n Fair. I was
so overjoyed to find that my journey lay in the same direction as
Father Donovan's that I tramped on westward till after some trouble I
found the priest's house in which he was stopping, to tell the good
father that I would go part of the way to Rome with him. He was indeed
delighted to see me, and introduced me to his host, Father Kilnane,
nearly as fine a man and as good a priest as Father Donovan himself.

We had dinner there all together at mid-day, and I invited Father
Donovan to come out and see the town with me, which he did. The
peaceful father clung to my arm in a kind of terror at what he was
witnessing, for he was as innocent of the ways of a big town as if he
had been a gossoon from a hedge-school in Ireland. Yet he was mightily
interested in all he saw, and asked me many thousand questions that
day, and if I did not know the correct answer to them, it made no
differ to Father Donovan, for he did not know the answer himself and
took any explanation as if it was as true as the gospels he studied
and preached.

Daylight was gone before we got back to the house he lodged in, and
nothing would do but I must come in and have a bit of supper, although
I told him that supper would be waiting for me at the "Pig and
Turnip." It had been agreed between us that we would travel together
as far as Rye, and that there I should see him off on his tempestuous
voyage to Dunkirk or Calais, as the case might be. The old man was
mightily delighted to find that our ways lay together through the
south of England. He was pleased to hear that I had determined on my
rights through the courts of law, with no more sword-playing and
violence, which, to tell the truth, until it reached its height, the
old man was always against; although, when a quarrel came to its
utmost interesting point, I have seen Father Donovan fidget in his
cassock, and his eyes sparkle with the glow of battle, although up
till then he had done his best to prevent the conflict.

It was getting late when I neared the "Pig and Turnip," and there was
a good deal of turmoil in the streets. I saw one or two pretty
debates, but, remembering my new resolution to abide by law and order,
I came safely past them and turned up the less-frequented street that
held my inn, when at the corner, under the big lamp, a young man with
something of a swagger about him, in spite of the meanness of his
dress, came out from the shadow of the wall and looked me hard in