oliver; but +before he got to the door to separate the two, Mrs. Rean was running +down the chapel yard followed by the crowd of disputants, and he heard +the quarrel growing fainter in the village street. + +Rose-coloured clouds had just begun to appear midway in the pale +sky--a beautiful sky, all gray and rose--and all this babble about +baptism seemed strangely out of his mind. 'And to think that men are +still seeking scrolls in Turkestan to prove--' The sentence did not +finish itself in his mind; a ray of western light falling across the +altar steps in the stillness of the church awakened a remembrance in him +of the music that Nora's hands drew from the harmonium, and, leaning +against the Communion-rails, he allowed the music to absorb him. He +could hear it so distinctly in his mind that he refrained from going up +into the gallery and playing it, for in his playing he would perceive +how much he had forgotten, how imperfect was his memory. It were better +to lose himself in the emotion of the memory of the music; it was in his +blood, and he could see her hands playing it, and the music was coloured +with the memory of her hair and her eyes. His teeth clenched a little as +if in pain, and then he feared the enchantment would soon pass away; but +the music preserved it longer than he had expected, and it might have +lasted still longer if he had not become aware that someone was standing +in the doorway. + +The feeling suddenly came over him that he was not alone; it was borne +in upon him--he knew not how, neither by sight nor sound--through some +exceptional sense. And turning towards the sunlit doorway, he saw a poor +man standing there, not daring to disturb the priest, thinking, no +doubt, that he was engaged in prayer. The poor man was Pat Kearney. So +the priest was a little overcome, for that Pat Kearney should come to +him at such a time was portentous. 'It is strange, certainly, +coincidence after coincidence,' he said; and he stood looking at Pat as +if he didn't know him, till the poor man was frightened and began to +wonder, for no one had ever looked at him with such interest, not even +the neighbour whom he had asked to marry him three weeks ago. And this +Pat Kearney, who was a short, thick-set man, sinking into years, began +to wonder what new misfortune had tracked him down. His teeth were worn +and yellow as Indian meal, and his rough, ill-shaven cheeks and pale +eyes reminded the priest of the country in which Pat lived, and of the +four acres of land at the end of the boreen that Pat was digging these +many years. + +He had come to ask Father Oliver if he would marry him for a pound, but, +as Father Oliver didn't answer him, he fell to thinking that it was his +clothes that the priest was admiring, 'for hadn't his reverence given +him the clothes himself? And if it weren't for the self-same clothes, he +wouldn't have the pound in his pocket to give the priest to marry him,' + +'It was yourself, your reverence--' + +'Yes, I remember very well.' + +Pat had come to tell him that there was work to be had in Tinnick, but +that he didn't dare to show himself in Tinnick for lack of clothes, and +he stood humbly before the priest in a pair of corduroy trousers that +hardly covered his nakedness. + +And it was as Father Oliver stood examining and pitying his +parishioner's poverty it had occurred to him that, if he were to buy two +suits of clothes in Tinnick and give one to Pat Kearney, he might wrap +the other one in a bundle, and place it on the rocks on the Joycetown +side. It was not likely that the shopman in Tinnick would remember, +after three months, that he had sold two suits to the priest; but should +he remember this, the explanation would be that he had bought them for +Pat Kearney. Now, looking at this poor man who had come to ask him if he +would marry him for a pound, the priest was lost in wonder. + +'So you're going to be married, Pat?' + +And Pat, who hadn't spoken to anyone since the woman whose potatoes he +was digging said she'd as soon marry him as another, began to chatter, +and to ramble in his chatter. There was so much to tell that he did not +know how to tell it. There was his rent and the woman's holding, for now +they would have nine acres of land, money would be required to stock it, +and he didn't know if the bank would lend him the money. Perhaps the +priest would help him to get it. + +'But why did you come to me to marry you? Aren't you two miles nearer +to Father Moran than you are to me?' + +Pat hesitated, not liking to say that he would be hard set to get round +Father Moran. So he began to talk of the Egans and the Reans. For hadn't +he heard, as he came up the street, that Mrs. Rean had stolen the child +from Mrs. Egan, and had had it baptized by the minister? And he hoped to +obtain the priest's