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