k;' 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 si