he sea,
madness--especially of the quiet, melancholic kind--is a thing very
common. A year ago a wrestling match between him and Jack Kinsella had
gathered two counties to see it. No man could say which was the
champion. Now one was the victor, again the other. They kept steady
pace in their victories. Jack was captain of the Kilsallagh team of
hurlers, Mike of the Clonegall. No one could say which captain led his
team oftenest to victory. The men had begun by being friends, and their
equality at first had only made them genial laughter. The wrestling was
on Sunday, after mass, in a quiet green place at the back of the
churchyard. The backers of the two champions took fire at the rivalry
long before the men themselves. That would be a great day for the men
and women of his following, when either champion should decisively
lead. But the day seemed ever receding in the future, and no one could
say which was the better man. June came, when not only the hurling, but
the wrestling, had its thin fringe of female spectators perched on the
low wall of the churchyard--girls mainly, with little shawls over their
soft hair, and their little bare feet tucked demurely under their
petticoats.

The country people scarcely guessed at the time their two champions
became enemies. Indeed, it was a secret locked in their own breasts,
scarcely acknowledged even when in his most hidden moments each man
looked at the desires of his heart. It only showed itself in a new
fierceness and determination in their encounters. Each had sworn to
himself to conquer the other. The soreness between them came about
when by some sad mischance they fell in love with the same girl. Worse
luck, she wanted neither of them, for she was vowed to the convent:
the last feminine creature on earth for these two great fighters to
think of, with her soft, pure eyes, her slender height, and her pale
cheeks. Any girl in the country might have jumped at either man, and
she, who wanted neither, had their hearts at her feet. She was shy and
gentle, and never repelled them so decisively as to make them give up
hope. In the long run one or the other might have tempted her to an
earthly bridal; but she made no choice between them; and each man's
chance seemed about equal when she slipped from them both into
Kilbride churchyard. When she lay there neither man could say she had
distinguished him by special kindness from the other. And their
rivalry waxed more furious with the w