diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-27 19:42:02 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-27 19:42:02 -0800 |
| commit | 7ddd75455355f7da29881d1da640c5e6e912816f (patch) | |
| tree | 5f6ad6429df80bfe607964b8cd6ca63622a11619 | |
| parent | 36065e803cc51cee745bbaf6e83b32c4d071184d (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/61102-8.txt | 8869 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/61102-8.zip | bin | 177295 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/61102-h.zip | bin | 318749 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/61102-h/61102-h.htm | 9191 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/61102-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 75603 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/61102-h/images/logo.jpg | bin | 7020 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/61102-h/images/title.jpg | bin | 50976 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/61102.txt | 8869 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/61102.zip | bin | 177274 -> 0 bytes |
12 files changed, 17 insertions, 26929 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..42ecd9b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #61102 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61102) diff --git a/old/61102-8.txt b/old/61102-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3ad4249..0000000 --- a/old/61102-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8869 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Valley of Squinting Windows, by Brinsley MacNamara - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Valley of Squinting Windows - -Author: Brinsley MacNamara - -Release Date: January 4, 2020 [EBook #61102] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VALLEY OF SQUINTING WINDOWS *** - - - - -Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber's note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -THE VALLEY OF THE -SQUINTING WINDOWS - -BY -BRINSLEY MACNAMARA - -[Illustration: Logo] - -NEW YORK -BRENTANO'S -1920 - - - - -Copyright, 1919, by -BRENTANO'S - -_All rights reserved_ - - - - -To -ONE WHO WAITED -FOR THIS STORY - - -_And the Lord spake unto Moses saying_: - -_Speak unto Aaron saying whosoever he be of thy seed in their -generations that hath any blemish let him not approach to offer the -bread of his God._ - -LEVITICUS xxi. 16-17. - - - - -PREFATORY NOTE - - -In the parlor, as they call it, or best room of every Irish farmhouse, -one may come upon a certain number of books that are never read, laid -there in lonely repose upon the big square table on the middle of the -floor. A novel entitled "Knocknagow" is almost always certain to be -amongst them, yet scarcely as the result of selection, although its -constant occurrence cannot be considered purely accidental. There must -lurk an explanation somewhere about these quiet Irish houses connecting -the very atmosphere with "Knocknagow". A stranger, thinking of some of -the great books of the world, would almost feel inclined to believe -that this story of the quiet homesteads of Ireland must be one of them, -a book full of inspiration and truth and beauty, a story sprung from -the bleeding realities which were before the present comfort of these -homes. Yet for all the expectations which might be raised up in one -by this most popular, this typical Irish novel, it is most certainly -the book with which the new Irish novelist would endeavor to contrast -his own. For he would be writing of life, as the modern novelist's art -is essentially a realistic one, and not of the queer, distant, half -pleasing, half saddening thing which could make one Irish farmer's -daughter say to another at any time within the past forty years: - -"And you'd often see things happening nearly in real life like in -'Knocknagow.' Now wouldn't you?" - -Nearer by a long way than Charles Joseph Kickham to what the Irish -novelist should have been was William Carleton in his great, gloomy, -melodramatic stories of the land. He was prevented by the agrarian -obsession of his time from having the clear vision and wide pity, in -keeping with his vehemence, which might have made him the Irish Balzac. - -Even in Ireland Lever and Lover have become unpopular. They are read -only by Englishmen who still try to perpetuate their comic convention -when they write newspaper articles about Ireland. - -As with Kickham, largely in his treatment of the Irish peasant, Gerald -Griffin in "The Collegians" did not succeed in giving his Irish middle -or "strong farmer" class characters the spiritual energy so necessary -to the literary subject. - -Here are five writers then, who included in their work such exact -opposites as saints and sinners, heroes and _omadhanns_, earnest -passionate men and _broths of bhoys_. And somehow between them, between -those who wrote to degrade us and those who have idealized us, the real -Irishman did not come to be set down. From its fiction, reality was -absent, as from most other aspects of Irish life. - -To a certain extent the realistic method has been employed by the -dramatists of the Irish Literary Movement, but necessarily limited by -the scope and conventions of the stage and by the narrower appeal of -the spoken word in the mouth of an actor. The stage, too, has a way of -developing cults and conventions and of its very nature must display -a certain amount of artificiality, even in the handling of realistic -material. Thus comes a sudden stagnation, a sudden completion always -of a literary movement developed mostly upon the dramatic side, as has -come upon the work of the Abbey Theater. - -It appears rather accidental, but perhaps on the whole to its benefit, -that the dramatic form should have been adopted by J. M. Synge and not -the epical form of the novel. Synge fell with a lash of surprise upon -the Ireland of his time, for the Irish play had been as fully degraded -as the Irish novel. Furthermore the shock of his genius created an -opportunity which made possible the realistic Irish novelist. At the -Abbey Theater they performed plays dealing with subjects which no Irish -novelist, thinking of a public, would have dreamt of handling. Somehow -their plays have come to be known and accepted throughout Ireland. Thus -a reading public for this realistic Irish novel has been slowly created -and the urge to write like this has come to many storytellers. - -Of necessity, as part of the reaction from the work of the feeble -masters we have known, the first examples of the new Irish novel -were bound to be a little savage and pitiless. In former pictures of -Irish life there was heavy labor always to give us the shade at the -expense of the light, in fact at the expense of the truth which is -life itself. In Ireland the protest of the realist is not so much -against Romanticism as against an attempt made to place before us a -pseudo-realism. According as the Irish people resign themselves to the -fact that this is not a thing which should not be done, the work of -the Irish realist will approximate more nearly to the quality of the -Russian novelists, in which there are neither exaggerations of Light -nor of Shade, but a picture of life all gray and quiet, and brightened -only by the beauty of tragic reality. - -It leaves room for interesting speculation, that at a time of political -chaos, at a time when in Ireland there is a great coming and going of -politicians of all brands, dreamers, sages and mystics, the decline -of the Irish Literary Movement on its dramatic side should have given -the realistic Irish novelist his opportunity to appear. The urgent -necessity of reality in Irish life at the moment fills one with the -thought that a school of Irish realists might have brought finer things -to the heart of Ireland than the Hy Brazil of the politicians. - -The function of the Irish novelist to evoke reality has been proved in -the case of "The Valley of the Squinting Windows." Upon its appearance -the people of that part of Ireland with whom I deal in my writings -became highly incensed. They burned my book after the best medieval -fashion and resorted to acts of healthy violence. The romantic period -seemed to have been cut out of their lives and they were full of -life again. The story of my story became widely exaggerated through -gradually increasing venom and my book, which had been well received -by the official Irish Press,--whose reviewers generally read the books -they write about--was supposed by some of my own people to contain the -most frightful things. To the peasant mind, fed so long upon unreal -tales of itself, the thing I had done became identified after the most -incongruous fashion and very curiously