sickness until the noon of that day when two good old women heard of
his condition and came. One of them was at his bedside when I entered.
When she saw my collar she lifted her hands in that peculiarly
Hibernian gesture that means so much, and said:

"'Sure, God sent you here this night. He has been waiting since noon
to die.'

"The sick priest opened his eyes that now had the brightness of death
in them and appeared to look through me. He seemed to be very far
away. But slowly the eyes told me that he was coming back--back from
the shadows; then at last he spoke:

"'You, Bishop? Thank God!'"

"He made his simple confession. I anointed him and brought him
Viaticum from the tabernacle in the church. Then the eyes went wild
again, and I saw when they opened and looked at me that he had already
turned around, and was again walking through the shadows of the Great
Valley that ends the Long Road.

[Illustration: "Then I learned--old priest and bishop as I was--I
learned my lesson."]

"Through the night we three, the old woman, the boy and myself,
watched him and listened to his wanderings. Then I learned--old priest
and bishop as I was--I learned my lesson. The lips that never spoke a
complaint were moved, but not by his will, to go over the story of two
terrible years. It was a sad story. It began with his great zeal. He
wanted to do so much, but the black discouragement of everything