"Here it is. You don't want your umbrella. There's no sign of rain."
"No," said his uncle, "but it will be very hot presently. My dear Tom, I can't walk fast."
"I am sorry, I didn't know I was walking fast."
"You are walking at the rate of four miles an hour at the least."
"I am sorry, I will walk slower."
At the cross rods inquiry was made, and the priests were told that the cabin Ned Kavanagh had taken was the last one.
"That's just another half-mile," remarked Father John.
"If we don't hasten we shall be late."
"We might rest here," said Father John, "for a moment," and he leaned against a gate. "My dear Tom, it seems to me you're agitating yourself a little unnecessarily about Ned Kavanagh and his wife—I mean the girl he is going to marry."
"I am quite sure. Ned Kavanagh brought Mary back to his cabin. There can be no doubt."