with an aspect of the very -literary association from which I had sprung. Language out of Synge's -"Playboy of the Western World" came to my ears from every side during -the days in which I was made to suffer for having written "The Valley -of the Squinting Windows." - -"And saving your presence, sir, are you the man that killed your -father?" - -"I am, God help me!" - -"Well then, my thousand blessings to you!" - -The country as a whole did not dislike my picture of Irish life or say -it was untrue. It was only the particular section of life which was -pictured that still asserted its right to the consolation of romantic -treatment, but in its very attempt to retain romance in theory it -became realistic in practise. It did exactly what it should have done -a great many years ago with the kind of books from which it drew a -certain poisonous comfort towards its own intellectual and political -enslavement. The rest of Ireland was amused by the performance of those -who did not think, with Mr. Yeats, that romantic Ireland was dead and -gone. The realist had begun to evoke reality and no longer did a great -screech sound through the land that this kind of thing should not be -done. A change had come, by miraculous coincidence, upon the soul -of Ireland. It was not afraid of realism now,--for it had faced the -tragic reality of the travail which comes before a healthy national -consciousness can be born. No longer would the realist be described -in his own country as merely a morbid scoundrel or an enemy of the -Irish people. They would not need again the solace of the sentimental -novelist for all the offenses of the caricaturists in Irish fiction, -because, with the wider and clearer vision of their own souls fully -realized, had they already begun to look out upon the world. - -BRINSLEY MACNAMARA. - -Dublin, March 1st, 1919. - - - - -THE VALLEY OF THE SQUINTING WINDOWS - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -Mrs. Brennan took her seat again at the sewing-machine by the window. -She sighed as she turned her tired eyes in search of some inducement -to solace down the white road through the valley of Tullahanogue. The -day was already bright above the fields and groups of children were -beginning to pass through the morning on their way to school. Mrs. -Brennan beheld their passage, yet now as always she seemed to miss the -small beauty of the little pageant. - -"God help them, the poor little things!" she condoled to herself, "and -may He enlighten the unfortunate parents who send them to that quare, -ould, ignorant pair, Master Donnellan and Mrs. Wyse, the mistress. -Musha, sure they're no teachers!" - -From this it might seem that Mrs. Brennan, the dressmaker of the valley -and one well entitled to be giving out an opinion, did not think very -highly of National Education. Yet it was not true that she failed -to regard the lofty fact of education with all a peasant's stupid -reverence, for was she not the mother of John Brennan, who was now -preparing for the priesthood at a grand college in England? A priest, -mind you! That was what you might call something for a woman to be! - -The pride of her motherhood struck a high and resounding note in the -life of the valley. Furthermore, it gave her authority to assert -herself as a woman of remarkable standing amongst the people. She -devoted her prerogative to the advancement of the Catholic Church. She -manifested herself as one intensely interested in its welfare. There -was no cheap religious periodical, from _The Catholic Times_ to _The -Messenger_, that she did not regularly purchase. All these she read to -her husband, Ned Brennan, in the long quiet evenings after the manner -of one discharging a religious duty. - -This was a curious side of her. She kept him in comfort and in ease, -and yet when his body had been contented she must needs apply herself -to the welfare of his soul. For, although he spent many a penny of -her money in the village of Garradrimna, was he not the father of -John Brennan, who was going to be a priest of God? She forgave him -everything on this account, even the coarse and blasphemous expressions -he continually let fly from his mouth the while she read for him the -most holy stories by Jesuit Fathers. - -Just now she had given him two shillings with which to entertain -himself. He had threatened to strike her in the event of her -refusal.... That was why she had been sighing and why the tears were -now creeping into her great tired eyes as she began to set her machine -in motion for the tasks of the day. Dear, dear, wasn't he the cruel, -hard man?... Yet beyond all this thought of him was her bright dream of -the day when, with the few pounds she had saved so secretly from the -wide grasp of his thirst, she must fit him out in a rich suit of black -and go by his side proudly to attend the ordination of their son John. -It was because she so dearly loved her dream that she bore him with -immense patience. - -Also it was because she had been thinking of that grand day and of the -descending splendor of her son that she now commented so strongly upon -the passage of the children to school. She had spoken bitterly to her -own heart, but in that heart of hers she was a bitter woman. - -This was such a sunny, lovely morning. It was the day of the June Races -in the town of Mullaghowen, and most of the valley-dwellers had gone -there. The winding, dusty road through Tullahanogue was a long lane of -silence amid the sunlight. It appeared as an avenue to the Palace of -Dreams. So it was not at all strange that Mrs. Brennan was dreaming -forward into the future and filling her mind with fancies of the past. -She was remembering herself as Nan Byrne, the prettiest girl in the -valley. This was no illusion of idle vanity, for was there not an old -daguerreotype in an album on the table behind her at this very moment -to prove that beauty had been hers? And she had been ruined because -of that proud beauty. It was curious to think how her sister and she -had both gone the same way.... The period of a generation had passed -since the calamity had fallen upon them almost simultaneously. It was -the greatest scandal that had ever happened in these parts. The holy -priest, whose bones were now moldering beneath the sanctuary of the -chapel, had said hard words of her. From the altar of God he had spoken -his pity of her father, and said that she was a bad woman. - -"May God strengthen him, for this is the bitter burden to bear. Philip -Byrne is a decent man for all his daughter Nan is a woman of shame. I -pray you avoid her every one who has the trace of God's purity in his -heart. Let you go not into that house which she has made an abode of -lust, nor allow the fair name of your own house to be blemished by the -contamination of her presence within its walls." - -Yes, it was true that all this had been said of her by the holy father, -and in the very spot beneath which his bones were now at rest. They -were the hard words surely to have issued from the lips of God's -anointed. Even in the fugitive remembrance of them now they seemed to -have left red marks like whip-lash weals across her soul. The burning -hurt of them drove her deeper into remembrance. She had already come to -the full development of her charms when her ambition had also appeared. -It was, in short, to effect the "catch" of one of the strong farmers of -the valley. She entered into conspiracy with her sister and, together, -they laid their plans. Henry Shannon was the one upon whom she had set -her eye and Loughlin Mulvey the one her sister Bridget had begun to -desire. They were both men of family and substance, and hard drinkers -after the fashion of the fields. They often called at the house to -see the sisters. Philip Byrne, whose occupation as head-groom at the -stables of the Moores of Garradrimna often took him away from Ireland, -would always be absent during those visitations. But their mother would -be there, Mrs. Abigail Byrne, ambitious for her daughters, in great -style. It was never known to happen that either of the strong farmers -called to the house without a bottle of whiskey. Mrs. Byrne always -looked favorably upon them for their high decency, and the whiskey was -good whiskey. - -Here in this very room where she now sat remembering it all there -had been such scenes! Her hair had been so thick and brown and there -had been a rare bloom upon her skin as she had sat here alone with -Henry Shannon, talking with him of queer things and kissing his dark, -handsome face. And all through those far, bygone times she used to be -thinking of his grand house and of his broad fields and the way she -would one day assert herself in the joy of such possessions