Certainly no eyes had ever followed him into his solitude
as the dark ones first seen to-day were doing.

He went out presently, the rain having ceased, and sauntered down the
unattractive "Main Street" of Cloon.

The shops were shut, save those frequent ones which added the sale of
liquor to that of more innocent commodities. In one a smart-looking
schoolboy was reading the _Weekly Freeman_ aloud to a group of
frieze-coated hearers. At the door of another a ballad-singer was
plaintively piping the "Mother's Farewell," with its practical
refrain:--

"Then write to me often, _and send me all you can_,
And don't forget where'er you are that you're an Irishman."

The Doctor might at another time have joined and enlivened one of the
listless groups standing about, but, after a moment or two of
hesitation, he turned his back to them and walked in the direction of
the gate of Inagh. "There's Mrs. Connell down there, that I ought to go
and see; she's always complaining," he said to himself, in self-excuse.
But having arrived at her cottage, he saw by a glance at the unshuttered
window that his visit would be a work of supererogation, as she was
busily engaged in carding wool by the fireside, the clear light of the
paraffin lamp, which without any intervening stage of candles had
superseded her rushlight, showing her comely face to be hale and hearty.

Half unconsciously the young man passed on, crossed a stile and walked
up a narrow, laurel-bordered path towards the light of another window
which was drawing him, moth-like, by its gleam. It also, though in the
"Removable's" house, was unshuttered, testifying to the peaceful state
of the district. He could see a cheerful sitting-room, gay with flowers
and chintzes, the light of a shaded lamp falling on Louise Eden's fair
head, bent over a heavy volume on the table, an intrusive white kitten
disputing her attention with it. He drew back, with a sudden sense of
shame at having ventured so far, and hurried homewards to dream of the
fair vision the day had brought him.

It was the beginning of an enchanted summer for the young Doctor. Day
after day he met Miss Eden, at first by so-called accident; but soon
their visits were pre-arranged to fall together at some poor cottage,
where she told him he could bring healing or he told her she could bring
help.

She had thrown herself with devotion into the tending of the poor. "I
have wasted so many years at school," she wou