gentleness and kindness that we can do good. I shall be glad to see you
if you ever come to London.

'I am, sir, 'Very sincerely yours, 'MICHAEL O'GRADY.'


'All's well that ends well. So that's how he views it! A different point
of view.' And feeling that he was betraying himself to Catherine, he put
both letters into his pocket and went out of the house. But he had not
gone many yards when he met a parishioner with a long story to tell,
happily not a sick call, only a dispute about land. So he invented an
excuse postponing his intervention until the morrow, and when he
returned home tired with roaming, he stopped on his door-step. 'The
matter is over now, her letter is final,' he said. But he awoke in a
different mood next morning; everything appeared to him in a different
light, and he wondered, surprised to find that he could forget so
easily; and taking her letter out of his pocket, he read it again. 'It's
a hard letter, but she's a wise woman. Much better for us both to forget
each other. "Good-bye, Father Gogarty," she said; "Good-bye, Nora
Glynn," say I.' And he walked about his garden tending his flowers,
wondering at his light-heartedness.

She thought of her own interests, and would get on very well in London,
and Father O'Grady had been lucky too. Nora was an excellent organist.
But if he went to London he would meet her. A meeting could hardly be
avoided--and after that letter! Perhaps it would be wiser if he didn't
go to London. What excuse? O'Grady would write again. He had been so
kind. In any case he must answer his letter, and that was vexatious. But
was he obliged to answer it? O'Grady wouldn't misunderstand his silence.
But there had been misunderstandings enough; and before he had walked