over her -less fortunate sisters of the valley. Yet, ever mixed with her bright -pieces of imagination, there had been such torturing doubts.... Her -sister Bridget had always been so certain of her prey. - -There had been times when Henry Shannon spent the night in the house. -In those nights had been laid the foundations of her shame.... Very, -very clearly did she remember the sickening, dreadful morning she had -come to her mother with the story that she was going to have a child. -How angry the elder woman had been, so lit within her all the wild -instincts of the female against the betrayer of her sex? Why had she -gone so far? Why had she not played her cards like her sister? There -was no fear of her yet although she had got a proper hold of Loughlin -Mulvey.... What was she to do at all? She who had had great ambitions -was to become lower than the lowest in the valley. - -Yet the three of them had conferred together, for all the others were -so angry with her because of her disastrous condition into which she -had allowed herself to slip without having first made certain of Henry -Shannon. The only course left now was to "make a show" of him if he -could not see his way to marry her. - -She could now remember every line of the angry, misspelled letter she -had sent to her whilom lover, and how it had brought him to the house -in a mood of drunken repentance. He presented her with material for a -new dress on the very same night, and, as she laughed and cried over -it in turn, she thought how very curious it was that he should wish to -see her figure richly adorned when already it had begun to put on those -signs of disfigurement which announce the coming of a child. But he was -very, very kind, and all suspicion fell away from her. Before he went -he whispered an invitation to spend a few days with him in Dublin.... -What did it matter now, and it was so kind of him to ask her? It showed -what was in his mind, and therefore no talk of marriage passed between -them. It did not seem necessary. - -Then had followed quickly those lovely days in Dublin, she stopping -with him as "Mrs. Henry Shannon" at a grand hotel. He had given her a -wedding-ring, but while it remained upon her finger it was ever the -little accusing symbol, filling her with an intense conviction of her -sin. - -This great adventure had marked the beginning of her acquaintance with -the world beyond the valley, and, even now, through the gloom of her -mood, she could remember it with a certain amount of gladness coming -back to her mind. But it was queer that the brightest moment of her -life should also have been the moment of darkest disaster.... She -re-created the slight incidents of their quarrel. It was so strange -of him after all the grand kindness he had just been showing her.... -She had returned to the valley alone and with her disgrace already -beginning to be heavy upon her.... She never saw Henry Shannon or spoke -with him again. When she wrote referring distantly to their approaching -marriage and making mention of the wedding-ring, the reply came back -from Mr. Robinson, the solicitor in Garradrimna, who was his cousin and -sporting companion. She knew how they had already begun to talk of her -in the valley for having gone off to Dublin with Henry Shannon, and -now, when an ugly word to describe her appeared there black and plain -in the solicitor's letter, she felt, in blind shame, that the visit -to Dublin had been planned to ruin her. The air of the valley seemed -full of whispers to tell her that she had done a monstrous thing. Maybe -they could give her jail for having done a thing like that, and she -knew well that Henry Shannon's people would stop at nothing to destroy -her, for they were a dark, spiteful crew. They were rich and powerful, -with lawyers in the family, and what chance would she have in law now -that every one was turned against her. So that night she went out when -it was very dark and threw away the wedding-ring. The small, sad act -appeared as the renunciation of her great ambition. - -She remembered with a surpassing clearness the wide desolation of -the time that followed. Loughlin Mulvey had been compelled to marry -her sister Bridget because he had not been clever enough to effect a -loophole of escape like Henry Shannon. Already three months after the -marriage (bit by bit was she now living the past again) the child had -been born to Bridget, and now she herself was waiting for the birth of -her child.... Indeed Bridget need not have been so angry. - -She had been delirious and upon the brink of death, and when, at last, -she had recovered sufficiently to realize the sharpness of her mother's -tongue once more the child had disappeared. She had escaped to England -with all that was left of her beauty. There she had met Ned Brennan, -and there had her son John Brennan been born. For a short while she had -known happiness. Ned was rough, but in his very strength there was a -sense of security and protection which made him bearable. And there was -little John. He was not a bit like her short, wild impression of the -other little child. Her disgrace had been the means of bringing Philip -Byrne to his grave; and, after six or seven years, her mother had died, -and she had returned to the valley of Tullahanogue. It was queer that, -with all her early knowledge of the people of the valley, she had never -thought it possible that some of them would one day impart to him the -terrible secret she had concealed so well while acting the ingenuous -maiden before his eyes. - -Yet they were not settled a month at the cottage in the valley when Ned -came from Garradrimna one night a changed man. Larry Cully, a loafer -of the village, had attacked him with the whole story.... Was this the -kind of people among whom she had brought him to live, and was this -a fact about her? She confessed her share, but, illtreat her how he -would, she could not tell him what had been done with the child. - -Henceforth he was so different, settling gradually into his present -condition. He could not go about making inquiries as to the past of his -wife, and the people of the valley, gloating over his condition, took -no pains to ease his mind. It was more interesting to see him torture -himself with suspicion. They hardly fancied she had told him all. It -was grand to see him drinking in his endeavors to forget the things he -must needs be thinking of. - -Thus had Mrs. Brennan lived with her husband for eighteen years, and no -other child had been born to them. His original occupation of plumber's -laborer found no opportunity for its exercise in the valley, but he -sometimes lime-washed stables and mended roofs and gutters. For the -most part, however, she kept him through her labor at the machine. - -Her story was not without its turn of pathos, for it was strange to -think of her reading the holy books to him in the long, quiet evenings -all the while he despised her for what she had been with a hatred that -all the magnanimous examples of religion could not remove. - -She was thinking over it all now, and so keenly, for he had just -threatened to strike her again. Eighteen years had not removed from -his mind the full and bitter realization of her sin.... They were both -beginning to grow gray, and her living atonement for what she had been, -her son John who was going on for the Church, was in his twentieth -year. Would her husband forgive her when he saw John in the garb of a -priest? She wondered and wondered. - -So deep was she in this thought that she did not notice the entrance -of old Marse Prendergast, who lived in a cabin just across the road. -Marse was a superannuated shuiler and a terror in the valley. The tears -had been summoned to her eyes by the still unchanging quality of Ned's -tone. They were at once detected by the old woman. - -"Still crying, are ye, Nan Byrne, for Henry Shannon that's dead and -gone?" - -This was a sore cut, but it was because of its severity that it had -been given. Marse Prendergast's method was to attack the person from -whom she desired an alms instead of making an approach in fear and -trembling. - -"Well, what's the use in regretting now that he didn't marry ye after -all?... Maybe you could give me a bit of Ned's tobacco for me little -pipe, or a few coppers to buy some." - -"I will in troth," she said, searching her apron pocket, only to -discover that Ned had taken all her spare coppers. She communicated her -regrets to the old woman, but her words fell upon ears that doubted. - -"Ah-ha, the lie is on your lip yet, Nan Byrne, just as it was there -for your poor husband the day he married you, God save us all from -harm--you who were what you were before you went away to England. -And now the cheek you have to go refuse me the few coppers. Ye think -ye're a great one, don't you, with your son at college, and he going -on to be a priest. Well, let me tell you that a priest he'll never be, -your grand son, John. Ye have the quare nerve to imagine it indeed if -you ever think of what happened to your other little son.... Maybe -'tis what ye don't remember that, Nan Bryne.... The poor little thing -screeching in the night-time, and some one carrying a box out into the -garden in the moonlight, and them digging the hole.... Ah, 'tis well I -know all that, Nan Byrne, although you may think yourself very clever -and mysterious. And 'tis maybe I'll see you swing for it yet with -your refusals and the great annoyance you put me to for the means of -a smoke, and I a real ould woman and all. But listen here to me, Nan -Byrne! 