t up,
and his nod was the nod of one whose soul is full of interesting story.

He had one of those long Irish faces, all in a straight line, with flat,
slightly hollow cheeks, and a long chin. It was clean shaven, and a
heavy lock of black hair was always falling over his eyes. It was his
eyes that gave its sombre ecstatic character to his face. They were
large, dark, deeply set, singularly shaped, and they seemed to smoulder
like fires in caves, leaping and sinking out of the darkness. He was a
tall, thin young man, and he wore a black jacket and a large, blue
necktie, tied with the ends hanging loose over his coat. Evelyn received
him effusively, stretching both hands to him and telling him she was so
glad he had come. She said she was delighted with his melodies, and
would sing them as soon as she got an occasion. But he did not seem as
pleased as he should have done; and sitting, his eyes fixed on the
floor--now and then he muttered a word of thanks. His silence
embarrassed her, and she felt suddenly that the talk which she had been
looking forward to would be a failure, and she almost wished him out of
her box. Neither had spoken for some time, and, to break an awkward
silence, she said that she had been that morning at St. Joseph's. He
looked up; their eyes met unexpectedly, and she seemed to read an
impertinence in his eyes; they seemed to say, "I wonder how you dared go
there!" But his words contradicted the idea which she thought she had
read in his eyes. He asked her at once eagerly and sympathetically, if
she had seen her father. No, he was not there, and, growing suddenly
shy, she sought to change the conversation.

"You are not a Roman Catholic, I think.... I know you were born a
Catholic, but from something you said the other day I was led to think
that you did not believe."

"I cannot think what I could have said to give you such an idea. Most
people reproach me for believing too much."

"The other day you spoke of the ancient gods Angus and Lir, and the
great mother Dana, as of real gods."

"Of course I spoke of them as real gods; I am a Celt, and they are real
gods to me."

Now his face had lighted up, and in clear, harmonious voice he was
arguing that the gods of a nation cannot die to that nation until it be
incorporated and lost in another nation.

"I don't see how you reconcile Angus and Lir with Christianity, that is
all."

"But I don't try to reconcile them; they do not need reconciliati