Hyacinth got up.
‘Good-night,’ he said, ‘and good-bye. I shan’t go with you.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Captain Quinn. ‘I think I’ve done you one good turn to-night in stopping you going to South Africa. Now I’ll do you another, and one at the same time to that brother of mine. I left him in a hurry. I told you that, but I don’t think I mentioned that I was in his employment. He runs a woollen factory down in Mayo. I owned a share in the business once, but that went long ago, and the whole thing belongs to James now. I was a sort of clerk and general agent. I wasn’t really the least use, for I never did any work. James was for ever complaining, but I’m bound to say he stuck to me. I’ll give you a letter to him, and I dare say you may get the job that I’ve chucked. It’s not much of a thing, but it may suit you for a while. Sit down till I write my letter.’
Hyacinth obeyed. Since his anger evaporated a sort of numbness had crept over his mind. He scarcely understood what was said to him. He had a vague feeling of gratitude towards Captain Quinn, and at the same time a great desire to get away and be alone. He felt that he required to adjust his mind to the new thoughts which had been crowded into it. When he received the letter he put it into his pocket, and rose again to go. The Captain saw him to the door.
‘Good-bye.’ Hyacinth heard him, but his voice seemed far off, and his words meaningless. ‘Take my advice and run down to Ballymoy at once. Don’t hang about Finola any more. She’s a splendid woman, but she’s not for you. If you married her you’d be perfectly miserable. Not that I think she’d ever marry you. Still, she might. Women do such odd things. If by any chance she does, you’ll have to be very careful. Give her her head, and take her easy up to the jumps. Don’t try to hustle her, and for God’s sake don’t begin sawing at her mouth. I’d very much like to be here to see you in the character of Mr. Augusta Goold.’ He sighed. ‘But, of course, I can’t. The British Isles will be too hot for me for a while. However, who can tell what might happen if I win a good medal from old Kruger, and capture a few British Generals? I might act best man for you yet, if you’ll wait a year or two.’
When Hyacinth got home to his lodgings the first object that met his eye was Grealy’s ancient rifle. He tied a label round its barrel addressed to the owner. Then he packed his few belongings carefully and strapped his bag. So far he was sure of himself. He had no doubt whatever that he must leave Dublin at once. He felt that he could not endure an interview with Augusta Goold. She might blame him or might pity him. Either would be intolerable. She might even justify herself to him, might beat him into submission by sheer force of her beauty and her passion, as she had done once before. He would run no such risk. He felt that he could not sacrifice his sense of right and wrong, could not allow himself to be dragged into the moral chaos in which, it seemed to him now, Miss Goold lived. He was unconscious of any Divine leading, or even of any direct reliance on the obligations of honour. He could not himself have told why he clung with such desperate terror to his plan of escaping from his surroundings. Simply he could not do certain things or associate as a friend with people who did them. To get away from Dublin was the first necessity. For a moment it occurred to him that he might go to Dr. Henry, tell him the whole story, and ask for advice and help. But that was impossible. How could he confess the degradation of his ideal? How could he resist the inevitable reminder that he had been warned beforehand? Besides, not even now, after all that he had seen, could he accept Dr. Henry’s point of view. He still believed in Ireland, still hoped to serve her, still looked for the coming of his father’s captain to lead the saints to the final victory. Miss Goold had failed him, but he was not yet ready to enrol himself a citizen of England.
No, he must leave Dublin. But where to go? His lamp burnt dim and expired as he sat thinking. His fire had long ago gone out. He shivered with cold and misery, while the faint light of the dawn stole into his room. He heard the first twitter of the birds in the convent garden behind his lodging. Then came the noise of the earliest traffic, the unnaturally loud rattle of the dust-carts on their rounds. A steamer hooted far away down the river, and an early bell rang the neighbouring nuns to prayer. Hyacinth grew desperate. Could he go home, back to the fishing-boats and simple people of Carrowkeel? A great desire for the old scenes seized upon him. He fought against it with all his might. He had rejected the offer of the home life once. Now, no doubt, it would be closed against him. The boat that might have been his was sold long ago. He would not go back to confess himself a fool and a failure.
Gradually his mind worked back over the conversation in the hotel with Captain Quinn. The recollection of the latter part of it, which had meant nothing at the time, grew clear. He felt for the letter in his pocket, and drew it out. After all, why should he not offer himself to James Quinn? Ballymoy was remote enough to be a hiding-place. It was in County Mayo, the Captain had said. He had never heard of the place, and it seemed likely that no one else, except its inhabitants, knew of it either. At least, there was no reason that he could see why he should not go there. His brain refused to work any longer, either at planning or remembering. His lips formed the word Ballymoy. He repeated it again and again. He seemed to go on repeating it in the troubled sleep which came to him.