sympathy by saying: + +'What a terrible thing it was that the police should allow a black +Protestant to steal a Catholic child, and its mother a Catholic and all +her people before her!' + +'When Mrs. Rean snatched the child, it hadn't been baptized, and was +neither a Catholic nor a Protestant,' the priest said maliciously. + +Pat Kearney, whose theological knowledge did not extend very far, +remained silent, and the priest was glad of his silence, for he was +thinking that in a few minutes he would catch sight of the square +whitewashed school-house on the hillside by the pine-wood, and the +thought came into his mind that he would like to see again the place +where he and Nora once stood talking together. But a long field lay +between his house and the school-house, and what would it avail him to +see the empty room? He looked, instead, for the hawthorn-bush by which +he and Nora had lingered, and it was a sad pleasure to think how she had +gone up the road after bidding him good-bye. + +But Pat Kearney began to talk again of how he could get an advance from +the bank. + +'I can back no bill for you, Pat, but I'll give you a letter to Father +Moran telling him that you can't afford to pay more than a pound.' + +Nora's letters were in the drawer of his writing-table; he unlocked it, +and put the packet into his pocket, and when he had scribbled a little +note to Father Moran, he said: + +'Now take this and be off with you; I've other business to attend to +besides you;' and he called to Catherine for his towels. + +'Now, is it out bathing you're going, your reverence? You won't be +swimming out to Castle Island, and forgetting that you have confessions +at seven?' + +'I shall be back in time,' he answered testily, and soon after he began +to regret his irritation; for he would never see Catherine again, saying +to himself that it was a pity he had answered her testily. But he +couldn't go back. Moran might call. Catherine might send Moran after +him, saying his reverence had gone down to bathe, or any parishioner, +however unwarranted his errand, might try to see him out. 'And all +errands will be unwarranted to-day,' he said as he hurried along the +shore, thinking of the different paths round the rocks and through the +blackthorn-bushes. + +His mind was on the big wood; there he could baffle anybody following +him, for while his pursuer would be going round one way he would be +coming back the other. But it would be lonely in the big wood; and as he +hurried down the old cart-track he thought how he might while away an +hour among the ferns in the little spare fields at the end of the +plantation, watching the sunset, for hours would have to pass before the +moon rose, and the time would pass slowly under the melancholy +hazel-thickets into which the sun had not looked for thousands of years. +A wood had always been there. The Welshmen had felled trees in it to +build rafts and boats to reach their island castles. Bears and wolves +had been slain in it; and thinking how it was still a refuge for foxes, +martens and badgers and hawks, he made his way along the shore through +the rough fields. He ran a little, and after waiting a while ran on +again. On reaching the edge of the wood, he hid himself behind a bush, +and did not dare to move, lest there might be somebody about. It was not +till he made sure there was no one that he stooped under the +blackthorns, and followed a trail, thinking the animal, probably a +badger, had its den under the old stones; and to pass the time he sought +for a den, but could find none. + +A small bird, a wren, was picking among the moss; every now and then it +fluttered a little way, stopped, and picked again. 'Now what instinct +guided its search for worms?' he asked, and getting up, he followed the +bird, but it escaped into a thicket. There were only hazel-stems in the +interspace he had chosen to hide himself in, but there were thickets +nearly all about it, and it took some time to find a path through these. +After a time one was found, and by noticing everything he tried to pass +the time away and make himself secure against being surprised. + +The path soon came to an end, and he walked round to the other side of +the wood, to see if the bushes were thick enough to prevent anyone from +coming upon him suddenly from that side; and when all searches were +finished he came back, thinking of what his future life would be without +Nora. But he must not think of her, he must learn to forget her; for the +time being at least, his consideration must be of himself in his present +circumstances, and he felt that if he did not fix his thoughts on +external things, his courage--or should he say his will?