t 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