h 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 pap