A relaxation of every muscle and fibre in Wolf’s body seemed to have taken place. He gazed up at the obscure form of the priest and at the shivering stars in the blue-black sky.

“It’s⁠—just⁠—what⁠—I⁠—wanted,” he murmured, with a luxurious sigh.

Mr. Valley was delighted. He hovered over him as if he had ensconced him in his own bed. “I thought you’d like it, Solent,” he murmured. “Sometimes when I’ve been like this on the Blacksod road I’ve felt as if, with the round earth beneath me carrying me between the constellations⁠ ⁠… and the Blessed Sacrament waiting my return⁠ ⁠… I’ve felt as if⁠—What’s the matter, Solent? Is the road too hard?”

But Wolf had only been fumbling with his hand to make sure he hadn’t lost his stick. He felt extremely unwilling to move or to speak. But he was conscious of a stronger wave of affection for Valley than he had ever known before.