diverged
from it to pace the road in which Norah MacMulty lived, and to linger
about the house into which he had helped her. He had something to say to
Norah MacMulty, but he caught no sight of her. He went home, and to bed.
Next evening he paced the streets again. There was still no sign of her,
but he encountered the assistant, who nodded to him in passing. Paul
stopped him.

'I beg your pardon,' he said. 'Is there any news of that poor woman?'

'Yes,' said the assistant. 'She's in for a touch of erysipelas. They
kept her at the Infirmary to-day. If they'd left her at large she'd have
killed herself.'

'How?' said Paul.

'Drink,' returned the assistant, and went his own way.

So Paul ceased his wanderings for a while, and a fortnight had passed
before he saw the woman again.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and he was off for his customary lonely
ramble. Armstrong always went upstairs for a nap after Sunday's dinner,
and Paul was left without companionship.

The woman was a mile away from her home, and was sitting on the lower
steps of a stile by the side of the highway. She was tidily attired, and
sober. Her recent illness had left a pensive look upon her face.

'You're better?' said Paul, stopping in front of her.

She looked up in some surprise.

'Oh,' she answered. ''Tis you? I'm better, thank ye kindly. There's not
many cares to ask.'

'Do you remember,' Paul demanded, with a face whiter than her own, 'what
you said at the doctor's the night you were hurt?'

'No,' she replied. 'What was it?'

'The doctor asked you what your trade was,' said Paul.

'Yes,' she said; 'I mind it now.'

'Did you mean it?' Paul asked.

'Ye're a trifle over-young to turn parson,' she responded. 'Go your
ways, child, and don't be bothering.'

'Don't ask me to go yet,' said Paul 'I've something I want to say to
you.' His voice stuck in his throat, and she turned her glance towards
him in a new surprise. 'You said,' he went on with difficulty, 'that you
were sure to go to hell.'

'I'm that,' she answered dryly, drawing her shawl about her shoulders.

'Well,' said Paul, 'you shan't. I'm not going to let you.' She laughed
oddly with a mere ejaculation, and stared along the road. 'Do you ever
think what hell is like?' he asked.

'Would I drink if I didn't?' she answered without looking at him.

'You can't put it away by drinking.'

'I know that,' she answered, with a sudden sullen fierceness. Then, 'Ye
mean well, I da