--would desert +him. It did not need much courage to swim across the lake, much more to +leave the parish, and once on the other side he must go any whither, no +whither, for he couldn't return to Catherine in a frieze coat and a pair +of corduroy trousers. Her face when she saw him! But of what use +thinking of these things? He was going; everything was settled. If he +could only restrain his thoughts--they were as wild as bees. + +Standing by a hazel-stem, his hand upon a bough, he fell to thinking +what his life would be, and very soon becoming implicated in a dream, he +lost consciousness of time and place, and was borne away as by a +current; he floated down his future life, seeing his garret room more +clearly than he had ever seen it--his bed, his washhand-stand, and the +little table on which he did his writing. No doubt most of it would be +done in the office, but some of it would be done at home; and at +nightfall he would descend from his garret like a bat from the eaves. + +Journalists flutter like bats about newspaper offices. The bats haunt +the same eaves, but the journalist drifts from city to city, from county +to county, busying himself with ideas that were not his yesterday, and +will not be his to-morrow. An interview with a statesman is followed by +a review of a book, and the day after he may be thousands of miles away, +describing a great flood or a railway accident. The journalist has no +time to make friends, and he lives in no place long enough to know it +intimately; passing acquaintance and exterior aspects of things are his +share of the world. And it was in quest of such vagrancy of ideas and +affections that he was going. + +At that moment a sudden sound in the wood startled him from his reverie, +and he peered, a scared expression on his face, certain that the noise +he had heard was Father Moran's footstep. It was but a hare lolloping +through the underwood, and wondering at the disappointment he felt, he +asked if he were disappointed that Moran had not come again to stop him. +He didn't think he was, only the course of his life had been so long +dependent on a single act of will that a hope had begun in his mind that +some outward event might decide his fate for him. Last month he was full +of courage, his nerves were like iron; to-day he was a poor vacillating +creature, walking in a hazel-wood, uncertain lest delay had taken the +savour out of his adventure, his attention distracted by the sounds of +the wood, by the snapping of a dry twig, by a leaf falling through the +branches. + +'Time is passing,' he said, 'and I must decide whether I go to America +to write newspaper articles, or stay at home to say Mass--a simple +matter, surely.' + +The ordinary newspaper article he thought he could do as well as +another--in fact, he knew he could. But could he hope that in time his +mind would widen and deepen sufficiently to enable him to write +something worth writing, something that might win her admiration? +Perhaps, when he had shed all his opinions. Many had gone already, more +would follow, and one day he would be as free as she was. She had been a +great intellectual stimulus, and soon he began to wonder how it was that +all the paraphernalia of religion interested him no longer, how he +seemed to have suddenly outgrown the things belonging to the ages of +faith, and the subtle question, if passion were essential to the growth +of the mind, arose. For it seemed to him that his mind had grown, though +he had not read the Scriptures, and he doubted if the reading of the +Scriptures would have taught him as much as Nora's beauty. 'After all,' +he said, 'woman's beauty is more important to the world than a scroll.' +He had begun to love and to put his trust in what was natural, +spontaneous, instinctive, and might succeed in New York better than he +expected. But he would not like to think that it was hope of literary +success that tempted him from Garranard. He would like to think that in +leaving his poor people he was serving their best interests, and this +was surely the case. For hadn't he begun to feel that what they needed +was a really efficient priest, one who would look after their temporal +interests? In Ireland the priest is a temporal as well as a spiritual +need. Who else would take an interest in this forlorn Garranard and its +people, the reeds and rushes of existence? + +He had striven to get the Government to build a bridge, but had lost +patience; he had wearied of the task. Certain priests he knew would not +have wearied of it; they would have gone on heckling the Government and +the different Boards until the building of the bridge could no longer be +resisted. His failure to get this bridge was typical, and it proved +beyond doubt that he was right in thinking he had no aptitude for the +temporal direction of his parish. + +But a curate had once lived in Bridget Clery's cottage who had served +his people excellently well, had intrigued