'Tis maybe to your grand son, John Brennan, I'll be telling the -whole story some day!" - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Her tongue still clacking in soliloquy, Marse Prendergast hobbled out -of the house, and Mrs. Brennan went to the small back window of the -sewing-room. She gazed wistfully down the long, sloping fields towards -the little lake which nestled in the bosom of the valley. Within the -periods of acute consciousness which came between her sobs she began -to examine the curious edifice of life which housed her soul. An -unaccountable, swift power to do this came to her as she saw the place -around which she had played as a child, long ago, when she had a brow -snow-white and smooth, with nice hair and laughing eyes. Her soul, -too, at that time was clean--clean like the water. And she was wont to -have glad thoughts of the coming years when she had sprung to girlhood -and could wear pretty frocks and bind up her hair. Across her mind had -never fallen the faintest shadow of the thing that was to happen to her. - -Yet now, as she ran over everything in her mind, she marveled not a -little that, although she could not possibly have returned to the -perfect innocence of her childhood state, she had triumphed over -the blight of certain circumstances to an extraordinary extent. She -was surprised to realize that there must have been some strength of -character in her not possessed by the other women of the valley. It had -been her mother's mark of distinction, but the dead woman had used it -towards the achievement of different ends. Ends, too, which had left -their mark upon the lives of both her daughters. - -It struck her now, with another lash of surprise, that it had been -an amazingly cheeky thing to have returned to the valley; but, as -the shining waters of the lake led her mind into the quiet ways of -contemplation, she could not help thinking that she had triumphed well. - -To be living here at all with such a husband, and her son away in -England preparing for the priesthood, seemed the very queerest, -queerest thing. It was true that she held herself up well and had a -fine conceit of herself, if you please. The mothers of the neighborhood -had, for the most part, chosen to forget the contamination that might -have arisen from sending their daughters to a woman like her for their -dresses, and, in consequence, she had been enabled to build up this -little business. She asserted herself in the ways of assertion which -were open to the dwellers in the valley. She attended to her religious -duties with admirable regularity. It was not alone that she fulfilled -the obligation of hearing Mass on Sundays and Holydays, but also on -many an ordinary morning when there was really no need to be so very -pious. She went just to show them that she was passionately devoted to -religion. Yet her neighbors never once regarded her in the light of -a second Mary Magdalene. They entered into competition with her, it -was true, for they could not let it be said that Nan Byrne was more -religious than they, and so, between them, they succeeded in degrading -the Mysteries. But it was the only way that was open to them of showing -off their souls. - -On a Sunday morning the procession they formed was like a flock of -human crows. And the noise they made was a continual caw of calumny. -The one presently absent was set down as the sinner. They were -eternally the Pharisees and she the Publican. Mrs. Brennan was great -among these crows of calumny. It was her place of power. She could give -out an opinion coming home from Mass upon any person at all that would -almost take the hearing out of your ears. She effectively beat down -the voice of criticism against herself by her sweeping denunciations -of all others. It was an unusual method, and resembled that of -Marse Prendergast, the shuiler, from whom it may probably have been -copied. It led many to form curious estimates as to the exact type of -mind possessed by the woman who made use of it. There were some who -described it as "thickness," a rather remarkable designation given to -a certain quality of temper by the people of the valley. But there was -no denying that it had won for her a cumulative series of results which -had built up about her something definite and original and placed her -resolutely in the life of the valley. - -She would often say a thing like this, and it might be taken as a -good example of her talk and as throwing a light as well upon the -conversation of those with whom she walked home the road from the House -of God. A young couple would have done the best thing by marrying at -the right age, and these long-married women with the queer minds would -be putting before them the very worst prospects. Mrs. Brennan would -distinguish herself by saying a characteristic thing: - -"Well, if there's quarreling between them, and musha! the same is sure -to be, the names they'll call one another won't be very nice for the -_pedigree_ is not too _clean_ on either side of the house." - -No word of contradiction or comment would come from the others, for -this was a morsel too choice to be disdained, seeing that it so -perfectly expressed their own thoughts and the most intimate wishes -of their hearts. It was when they got home, however, and, during the -remaining portion of the Sunday, their happy carnival of destructive -gossip, that they would think of asking themselves the question--"What -right had Nan Byrne of all people to be thinking of little slips -that had happened in the days gone by?" But the unreasonableness -of her words never appeared in this light to her own mind. She was -self-righteous to an enormous degree, and it was her particular fancy -to consider all women as retaining strongly their primal degradation. -And yet it was at such a time she remembered, not penitently however, -or in terms of abasement, but with a heavy sadness numbing her every -faculty. It was her connection with a great sin and her love for her -son John which would not become reconciled. - -When she returned to the valley with her husband and her young child -she had inaugurated her life's dream. Her son John was to be her -final justification before the world and, in a most wondrous way, had -her dream begun to come true. She had reared him well, and he was so -different from Ned Brennan. He was of a kindly disposition and, in the -opinion of Master Donnellan, who was well hated by his mother, gave -promise of great things. He had passed through the National School in -some way that was known only to Mrs. Brennan, to "a grand College in -England." He appeared as an extraordinary exception to the breed of -the valley, especially when one considered the characters of both his -parents. - -Mrs. Brennan dearly loved her son, but even here, as in every phase of -her life, the curious twist of her nature revealed itself. Hers was a -selfish love, for it had mostly to do with the triumph he represented -for her before the people of the valley. But this was her dream, and a -dream may often become dearer than a child. It was her one sustaining -joy, and she could not bear to think of any shadow falling down to -darken its grandeur. The least suspicion of a calamity of this kind -always had the effect of reducing to ruins the brazen front of the Mrs. -Brennan who presented herself to the valley and of giving her a kind of -fainting in her very heart. - -Her lovely son! She wiped her tear-stained cheeks now with the corner -of her black apron, for Farrell McGuinness, the postman, was at the -door. He said, "Good-morra, Mrs. Brennan!" and handed her a letter. -It was from John, telling her that his summer holidays were almost at -hand. It seemed strange that, just now, when she had been thinking of -him, this letter should have come.... Well, well, how quickly the time -passed, now that the snow had settled upon her hair. - -Farrell McGuinness was loitering by the door waiting to have a word -with her when she had read her letter. - -"I hear Mary Cooney over in Cruckenerega is home from Belfast again. -Aye, and that she's shut herself up in a room and not one can see a -sight of her. Isn't that quare now? Isn't it, Mrs. Brennan?" - -"It's great, isn't it, Farrell? You may be sure there's something the -matter with her." - -"God bless us now, but wouldn't that be the hard blow to her father and -mother and to her little sisters?" - -"Arrah musha, between you and me and the wall, the divil a loss. What -could she be, anyhow?" - -"That's true for you, Mrs. Brennan!" - -"Aye, and to think that it was in Belfast, of all places, that it -happened. Now, d'ye know what I'm going to tell ye, Farrell? 