know, Shane. But please let me go, I implore you.... Even if I
do go down.... Don't you see? There is nothing for me but this, or
death.... My life.... O Shane, let me go!"

"Quiet, Granya!" He caught her wrist.

"Please, Shane. Please. I pray of you...." She began to twist.... "O
Shane, you hurt."

"Quiet, Granya. Boat--o!"

The lantern of the coast-guards' cutter came nearer.... The measured
swish of the oars ... the creak.... She began to struggle fiercely....

"Granya, if you don't keep quiet, I'll have to hit you...."

"O Shane!" she whimpered....

"All right Get her on board. Steady, there. Trim a little. Good!"
Flannagan and a great bearded coast-guard had her.... The silence was
broken with her little sobs.... He helped her over the waist of the
schooner....

"Go below, Granya, and get into some dry clothes.... Mr. Flannagan, I'll
take the boat back to St. Petersburg.... If Miss O'Malley doesn't land
neither do I. May I send a letter ashore? It's only about business, and
the place in the glens...."

"I'll take it and have it sent."

"Another thing; we want to get some provisions and water."

"Of course, sir.... That's all right."

"Do you think one of the country girls could be persuaded to come on
board as Miss O'Malley's maid?"

"I think so. We'll ask the local priest."

"Oh, yes, the priest.... Another thing: do you think you could dig out a
parson around here somewhere and bring him on board?"

"O Shane, what do you want that for?" She hadn't gone below, but waited
in the companionway.

"You don't think you're going wandering around with me, casually, like
this?"

"But it's only to St. Petersburg, Shane!"

"And then where do you go? What do you do?"

"I--I--I don't know."

"Better get the parson, Mr. Flannagan."

"Oh, but Shane--" she protested.

"Go below, Granya, and get those wet things off.... And get into women's
clothes.... Granya!"

"Yes, Shane.... Very well, Shane...."

PART SEVEN

THE KINGDOM AND THE POWER AND THE GLORY

Section 1

He felt a little ashamed, a little shy, what with his gray hairs, his
paternity, that there should still be a thrill in his heart, a sense of
flight in him. At fifty-eight to feel like a schoolboy going home, it
seemed--well, not indecent, indecorous. This thing of returning to
Antrim had been a matter of pure reason, and then suddenly his heart had
spread forgotten wings.

Without, the sound of Broadway had changed subtly,