successfully, and forced the +Government to build houses and advance money for drainage and other +useful works. And this curate had served his people in many +capacities--as scrivener, land-valuer, surveyor, and engineer. It was +not till he came to Garranard that he seemed to get out of touch with +practical affairs, and he began to wonder if it was the comfortable +house he lived in, if it were the wine he drank, the cigars he smoked, +that had produced this degeneracy, if it were degeneracy. Or was it that +he had worn out a certain side of his nature in Bridget Clery's cottage? +It might well be that. Many a man has mistaken a passing tendency for a +vocation. We all write poetry in the beginning of our lives; but most of +us leave off writing poetry after some years, unless the instinct is +very deep or one is a fool. It might well be that his philanthropic +instincts were exhausted; and it might well be that this was not the +case, for one never gets at the root of one's nature. + +The only thing he was sure of was that he had changed a great deal, and, +he thought, for the better. He seemed to himself a much more real person +than he was a year ago, being now in full possession of his soul, and +surely the possession of one's soul is a great reality. By the soul he +meant a special way of feeling and seeing. But the soul is more than +that--it is a light; and this inner light, faint at first, had not been +blown out. If he had blown it out, as many priests had done, he would +not have experienced any qualms of conscience. The other priests in the +diocese experienced none when they drove erring women out of their +parishes, and the reason of this was that they followed a light from +without, deliberately shutting out the light of the soul. + +The question interested him, and he pondered it a long while, finding +himself at last forced to conclude that there is no moral law except +one's own conscience, and that the moral obligation of every man is to +separate the personal conscience from the impersonal conscience. By the +impersonal conscience he meant the opinions of others, traditional +beliefs, and the rest; and thinking of these things he wandered round +the Druid stones, and when his thoughts returned to Nora's special case +he seemed to understand that if any other priest had acted as he had +acted he would have acted rightly, for in driving a sinful woman out of +the parish he would be giving expression to the moral law as he +understood it and as Garranard understood it. This primitive code of +morals was all Garranard could understand in its present civilization, +and any code is better than no code. Of course, if the priest were a +transgressor himself he could not administer the law. Happily, that was +a circumstance that did not arise often. So it was said; but what did he +know of the souls of the priests with whom he dined, smoked pipes, and +played cards? And he stopped, surprised, for it had never occurred to +him that all a man knows of his fellow is whether he be clean or dirty, +short or tall, thin or stout. 'Even the soul of Moran is obscure to me,' +he said--'obscure as this wood;' and at that moment the mystery of the +wood seemed to deepen, and he stood for a long while looking through the +twilight of the hazels. + +Very likely many of the priests he knew had been tempted by women: some +had resisted temptation, and some had sinned and repented. There might +be a priest who had sinned and lived for years in sin; even so if he +didn't leave his parish, if he didn't become an apostate priest, faith +would return to him in the end. But the apostate priest is anathema in +the eyes of the Church; the doctrine always has been that a sin matters +little if the sinner repent. Father Oliver suddenly saw himself years +hence, still in Garranard, administering the Sacraments, and faith +returning like an incoming tide, covering the weedy shore, lapping round +the high rock of doubt. If he desired faith, all he had to do was to go +on saying Mass, hearing confessions, baptizing the young, burying the +old, and in twenty years--maybe it would take thirty--when his hair was +white and his skin shrivelled, he would be again a good priest, beloved +by his parishioners, and carried in the fulness of time by them to the +green churchyard where Father Peter lay near the green pines. + +Only the other day, coming home from his after-noon's walk, he stopped +to admire his house. The long shadow of its familiar trees awakened an +extraordinary love in him, and when he crossed the threshold and sat +down in his armchair, his love for his house had surprised him, and he +sat like one enchanted by his own fireside, lost in admiration of the +old mahogany bookcase with the inlaid panels, that he had bought at an +auction. How sombre and quaint it