'Tis the -bad, Orange, immoral hole of a place is the same Belfast!" - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Farrell McGuinness, grinning to himself, had moved away on his red -bicycle, and a motor now came towards her in its envelope of dust down -the long road of Tullahanogue. This was the first hire motor that -had appeared in the village of Garradrimna and was the property of -Charlie Clarke, an excellent, religious man, who had interested himself -so successfully in bazaars and the charities that he had been thus -enabled to purchase it. Its coming amongst them had been a sensational -occurrence. If a neighbor wished to flout a neighbor it was done by -hiring Clarke's car; and Mrs. Brennan immediately thought what a grand -thing it would be to take it on the coming Thursday and make a brave -show with her son John sitting up beside her and he dressed in black. -The dignity of her son, now moving so near the priesthood, demanded -such a demonstration. She hailed Charlie Clarke, and the car came -suddenly to a standstill. The petrol fumes mingling with the rising -dust of the summer road, floated to her nostrils like some incense of -pride. - -"Good morning, Mrs. Brennan!" - -"Good morning, Mr. Clarke!" - -"You're not at the races of Mullaghowen?" - -"Not yet, Mrs. Brennan, but I'm going--and with the Houlihans of -Clonabroney." - -"The Houlihans of Clonabroney, well, well; that's what you might call a -_quality_ drive." - -"Oh, indeed, 'tis almost exclusively to the quality and to the priests -my drives are confined, Mrs. Brennan. I'm not patronized by the beggars -of the valley." - -"That's right, Mr. Clarke, that's right. Keep your car _clean_ at all -costs.... It's what I just stopped you to see if you could drive me -over to Kilaconnaghan to meet my son John on Thursday. He's coming -home." - -"Is that so? Well you may say that's grand, Mrs. Brennan. Oh, indeed, -John is the rare credit to you, so he is. You should be proud of him, -for 'tis the fine beautiful thing to be going on for the Church. In -fact, do ye know what it is, Mrs. Brennan? Only I'm married, I'd be -thinking this very minute of giving up motor, shop, land and everything -and going into a monastery. I would so." - -"Now aren't you the fine, noble-minded man to be thinking of the like?" - -"I am so.... Well, I'll drive you, Mrs. Brennan. On Thursday, you say, -to Kilaconnaghan. The round trip will cost you fifteen shillings." - -"Fifteen shillings?" - -Charlie Clarke had already re-started the car which was again humming -dustily down the road. Mrs. Brennan turned wearily into the sewing-room -and seated herself once more by the machine. She was crushed a little -by the thought of the fifteen shillings. She saw clearly before her the -long procession of the hours of torture for her eyes that the amount -represented. It appeared well that she had not given the few coppers to -old Marse Prendergast, for, even as things stood, she must approach -some of her customers towards the settlement of small accounts to -enable her to spend fifteen shillings in the display of her pride.... -For eighteen years it had been thus with her, this continual scraping -and worrying about money. She wondered and wondered now was she ever -destined to find release from mean tortures. Maybe when her son had -become a priest he would be good to his mother? She had known of -priests and the relatives of priests, who had grown amazingly rich. - -She was recalled from her long reverie by the return of Ned Brennan -from Garradrimna. The signs of drink were upon him. - -"Where's me dinner?" he said, in a flat, heavy voice. - -"Your dinner, is it? Oh dear, dear, 'tis how I never thought of putting -it on yet. I had a letter from John, and sure it set me thinking. God -knows I'll have it ready for you as soon as I can." - -"Aye, John. A letter from John.... Begad.... Begad.... And I wanting me -dinner!" - -"So you'll have it, so you'll have it. Now aren't you the wild, -impatient man? Can't you wait a minute?" - -"I never did see such a woman as you, and I in a complete hurry. Three -slates slipped down off the school roof in the bit of wind the other -night, and I'm after getting instructions from Father O'Keeffe to put -them on." - -"Ah, sure, 'tis well I know how good and industrious you are, Ned. -That's the sixth time this year you've put on the very same slates. -You're a good man, indeed, and a fine tradesman." - -For the moment his anger was appeased by this ironical compliment, -which she did not intend as irony; but at heart he was deeply vexed -because he was going to do this little job. She knew he must be talking -of it for months to come. When the few shillings it brought him were -spent she must give him others and others as a continuous reward for -his vast effort. This she must do as a part of her tragic existence, -while beholding at the same time how he despised her in his heart. - -But, just now, the bitterness of this realization did not assail -her with the full power of the outer darkness, for her mind was lit -brilliantly to-day by the thought of John. And during the hours that -passed after she had fitted out Ned for his adventurous expedition to -the roof she could just barely summon up courage to turn the machine, -so consumed was she by a great yearning for her son. - -The days, until Thursday, seemed to stretch themselves into an age. -But at three o'clock, when Charlie Clarke's white motor drew up at the -door, she was still preparing for the journey. In the room which had -known another aspect of her life she had been adorning herself for long -hours. The very best clothes and all the personal ornaments in her -possession must needs be brought into use. For it had suddenly appeared -to her that she was about to enter into an unique ceremony comparable -only to the ordination of John. - -Searching in an unfrequented drawer of the dressing-table for -hair-pins, she had come upon an old cameo-brooch, one of Henry -Shannon's costly presents to her during the period of their -strange "honeymoon." It was a pretty thing, so massive and so -respectable-looking. It was of that heavy Victorian period to which -her story also belonged. With trembling hands she fastened it upon her -bosom. In a deeper recess of the drawer she came upon a powder puff in -a small round box, which still held some of the aid to beauty remaining -dry and useful through all the years. She had once used it to heighten -her graces in the eyes of Henry Shannon. And now, for all the blanching -trouble through which she had passed, she could not resist the impulses -of the light woman in her and use it to assert her pride in her son. It -must be a part of her decking-out as she passed through the valley in a -motor for the first time, going forth to meet her son. - -She took her seat at last by the side of Charlie Clarke, and passed -proudly down the valley road. Things might have gone as agreeably -as she had planned but for the peculiar religious warp there was -in Charlie. He might have talked about the mechanism of his car or -remarked at length upon the beauty of the summer day, but he must -inevitably twist the conversation in the direction of religion. - -"I suppose," said he, "that it's a fine thing to be the mother of a -young fellow going on for the Church. It must make you very contented -in yourself when you think of all the Masses he will say for you during -your lifetime and all the Masses he will say for the repose of your -soul when you are dead and gone." - -"Aye, indeed, that's a grand and a true saying for you, Mr. Clarke. But -sure what else could one expect from you, and yourself the good man -that goes to Mass every day?" - -"And, Mrs. Brennan, woman dear, to see him saying the Holy Mass, and -he having his face shining with the Light of Heaven!" - -"A beautiful sight, Mr. Clarke, as sure as you're there." - -The car was speeding along merrily, and now it had just