mountain. All along his way budding maple trees swayed their
branches overhead; on the twigs of some there was the scarlet moss of
opening flowers, some were tipped with red buds and some were grey. The
March wind was surging through them; the March clouds were flying above
them,--light grey clouds with no rain in them,--veil above veil of mist,
and each filmy web travelling at a different pace. The road began as a
street, crossed railway tracks and a canal, ran between fields, and
again entered between houses. The houses were of brick or stone, poor
and ugly; the snow in the fields was sodden with water; the road----

'I wish that the holy prophet Elijah would come to this Jordan with his
mantle,' thought the priest to himself.

This was a pious thought, and he splashed and waded along
conscientiously. He had been sent on an errand, and had to return to
discharge a more important duty in the same afternoon.

The suburb consisted chiefly of workmen's houses and factories, but
there were some ambitious-looking terraces. The priest stopped at a
brick dwelling of fair size. It had an aspect of flaunting
respectability; lintel and casements were shining with varnish; cheap
starched curtains decked every window. When the priest had rung a bell
which jingled inside, the door was opened by a young woman. She was not
a servant, her dress was fur-belowed and her hair was most elaborately
arranged. She was, moreover, evidently Protestant; she held the door and
surveyed the visitor with an air that was meant to show easy
independence of manner, but was, in fact, insolent.

The priest had a slip of paper in his hand and referred to it. 'Mrs.
O'Brien?' he asked.

'I'm not Mrs. O'Brien,' said the young woman, looking at something which
interested her in the street.

A shrill voice belonging, as it seemed, to a middle-aged woman, made
itself heard. 'Louisy, if it's a Cath'lic priest, take him right in to
your gran'ma; it's him she's expecting.'

A moment's stare of surprise and contempt, and the young woman led the
way through a gay and cheaply furnished parlour, past the door of a best
bedroom which stood open to shew the frills on the pillows, into a room
in the back wing. She opened the door with a jerk and stared again as
the priest passed her. She was a handsome girl; the young priest did not
like to be despised; within his heart he sighed and said a short prayer
for patience.

He entered a room that did not share the at