looked, furnished with his books that +he had had bound in Dublin, and what pleasure it always was to him to +see a ray lighting up the parchment bindings! He had hung some +engravings on his walls, and these had become very dear to him; and +there were some spoons, bought at an auction some time ago--old, worn +Georgian spoons--that his hands were accustomed to the use of; there was +an old tea-service, with flowers painted inside the cups, and he was +leaving these things; why? He sought for a reason for his leaving them. +If he were going away to join Nora in America he could understand his +going. But he would never see her again--at least, it was not probable +that he would. He was not following her, but an idea, an abstraction, an +opinion; he was separating himself, and for ever, from his native land +and his past life, and his quest was, alas! not her, but--He was +following what? Life? Yes; but what is life? Do we find life in +adventure or by our own fireside? For all he knew he might be flying +from the very thing he thought he was following. His thoughts zigzagged, +and, almost unaware of his thoughts, he compared life to a flower--to a +flower that yields up its perfume only after long cultivation--and then +to a wine that gains its fragrance only after it has been lying in the +same cellar for many years, and he started up convinced that he must +return home at once. But he had not taken many steps before he stopped: + +'No, no, I cannot stay here year after year! I cannot stay here till I +die, seeing that lake always. I couldn't bear it. I am going. It matters +little to me whether life is to be found at home or abroad, in adventure +or in habits and customs. One thing matters--do I stay or go?' + +He turned into the woods and walked aimlessly, trying to escape from his +thoughts, and to do so he admired the pattern of the leaves, the flight +of the birds, and he stopped by the old stones that may have been Druid +altars; and he came back an hour after, walking slowly through the +hazel-stems, thinking that the law of change is the law of life. At that +moment the cormorants were coming down the glittering lake to their +roost. With a flutter of wings they perched on the old castle, and his +mind continued to formulate arguments, and the last always seemed the +best. + +At half-past seven he was thinking that life is gained by escaping from +the past rather than by trying to retain it; he had begun to feel more +and more sure that tradition is but dead flesh which we must cut off if +we would live.... But just at this spot, an hour ago, he had acquiesced +in the belief that if a priest continued to administer the Sacraments +faith would return to him; and no doubt the Sacraments would bring about +some sort of religious stupor, but not that sensible, passionate faith +which he had once possessed, and which did not meet with the approval of +his superiors at Maynooth. He had said that in flying from the monotony +of tradition he would find only another monotony, and a worse one--that +of adventure; and no doubt the journalist's life is made up of fugitive +interests. But every man has, or should have, an intimate life as well +as an external life; and in losing interest in religion he had lost the +intimate life which the priesthood had once given him. The Mass was a +mere Latin formula, and the vestments and the chalice, the Host itself, +a sort of fetishism--that is to say, a symbolism from which life had +departed, shells retaining hardly a murmur of the ancient ecstasy. It +was therefore his fate to go in quest of--what? Not of adventure. He +liked better to think that his quest was the personal life--that +intimate exaltation that comes to him who has striven to be himself, and +nothing but himself. The life he was going to might lead him even to a +new faith. Religious forms arise and die. The Catholic Church had come +to the end of its thread; the spool seemed pretty well empty, and he sat +down so that he might think better what the new faith might be. What +would be its first principle? he asked himself, and not finding any +answer to this question, he began to think of his life in America. He +would begin as a mere recorder of passing events. But why should he +assume that he would not rise higher? And if he remained to the end of +his day a humble reporter, he would still have the supreme satisfaction +of knowing that he had not resigned himself body and soul to the life of +the pool, to a frog-like acquiescence in the stagnant pool. + +His hand held back a hazel-branch, and he stood staring at the lake. The +wild ducks rose in great flocks out of the reeds and went away to feed +in the fields, and their departure was followed by a long interval, +during which no single thought crossed his mind--at least, none that he +could remember. No