passed, with -a slight bump, over the culvert of a stream, which here and there was -playing musically about little stones, and here and there was like bits -of molten silver spitting in the sun. It was a grand day. - -Whether or not the unusual sensation of the throbbing car was too much -for Mrs. Brennan, she was speaking little although listening eagerly to -the words of Charlie Clarke, asking him once or twice to repeat some -sentences she had been kept from hearing by the noise of the engine. -Now she was growing more and more silent, for they had not yet passed -out of the barony of Tullahanogue. She saw many a head suddenly fill -many a squinting window, and men and women they met on the road turn -round with a sneer to gaze back at her sitting up there beside Charlie -Clarke, the saintly chauffeur who went to Mass every day. - -Her ears were burning, and into her mind, in powerful battalions, were -coming all the thoughts that had just been born in the minds of the -others. The powder she had applied to her cheeks was now like a burning -sweat upon her skin. The cameo-brooch felt like a great weight where -it lay upon her bosom heavily. It caught her breath and so prevented -her maintaining conversation with Charlie Clarke. It reminded her -insistently of the dear baby head of John reposing, as in a bower of -tenderness, upon the same place. - -"It must be the grand and blessed thing for a mother to go to -confession to her son. Now wouldn't it be wonderful to think of -telling him, as the minister of God's mercy, the little faults she had -committed before he was born or before she married his father. Now -isn't that the queer thought, Mrs. Brennan?" - -She did not reply, and it took all she could marshal of self-possession -to protect her from tears as the motor hummed into the village of -Kilaconnaghan, where the railway station was. They had arrived well in -advance of the train's time. She passed through the little waiting-room -and looked into the advertisement for Jameson's Whiskey, which was -also a mirror. She remembered that it was in this very room she had -waited before going away for that disastrous "honeymoon" with Henry -Shannon.... This was a better mirror than the one at home, and she -saw that the blaze upon her cheeks had already subdued the power of -the powder, making it unnecessary and as the merest dirt upon her -face.... The cameo-brooch looked so large and gaudy.... She momentarily -considered herself not at all unlike some faded women of the pavement -she had seen move, like malignant specters, beneath the lamplight in -Dublin city.... She plucked away the brooch from her bosom and thrust -it into her pocket. Then she wiped her face clean with her handkerchief. - -Far off, and as a glad sound coming tentatively to her ears, she could -hear the train that was bearing her beloved son home to the valley and -to her. It was nearly a year since she last saw him, and she fancied he -must have changed so within that space of time. Who knew how he might -change towards her some day? This was her constant dread. And now as -the increasing noise of the train told that it was drawing nearer she -felt immensely lonely. - -The few stray passengers who ever came to Kilaconnaghan by the -afternoon train had got out, and John Brennan was amongst them. On the -journey from Dublin he had occupied a carriage with Myles Shannon, -who was the surviving brother of Henry Shannon and the magnate of the -valley. The time had passed pleasantly enough, for Mr. Shannon was -a well-read, interesting man. He had spoken in an illuminating way -of the Great War. He viewed it in the light of a scourge and a just -reckoning of calamity that the nations must pay for bad deeds they -had done. "It is strange," said he, "that even a nation, just like an -individual, must pay its just toll for its sins. It cannot escape, for -the punishment is written down with the sin. There is not one of us who -may not be made to feel the wide sweep of God's justice in this Great -War, even you, my boy, who may think yourself far removed from such a -possibility." - -These were memorable words, and John Brennan allowed himself to fall -into a spell of silence that he might the better ponder them. Looking -up suddenly, he caught the other gazing intently at him with a harsh -smile upon his face. - -So now that they were to part they turned to shake hands. - -"Good-by, Mr. Brennan!" said Myles Shannon to the student. "I wish -you an enjoyable holiday-time. Maybe you could call over some evening -to see my nephew Ulick, my brother Henry's son. He's here on holidays -this year for the first time, and he finds the valley uncommonly dull -after the delights of Dublin. He's a gay young spark, I can tell you, -but students of physic are generally more inclined to be lively than -students of divinity." - -This he said with a flicker of his harsh smile as they shook hands, and -John Brennan thanked him for his kind invitation. Catching sight of -Mrs. Brennan, Mr. Shannon said, "Good-day!" coolly and moved out of the -station. - -To Mrs. Brennan this short conversation on the platform had seemed -protracted to a dreadful length. As she beheld it from a little -distance a kind of desolation had leaped up to destroy the lovely day. -It compelled her to feel a kind of hurt that her son should have chosen -to expend the few first seconds of his home-coming in talking, of all -people, to one of the Shannon family. But he was a young gentleman and -must, of course, show off his courtesy and nice manners. And he did not -know.... But Myles Shannon knew.... His cool "Good-day!" to her as he -moved out of the station appeared to her delicate sensitiveness of the -moment as an exhibition of his knowledge. Immediately she felt that she -must warn John against the Shannons. - -He came towards her at last, a thin young man in black, wearing cheap -spectacles. He looked tenderly upon the woman who had borne him. She -embraced him and entered into a state of rapt admiration. Within the -wonder of his presence she was as one translated, her sad thoughts -began to fall from her one by one. On the platform of this dusty -wayside station in Ireland she became a part of the glory of motherhood -as she stood there looking with pride upon her son. - -The motor had surprised him. He would have been better pleased if -this expense had been avoided, for he was not without knowledge -and appreciation of the condition of his parents' affairs. Besides -the little donkey and trap had always appeared so welcome in -their simplicity, and it was by means of them that all his former -home-comings had been effected. Those easy voyages had afforded -opportunity for contemplation upon the splendor of the fields, but now -the fields seemed to slip past as if annoyed by their faithlessness. -Yet he knew that his mother had done this thing to please him, and how -could he find it in his heart to be displeased with her? - -She was speaking kind words to him, which were being rudely destroyed, -in their tender intonation, by the noise of the engine. She was setting -forth the reasons why she had taken the car. It was the right thing now -around Garradrimna.--The Houlihans of Clonabroney.--Again the changing -of the gears cut short her explanation. - -"That man who was down with you in the train, Mr. Shannon, what was he -saying to you?" - -"Indeed he was kindly inviting me over to see his nephew. I never knew -he had a nephew, but it seems he has lived up in Dublin. He said that -his brother, Henry Shannon, was the father of this young man." - -The feelings which her son's words brought rushing into her mind seemed -to cloud out all the brightness which, for her, had again returned -to the day. Yes, this young man, this Ulick Shannon, was the son of -Henry Shannon and Henry Shannon was the one who had brought the great -darkness into her life.... It would be queer, she thought, beyond -all the queerness of the world, to see the son of that man and her -son walking together through the valley. The things that must be said -of them, the terrible sneer by which they would be surrounded--Henry -Shannon's son and the son of Nan Byrne.... She grew so silent beneath -the sorrow of her vision that, even in the less noisy spaces of the -humming car, the amount of time during which she did not speak seemed a -great while. - -"What is the matter, mother?" said John Brennan. - -"It was how I was thinking that maybe it would be better now if you had -nothing to do with the Shannons." - -"But it was very kind of Mr. Shannon to invite me." - -"I know, I know; but I'd rather than the world it was any other family -at all only the Shannons. They're a curious clan." - -In the painful silence that had come upon