The Irishman looked at him humorously. "I hardly like to tell it to
you," he said, "but they marked you for an anarchist. An anarchist, for
all the world! As if any anarchist alive would travel first-class in
third-class clothes! You see, I'm blunt."

The boy, studying him, half in fear, half in doubt, laughed suddenly in
quick relief and amusement.

"An anarchist! How droll!"

"Wasn't it? I told them so. I also told them--"

"What?"

"My own beliefs."

"And your beliefs?"

"No! No! You won't draw me! But I'll tell you this much, for I've told
it before. I knew you were no common creature of intrigue; I accepted
you as mystery personified."

"And now you would solve me?" In his returning confidence the boy's eyes
danced.

"God forbid!" The vehemence of the reply was comic, and the Irishman
himself laughed as the words escaped him. "Oh no!" he added, soberly.
"Keep your mask! I don't want to tear it from you. Later on, perhaps,
I'll take a peep behind; but I can accept mysteries and miracles--I was
born into the Roman Catholic Church."