doubt his tired mind had fallen into lethargy, from +which a sudden fear had roughly awakened him. What if some countryman, +seeking his goats among the rocks, had come upon the bundle and taken it +home! And at once he imagined himself climbing up the rocks naked. Pat +Kearney's cabin was close by, but Pat had no clothes except those on his +back, and would have to go round the lake to Garranard; and the priest +thought how he would sit naked in Kearney's cottage hour after hour. + +'If anyone comes to the cabin I shall have to hold the door to. There is +a comic side to every adventure,' he said, 'and a more absurd one it +would be difficult to imagine.' + +The day had begun in a ridiculous adventure--the baptism of the poor +child, baptized first a Protestant, then a Catholic. And he laughed a +little, and then he sighed. + +'Is the whole thing a fairy-tale, a piece of midsummer madness, I +wonder? No matter, I can't stay here, so why should I trouble to +discover a reason for my going? In America I shall be living a life in +agreement with God's instincts. My quest is life.' + +And, remembering some words in her last letter, his heart cried out that +his love must bring her back to him eventually, though Poole were to +take her to the end of the earth, and at once he was carried quickly +beyond the light of common sense into a dim happy world where all things +came and went or were transformed in obedience to his unexpressed will. +Whether the sun were curtained by leafage or by silken folds he did not +know--only this: that she was coming towards him, borne lightly as a +ball of thistle-down. He perceived the colour of her hair, and eyes, and +hands, and of the pale dress she wore; but her presence seemed revealed +to him through the exaltation of some sense latent or non-existent in +him in his waking moods. His delight was of the understanding, for they +neither touched hands nor spoke. A little surprise rose to the surface +of his rapture--surprise at the fact that he experienced no pang of +jealousy. She had said that true love could not exist without jealousy! +But was she right in this? It seemed to him that we begin to love when +we cease to judge. If she were different she wouldn't be herself, and it +was herself he loved--the mystery of her sunny, singing nature. There +is no judgment where there is perfect sympathy, and he understood that +it would be as vain for him to lament that her eyebrows were fair as to +lament or reprove her conduct. + +Continuing the same train of thought, he remembered that, though she was +young to-day, she would pass into middle, maybe old age; that the day +would come when her hair would be less bright, her figure would lose its +willowness; but these changes would not lessen his love for her. Should +he not welcome change? Thinking that perhaps fruit-time is better than +blossom-time, he foresaw a deeper love awaiting him, and a tenderness +that he could not feel to-day might be his in years to come. Nor could +habit blunt his perceptions or intimacy unravel the mystery of her sunny +nature. So the bourne could never be reached; for when everything had +been said, something would remain unspoken. The two rhythms out of which +the music of life is made, intimacy and adventure, would meet, would +merge, and become one; and she, who was to-day an adventure, would +become in the end the home of his affections. + +A great bird swooped out of the branches above him, startling him, and +he cried out: 'An owl--only an owl!' The wood was quiet and dark, and in +fear he groped his way to the old stones; for one thing still remained +to be done before he left--he must burn her letters. + +He burnt them one by one, shielding the flame with his hand lest it +should attract some passer-by, and when the last was burnt he feared no +longer anything. His wonder was why he had hesitated, why his mind had +been torn by doubt. At the back of his mind he had always known he was +going. Had he not written saying he was going, and wasn't that enough? +And he thought for a moment of what her opinion of him would be if he +stayed in Garranard. In a cowardly moment he hoped that something would +happen to save him from the ultimate decision, and now doubt was +overcome. + +A yellow disc appeared, cutting the flat sky sharply, and he laid his +priest's clothes in the middle of a patch of white sand where they could +be easily seen. Placing the Roman collar upon the top, and, stepping +from stone to stone, he stood on the last one as on a pedestal, tall and +gray in the moonlight--buttocks hard as a faun's, and dimpled like a +faun's when he draws himself up before plunging after a nymph. + +When he emerged he was among the reeds, shaking the water from his face +and hair. The night was so warm that it was like swimming in a bath, and +when he had swum a quarter of a mile he turned over on his back to see +the moon shining. Then he turned over to see how near he was to the +island. 