them she too was thinking -of the reasons from which her words had sprung. Of how Henry Shannon -had failed to marry her after he had ruined her; of how the disgrace -had done no harm at all to him with his money and his fine farm. Then -there was the burning thought of how he had married Grace Gogarty, the -proudest and grandest girl in the whole parish, and of how this young -man had been born prematurely and, by a curious chance, about the same -time as her own little child. The one thing that she always dreaded -more than any other, in the pain of its remembrance, was the fact that -Henry Shannon had married Grace Gogarty directly after the "honeymoon" -with her in Dublin. Yes, it was hardest of all to think of that, and of -how Grace Gogarty had so held up her head all through the short period -of her wedded life with Henry Shannon. And after his death she had gone -about with such conceited sorrowfulness in her widow's weeds. - -These thoughts had passed through her mind with swift definition, each -one cutting deeper the gap which separated her from the long-dreamt-of -joy of John's home-coming. And her lovely son sitting up beside her had -grown so silent. - -As the car stopped by the house and Ned Brennan came out to meet them, -unshaven and walking doggedly, she felt very certain that a shadow -had settled down upon this particular return of John. The remembrance -of her sin, from which it seemed impossible to escape, made the great -thing she had planned so little and desolate. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -There arose a continual coming and going of John Brennan to and from -the house of his mother through the valley. He was an object of -curiosity and conjecture. The windows would squint at him as he went -past through power of the leering faces behind; men working in the -fields would run to the hedges and gaze after him as he went far down -the road. - -In the evenings black prophets would foregather and say: "Now isn't he -the fine-looking young fellow indeed, with the grand black clothes upon -him; but he'll never be a priest, and that's as sure as you're there, -for his mother is Nan Byrne, and she was a bad woman, God help us all! -'Tis a pity of him, when you come to think of it, for it isn't his -fault, happening as it did before he was born." - -John Brennan was innocent of guile, and so he did not become aware of -the attitude of those among whom he passed. He did not realize that in -his own person he stood as an affront to them, that he was the Levite -standing nearer God than they in their crude condition as clods of the -earth. It was his mother who had created this position for him, for she -had directed his studies towards divinity. If his natural abilities -had won him the promise of any other elevation, it might not have -annoyed them so deeply. But this was something they could not have -been expected to bear, for not one amongst them had a son a priest, -although they believed as implicitly as Mrs. Brennan in the virtue of -religion, and there was always a feeling of intense righteousness upon -them when they remembered her story. - -Yet, although this was the way they looked upon him, they were not -without a certain cringing respect for the realization he represented. -Thus it was that when they spoke to him there was a touch of deference -in their voices although there was a sneer in their hearts. It could -not be expected that he should see them as they really were. Yet -there were odd, great moments when his larger vision enabled him to -behold them moving infinitesimally, in affright, beneath the shadow -of the Divine Hand. He possessed a certain gift of observation, but -it was superficial and of little consequence to his character for it -flourished side by side with the large charity of his heart. - -One morning he encountered old Marse Prendergast upon the road. She -was gathering a few green sticks from the hedge-rows. She seemed to be -always looking for the means of a fire, and, to John Brennan, there -appeared something that touched him greatly in the spectacle of this -whining old woman, from whom the spark of life was so quickly fading, -having no comfort, even on a summer day, but just to be sitting over -a few smoldering sticks, sucking at an old black pipe and breaking -out into occasional converse with herself. She who had given birth -to strong sons and lovely daughters sitting here in her little cabin -alone. Her clutch was gone from her to America, to the streets, and to -the grave. - -John Brennan felt the pity of her, although he did not notice that the -curtsey she gave him from the ditch was an essential portion of her -contempt for the son of Nan Byrne (the cheek of him going on for to be -a priest!), or that when she addressed him as _Mr._ Brennan it was in -derision. - -"And glory be to God, sure we'll soon have to be calling you _Father_ -Brennan!" she repeated, as if silently marveling at the impossibility -of the combination of words. - -He saw her move to accompany him down the road, her old back bent -cruelly beneath the load of the weighty, green branches. He was -touched, for he was not blind to the symbolism for which she stood, and -offered to carry the branches for her, and she, accepting his offer, -called down upon his head the blessing of God. - -As they moved slowly along the road she recounted, in snatches between -her questions regarding his life at college, all the intimate woes -of her life. Her lamentations, as they drew near the cottage of Mrs. -Brennan, attracted the attention of his mother, who saw a sight -filling her eyes which cut her to the bone. She saw her son John, her -hope and pride, conversing with Marse Prendergast, the long-tongued -shuiler who tramped the country with her stories and in quest of more -stories--Marse Prendergast who knew her secret as no other knew it, and -who had so recently reminded her of that knowledge. And he was carrying -her sticks along the public road in the full light of day.... So -powerful was the hurt of her maternal feelings that she almost fainted -sitting there by her machine. - -When John came into the room she looked so pale that he fancied she -must be ill. He inquired as to the causes of her condition, but she -only replied that she would try to tell him when he had taken his -breakfast. - -As he was eating in silence she wondered what at all she could say to -him or how she would attempt to place her view of things before him. -This incident of the morning might be taken as a direct foreshadowing -of what might happen if his foolish charity extended further down -the valley. She did not dare to imagine what things he might be told -or what stories might be suggested to his mind by the talk of the -neighbors. But it was clearly her duty doubly to protect him from such -a possibility. She saw that he had finished his breakfast. - -"That was the quare thing you were doing just now, John? It was the -quarest thing at all, so it was." - -"Queer, mother; what was?" - -"Talking to old Marse Prendergast, son, and she only a woman of the -roads with a bad tongue on her." - -"I only stopped talking with her, mother, so that I might carry her -sticks. She was not able." - -"And she used the fine opportunity, I'll warrant, to drag information -out of you and carry it all through the valley. That's what she was at! -That's what she was at!" - -There was a kind of mournful wail in Mrs. Brennan's tones as if she -saw in John's action of the morning some irretrievable distance placed -between herself and him. The people of the valley loomed ever great as -an army between her and the desire of her heart, and John had just now, -as it were, afforded an opening to the enemy. - -He received a certain amount of hurt from her words, for although -he knew her only as his mother and a good woman who was well nigh -faultless in her practise of the Christian religion, why was it that -this simple action of his, with its slight touch of charity, was -resented by her? Yet he allowed her to proceed without question, -listening always with that high and fine attention which must have been -the attitude of Christ as He listened to His Mother in Galilee. - -She painted a picture of the valley for his consideration. She -proceeded to do this with a great concern moving her, for she was quick -to perceive the change in him since his last holidays. He was a man -now, and it was to his manhood condition she appealed. She began to -tell him, with such a rush of words, the life-histories of those around -him. There was not a slight detail she did not go to great pains to -enlarge, no skeleton she did not cause to jump from its cupboard and -run alive once more through the valley. She painted a new