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 go