The two men shook hands in silence, and Dr. Marsh went out to find Father Healy waiting for him.
"We are a pair of idiots, you and I," said the doctor. "We ought to unite in hooting Denis Quirk out of Grey Town, but we shall fight for him to the finish. He is too ugly to be hopelessly wicked," he added, after a pause.
"Then you and I are not altogether bad," laughed the priest.
They walked in silence to the doctor's gate.
"Won't you come in?" he asked, as they paused to say good-bye.
"No, thank you. It is a strange thing I should have received the Bishop's letter to-day," said Father Healy, reflectively.
Dr. Marsh could not grasp the meaning of this remark, so he refrained from comment on it.
"The Bishop wishes me to take a six months' holiday," continued the priest.
"You have earned it by hard work. A most reasonable suggestion. Take a rest before you die suddenly," said the doctor.
"And he suggests that I return to the old home in County Cork," added Father Healy.
"Naturally. Where would you go but to Ireland?"
"Why not America? It is a great country, and cousins of my own in every city. It might be I would find a cousin in Goldenvale itself."
"Goldenvale! Father Healy, you are a strange man, a many-sided man, but I don't think you are the best fitted person I would select to be discovering other men's secrets."
"Denis Quirk won't help himself. I intend to help him," said the priest.
"No man need know but that I went to Cork, after all. But something tells me I shall find him innocent."
"I am prepared to lay 6 to 4 on that myself. Well, Providence go with you, for you deserve it; and if you require money----," said Dr. Marsh.
"Not one penny. I have a small income of my own, inherited from my mother, God rest her soul! Molly shall go to the Finns, in Brunswick. The change will do her good. And no one need know but that I am in Cork."
"In Cork you shall be, if I have to perjure my soul to prove it!" cried Dr. Marsh. "No man shall come near me when I come to die but you, for you are the best man living."
The Grey River was in flood. It came down the valley a torrent of yellow water, rushing madly between the rocks where the channel was narrow, spreading out far and wide over the low-lying meads, bearing with it the trunks of trees and other debris snatched up along its course. It had overflowed the lower bridge, and rendered it impassable to traffic; the upper bridge was threatened by the turbulent river.