part in the great battle? He had
never ceased to believe his father's words: 'And the battlefield is
Ireland--our dear Ireland which we love!' He felt for the moment that
he was altogether prepared to make the confession of faith the Canon
required.

'Yes,' he said, 'I am on His side.'

'And you love Marion? Are you quite sure of that? Are you certain that
this is not a passing fancy?'

This time Hyacinth had no doubt whatever about his answer.

'I am as certain of my love as I am of anything in the world.'

'I am glad. I am very glad that this has happened--for your sake,
because I have always liked you; also for Marion's sake. I shall see you
happy because you love one another, and because you both love the Lord.
I ask no more than those two things. But I must go and tell my wife at
once. She will be glad, too.'

He rose and went to the door. With his hand stretched out to open it he
stopped, struck by a sudden thought.

'By the way, I ought to ask you--if you mean to be married--have you
any--I mean it is necessary--I hope you won't think I am laying undue
stress upon such matters, but I really--I mean we really ought to
consider what you are to live upon.'

It was the prospect of imparting the news to his wife which forced this
speech from him. Mrs. Beecher was, indeed, the least worldly of women.
Did she not marry the Canon, then a mere curate, on the slenderest
income, and bear him successively five babies in defiance of common
prudence? But it had fallen to her lot to order the affairs of the
household, and she had learnt that the people who give you bread and
beef demand, after an interval, more or less money in exchange. It was
likely that, after her first rapture had subsided, she would make some
inquiry about Hyacinth's income and prospects. The Canon felt he ought
to be prepared.

'Of course, I have lost my position with Mr. Quinn. You know that. But I
have an offer of work which I hope will lead on to something better,
and will enable me in a short time to earn enough money to marry on.
You know--or perhaps you don't, for I am afraid I never told you '--he
remembered that he had carefully concealed his connection with the
_Croppy_ from his friends at Ballymoy, and paused--' I have done some
little writing. Oh, nothing very much--not a book, or anything like
that, only a few articles for the press. Well, a friend of mine has got
me the offer of a post in connection with a weekly paper. It is not a