n. You're right there. But who _you_ are or how you
come to know me is more than I can tell. But wait a minute. I've a sort
of recollection of your voice. Will you speak to me again, and maybe
I'll be able to put a name on you.'

Hyacinth said a few words rapidly in Irish.

'I have you now,' said the priest. 'You're Hyacinth Conneally, the boy
that went out to fight for the Boers. Father Lavelle, this is a friend
of mine that I've known ever since he was born, and I haven't laid eyes
on him these six years or more. You're going West, Mr. Conneally? But of
course you are. Where else would you be going? We'll travel together
and talk. If it's second-class you're going, Father Lavelle will have
to lend me the money to pay the extra on my ticket, so as I can go with
you. Seemingly it's a Protestant minister you've grown into. Well
now, who'd have thought it? And you so set on fighting the battle of
Armageddon and all. It's a come-down for you, so it is. But never mind.
You might have got yourself killed in it. There's many a one killed or
maimed for life in smaller fights than it. It's better to be a minister
any day than a corpse or a cripple. And as you are a minister, it's
likely to be third-class you're travelling. Times are changed since
I was young. It was the priests travelled third-class then, if they
travelled at all, and the ministers were cocked up on the cushions,
looking down on the likes of us out of the windows with the little red
curtains half-drawn across them. Now it'll be Father Lavelle there,
with his grand new coat that he says is Irish manufacture--but I
don't believe him--who'll be doing the gentleman. But come along, Mr.
Conneally--come along, and tell me all the battles you fought and the
Generals you made prisoners of, and how it was you took to preaching
afterwards.'

Hyacinth, somewhat shyly, introduced the priest to Marion. Then a
ticket-collector drove them into their carriage and locked the door.

Father Moran began to catechize Hyacinth before the train started, and
drew from him, as they went westwards, the story of his disappointments,
doubts, hopes, veerings, and final despair. Hyacinth spoke unwillingly
at first, giving no more than necessary answers to the questions.
Then, because he found that reticence called down on him fresh and
more detailed inquiries, and also because the priest's evident and
sympathetic interest redeemed a prying curiosity from offensiveness,
he told his tale