’In all but one thing I know no better man, and I’ll not hear that there’s no hope.’

’Better waste no time talking.  Just let me hear you say again that I’ve been a good man in everything but one thing.’

‘Yes, indeed;’ and the priests grasped hands.

And Catherine came into the room to ask if Father Moran was stopping to supper.  Father Oliver answered hurriedly:  ’Yes, yes, he’s staying.  Bring in supper as soon as you can;’ and she went away, to come back soon after with the cloth.  And while she laid it the priests sat looking at each other, not daring to speak, hoping that Catherine did not suspect from their silence and manner that anything was wrong.  She seemed to be a long while laying the cloth and bringing in the food; it seemed to them as if she was delaying on purpose.  At last the door was closed, and they were alone.

‘Now, Moran, sit down and eat a bit, won’t you?’

’I can’t eat anything.  Give me some whisky; that is what I want.  Give me some whisky, and I will go away and you’ll never see me again.  Just a glass to keep me going, and I will go straight out of your parish, so that none of the disgrace will fall upon you; or—­what do you think?  You could put me up here; no one need know I’m here.  All I want are a few bottles of whisky.’

‘You mean that I should put you up here and let you get drunk?’

’You know what I mean well enough.  I’m like that.  And it’s well for you who don’t want whisky.  But if it hadn’t been for whisky I should have been in a mad-house long ago.  Now, just tell me if you’ll give me drink.  If you will, I’ll stay and talk with you, for I know you’re lonely; if not, I’ll just be off with myself.’

’Moran, you’ll be better when you’ve had something to eat.  It will pass from you.  I will give you a glass of beer.’

’A glass of beer!  Ah, if I could tell you the truth!  We’ve all our troubles, Gogarty—­trouble that none knows but God.  I haven’t been watching you—­I’ve been too tormented about myself to think much of anyone else—­but now and then I’ve caught sight of a thought passing across your mind.  We all suffer, you like another, and when the ache becomes too great to be borne we drink.  Whisky is the remedy; there’s none better.  We drink and forget, and that is the great thing.  There are times, Gogarty, when one doesn’t want to think, when one’s afraid, aren’t there?—­when one wants to forget that one’s alive.  You’ve had that feeling, Gogarty.  We all have it.  And now I must be off.  I must forget everything.  I want to drink and to feel the miles passing under my feet.’

And on that he got up from the fire.

‘Come, Moran, I won’t hear you speak like that.’

‘Let me go.  It’s no use; I’m done for;’ and Father Oliver saw his eyes light up.

’I’ll not keep you against your will, but I’ll go a piece of the road with you.’

‘I’d sooner you didn’t come, Gogarty.’