'Too near,' he thought, for he had started before his time. But +he might delay a little on the island, and he walked up the shore, his +blood in happy circulation, his flesh and brain a-tingle, a little +captivated by the vigour of his muscles, and ready and anxious to plunge +into the water on the other side, to tire himself if he could, in the +mile and a half of gray lake that lay between him and shore. + +There were lights in every cottage window; the villagers would be about +the roads for an hour or more, and it would be well to delay on the +island, and he chose a high rock to sit upon. His hand ran the water off +his hard thighs, and then off his long, thin arms, and he watched the +laggard moon rising slowly in the dusky night, like a duck from the +marshes. Supporting himself with one arm, he let himself down the rock +and dabbled his foot in the water, and the splashing of the water +reminded him of little Philip Rean, who had been baptized twice that +morning notwithstanding his loud protest. And now one of his baptizers +was baptized, and in a few minutes would plunge again into the +beneficent flood. + +The night was so still and warm that it was happiness to be naked, and +he thought he could sit for hours on that rock without feeling cold, +watching the red moon rolling up through the trees round Tinnick; and +when the moon turned from red to gold he wondered how it was that the +mere brightening of the moon could put such joy into a man's heart. + +Derrinrush was the nearest shore, and far away in the wood he heard a +fox bark. 'On the trail of some rabbit,' he thought, and again he +admired the great gold moon rising heavily through the dusky sky, and +the lake formless and spectral beneath it. + +Catherine no doubt had begun to feel agitated; she would be walking +about at midnight, too scared to go to sleep. He was sorry for her; +perhaps she would be the only one who would prefer to hear he was in +America and doing well than at the bottom of the lake. Eliza would +regret in a way, as much as her administration of the convent would +allow her; Mary would pray for him--so would Eliza, for the matter of +that; and their prayers would come easily, thinking him dead. Poor +women! if only for their peace of mind he would undertake the second +half of the crossing. + +A long mile of water lay between him and Joycetown, but there was a +courage he had never felt before in his heart, and a strength he had +never felt before in his limbs. Once he stood up in the water, sorry +that the crossing was not longer. 'Perhaps I shall have had enough of it +before I get there;' and he turned on his side and swam half a mile +before changing his stroke. He changed it and got on his back because he +was beginning to feel cold and tired, and soon after he began to think +that it would be about as much as he could do to reach the shore. A +little later he was swimming frog-fashion, but the change did not seem +to rest him, and seeing the shore still a long way off he began to think +that perhaps after all he would find his end in the lake. His mind set +on it, however, that the lake should be foiled, he struggled on, and +when the water shallowed he felt he had come to the end of his strength. +'Another hundred yards would have done for me,' he said, and he was so +cold that he could not think, and sought his clothes vaguely, sitting +down to rest from time to time among the rocks. He didn't know for +certain if he would find them, and if he didn't he must die of cold. So +the rough shirt was very welcome when he discovered it, and so were the +woollen socks. As soon as he was dressed he thought that he felt nearly +strong enough to climb up the rocks, but he was not as strong as he +thought, and it took him a long time to get to the top. But at the top +the sward was pleasant--it was the sward of the terrace of the old +house; and lying at length, fearful lest sleep might overtake him, he +looked across the lake. 'A queer dusky night,' he said, 'with hardly a +star, and that great moon pouring silver down the lake.' + +'I shall never see that lake again, but I shall never forget it,' and as +he dozed in the train, in a corner of an empty carriage, the spectral +light of the lake awoke him, and when he arrived at Cork it seemed to +him that he was being engulfed in the deep pool by the Joycetown shore. +On the deck of the steamer he heard the lake's warble above the violence +of the waves. 'There is a lake in every man's heart,' he said, 'and he +listens to its monotonous whisper year by year, more and more attentive +till at last he ungirds.' + + +THE END + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11304 *** |