"Even so," said Father John. "He may have thought he was married."
"How could he have thought he was married unless he was drunk, and that cannot be put forward as an excuse. No, my dear uncle, you are inclined for subtleties this morning."
"He may have thought he was married. Moreover, he intended to be married, and if through forgetfulness—"
"Forgetfulness!" cried Father Maguire. "A pretty large measure of forgetfulness!"
"I shouldn't say that a mortal sin has been committed; a venial one .... If he intended to be married—"
"Oh, my dear uncle, we shall be late, we shall be late!"
Father Stafford repressed the smile that gathered in the corner of his lips, and he remembered how Father Tom had kept him out of bed till two o'clock in the morning, talking to him about St. Thomas Aquinas.
"If they're to be married to-day we must be getting on." And Father Maguire's stride grew more impatient. "I'll walk on in front."
At last he spied a woman in a field, and she told him that the married couple had gone towards the Peak. Most of them had gone for a walk, but Pat Connex was in bed, and the doctor had to be sent for.
"I've heard," said Father Tom, "of last night's drunkenness. Half a barrel of porter; there's what remains," he said, pointing to some stains on the roadway. "They were too drunk to turn off the tap."