to pray to God to reserve Nora for him.  But the whirl in his brain soon deprived him of all power of resistance, and, looking round the room hurriedly to assure himself he was not watched, he fell on his knees and burst into extemporary prayer:  ’O my God, whatever punishment there is to be borne, let me bear it.  She sinned, no doubt, and her sins must be atoned for.  Let me bear the punishment that thou, in thine infinite wisdom, must adjudge to her, poor sinful woman that she is, poor woman persecuted by men, persecuted by me.  O my God, remember that I lent a willing ear to scandalmongers, that I went down that day to the school and lost my temper with her, that I spoke against her in my church.  All the sins that have been committed are my sins; let me bear the punishment.  O my Lord Jesus Christ, do thou intercede with thy Father and ask him to heap all the punishment on my head.  Oh, dear Lord Jesus, if I had only thought of thee when I went down to the school, if I had remembered thy words, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone,” I should have been spared this anguish.  If I had remembered thy words, she might have gone to Dublin and had her baby there, and come back to the parish.  O my God, the fault is mine; all the faults that have been committed can be traced back to me, therefore I beseech of thee, I call upon thee, to let me bear all the punishment that she has earned by her sins, poor erring creature that she is.  O my God, do this for me; remember that I served thee well for many years when I lived among the poor folk in the mountains.  For all these years I ask this thing of thee, that thou wilt let me bear her punishment.  Is it too much I am asking of thee, O my God, is it too much?’

When he rose from his knees, bells seemed to be ringing in his head, and he began to wonder if another miracle had befallen him, for it was as if someone had laid hands on him and forced him on his knees.  But to ask the Almighty to extend his protection to him rather than to Mr. Poole, who was a Protestant, seemed not a little gross.  Father Oliver experienced a shyness that he had never known before, and he hoped the Almighty would not be offended at the familiarity of the language, or the intimate nature of the request, for to ask for Nora’s body as well as her soul did not seem altogether seemly.

It was queer to think like that.  Perhaps his brain was giving way.  And he pushed the plates aside; he could not eat any dinner, nor could he take any interest in his garden.

The dahlias were over, the chrysanthemums were beginning.  Never had the country seemed so still:  dead birds in the woods, and the sounds of leaves, and the fitful December sunlight on the strands—­these were his distractions when he went out for a walk, and when he came in he often thought it would be well if he did not live to see another day, so heavy did the days seem, so uneventful, and in these languid autumn days the desire to write to Nora crept nearer, until it always seemed about him like some familiar animal.