She shook her head.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I know it is no use. You could not understand even if I told you all I felt.’
Her eyes filled suddenly with tears. He heard her sob. Then she turned without a word and left them. He stood watching her till she reached the road and started on her walk to the railway-station. Then he took Marion’s two hands in his, and held them fast.
‘Will you understand?’ he asked her.
She looked up at him. Her face was all tenderness. Love shone on him—trusting, unquestioning, adoring love, love that would be loyal to the uttermost; but her eyes were full of a dumb wonder.
CHAPTER XXV
One morning near the end of September the Irish Times published a list of Irish graduates ordained in England on the previous Sunday. Among other names appeared:
‘Hyacinth Conneally, B.A., T.C.D., deacon, by the Bishop of Ripon, for the curacy of Kirby-Stowell.’
Shortly afterwards the Croppy printed the following verses, signed ‘M.O’D.‘: