The Sign of the Shamrock [pp. 403-414]

THE SIGN OF THE SHAMROCK.
was at the top of St. Canice's Stairs-then was gone. With her
went all Gerald's gladness; misery rose about him like a flood,
clutched him by the throat, drove him stumbling and blaspheming up and down the cobble-stones of the little curved street
with its pitiless blank walls, then cast him contemptuously into a
corner among some sleeping dogs, that yelped, growled, and fled
into the town.
The canon took him for a dog as he passed that way on his
usual evening stroll. The circular, close street by the cathedral
was his favorite, for nobody was to be met there save an old woman or two, who remained speechless from reverence or from
fear-reverence for his priestly garb, fear lest he should discover that they had been begging at the Protestant rectory.
He came nigh to stumbling over Gerald as he lay there with
his face hidden in his arm. Something about his spurs recalled
the scene of the afternoon, for he, too, had witnessed the escapade. He leaned down, touched the man's shoulder:
"Gerald! It is not possible!"
" Leave me, go away; nothing can make me want to live now,"
muttered poor Gerald.
The canon's voice was very stern:
"Shame on you, to wallow like a dog! If you have no pity
on your parents and relatives, think of Lasarina!"
Gerald was on his feet in a moment, looking very sheepish.
"I -I am sober, father. It was Lasarina-I mean it is all
over between us. I told her she had better accept him; wasn't
I right, father?"
"Accept whom, my son?" asked the canon, surprised at his
mistake, and a little mortified.
"The rich American who wants to marry her-the tall man
staying at the inn; you've seen him fishing in the river, haven't
you?"
"Yes; but I've not seen him at Mass," said the priest.
"He has been making up to her, and as I promised her father
to be her friend, no matter how it hurt me, and as I hear he is
rich and all right, we-we agreed that we should part-for ever."
"You mean you suggested, and she agreed, like a girl of
spirit?"
"Perhaps-"
"Well, Gerald, I'll tell you what I think. Drink has taken
the nerve out of you. You are no better than a sick man, and
your disease is drink. Now, I like a drop of whiskey myself, but
I despise a man who makes a beast of himself through whiskey
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