portrait of -every inhabitant in a way that amazed John, who had not known of such -things. - -But over his first feelings of surprise came a great realization of -sadness. For this was his mother who was speaking. Hitherto he had -looked upon her as one untouched by the clayey villainies of earth, a -patient and very noble woman, with tired eyes and busy hands rather -fashioned to confer benedictions than waste themselves in labor. Now -he was listening to one most subtly different, to a woman who had been -suddenly metamorphosed into the likeness of something primeval and -startling. And she was oh! so bitter. - -Mrs. Brennan had no notion of the change that had come upon her. To -herself there still appeared no difference in herself. She was doing -all this for love of her son John, as she had done much for love of him. - -There fell a thick silence between them when she had finished. The -mother and the son were both exhausted, he from listening to her and -she from reading the pedigrees of every one to whom her mind could -possibly extend, including Marse Prendergast, the shuiler, and the -Shannons, who were almost gentlemen like the Houlihans of Clonabroney. - -John Brennan sighed as he said out of the innocence of his heart: - -"It is good, mother, that we are not as the rest of these." - -Mrs. Brennan did not reply. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -In rural Ireland the "bona-fide," or rather _mala-fide_, traveler -constitutes a certain blasphemous aspect in the celebration of -the Sabbath. There are different types of "bona-fide," whose -characteristics may be said to vary in direct proportion to their love -and enthusiasm for porter. The worship of porter, when it has attained -the proportions of a perfect passion, is best described as "the pursuit -of porter in a can." It is the cause of many drunken skirmishes with -the law, and it is interesting to observe such mistaken heroes in the -execution of their plans. - -At a given signal a sudden descent is made upon a pub. A series of -whistles from sentries in various parts of the village has announced -the arrival of the propitious moment. A big tin'can is the only visible -evidence of their dark intention. One almost forgets its betraying -presence in the whirling moment of the brave deed. Then the deed is -done. By some extraordinary process the can that was empty is found to -be filled. It is the miracle of the porter.... When the sergeant and -his colleagues come on the scene some hours later, an empty can with -slight traces of froth upon the sides, "like beaded bubbles winking at -the brim," constitutes the remaining flimsy evidence of the great thing -that has happened. - -The mind of John Brennan was more or less foreign to this aspect of -life amongst the fields. He would be the very last to realize that -such were essential happenings in the life of his native village of -Garradrimna. On his first Sunday at home he went walking, after second -Mass, through the green woods which were the western boundary of the -village. His thoughts were dwelling upon Father O'Keeffe's material -interpretation of the Gospel story. At last they eddied into rest as he -moved there along the bright path between the tall trees, so quiet as -with adoration. - -When he came by that portion of the demesne wall, which lay at the back -of Brannagan's public-house, he heard a scurrying of rabbits among the -undergrowth. In the sudden hush which followed he heard a familiar -voice raised in a tense whisper. - -"Hurry, quick! quick! There's some one in black coming up the path. It -must be Sergeant McGoldrick. The can! the can!" - -His cheeks were suddenly flushed by a feeling of shame, for it was -his father who had spoken. He stood behind a wide beech tree in mere -confusion and not that he desired to see what was going forward. - -His father, Ned Brennan, bent down like an acrobat across the demesne -wall and took the can from some one beneath. Then he ran down through -the undergrowth, the brown froth of the porter dashing out upon his -trousers, his quick eyes darting hither and thither like those of a -frightened animal. But he did not catch sight of John, who saw him -raise the can to his lips. - -It was a new experience for John Brennan to see his father thus -spending the Sabbath in this dark place in the woods, while out in the -young summer day spilled and surged all the wonder of the world.... A -sort of pity claimed possession of him as he took a different way among -the cathedral trees.... His father was the queer man, queer surely, -and moving lonely in his life. He was not the intimate of his son nor -of the woman who was his son's mother. He had never seemed greatly -concerned to do things towards the respect and honor of that woman. And -yet John Brennan could not forget that he was his father. - -Just now another incident came to divert his mood. He encountered an -ancient dryad flitting through the woods. This was Padna Padna, a -famous character in Garradrimna. For all his name was that of the great -apostle of his country, his affinities were pagan. Although he was -eighty, he got drunk every day and never went to Mass. In his early -days he had been the proprietor of a little place and the owner of a -hackney car. When the posting business fell into decline, he had had -to sell the little place and the horse and car, and the purchase money -had been left for his support with a distant relative in the village. -He was a striking figure as he moved abroad in the disguise of a cleric -not altogether devoted to the service of God. He always dressed in -solemn black, and his coat was longer than that of a civilian. His -great hat gave him a downcast look, as of one who has peered into the -Mysteries. His face was wasted and small, and this, with his partially -blinded eyes behind the sixpenny spectacles, gave him a certain -asceticism of look. Yet it was the way he carried himself rather than -his general aspect which created this impression of him. He was very -small, and shrinking daily. His eyes were always dwelling upon his -little boots in meditation. Were you unaware of his real, character, -you might foolishly imagine that he was thinking of high, immortal -things, but he was in reality thinking of drink. - -This was his daily program. He got up early and, on most mornings, -crossed the street to Bartle Donohoe, the village barber, for a shave. -Bartle would be waiting for him, his dark eye hanging critically as -he tested the razor edge against the skin of his thumb. The little -blade would be glinting in the sunlight.... Sometimes Bartle would -become possessed of the thought that the morning might come when, -after an unusually hard carouse on the previous night, he would not be -responsible for all his razor might do, that it might suddenly leap out -of his shivering hand and make a shocking end of Padna Padna and all -his tyranny.... But his reputation as the drunkard with the steadiest -hand in Garradrimna had to be maintained. If he did not shave Padna -Padna the fact would be published in every house. - -"Bartle Donohoe was too shaky to shave me this morning; too shaky, I -say. Ah, he's going wrong, going wrong! And will ye tell me this now? -How is it that if ye buy a clock, a little ordinary clock for a couple -of shillings, and give it an odd wind, it'll go right; but a man, a -great, clever man'll go wrong no matter what way ye strive for to -manage him?" - -If Bartle shaved him, Padna Padna would take his barber over to Tommy -Williams's to give him a drink, which was the only payment he ever -expected. After this, his first one, Padna Padna would say, "Not -going to drink any more to-day," to which Bartle Donohoe would reply -sententiously: "D'ye tell me so? Well, well! Is that a fact?" - -Then, directly, he would proceed to take a little walk before his -breakfast, calling at every house of entertainment and referring -distantly to the fact that Bartle Donohoe had a shake in his hand this -morning. "A shame for him, and he an only son and all!" - -And thus did he spend the days of his latter end, pacing the sidewalks -of Garradrimna, entering blindly into pubs and discussing the habits of -every one save himself. - -He was great in the field of reminiscence. - -"Be the Holy Farmer!" he would say, "but there's no drinking nowadays -tost what used to be longo. There's no decent fellows, and that's a -fact. Ah, they were the decent fellows longo. You couldn't go driving -them a place but they'd all come home mad. And sure I often didn't -know where I'd be driving them, I'd be that bloody drunk. Aye, decent -fellows! Sure they're all dead now through the power and the passion of -drink." - -So this was the one whom John Brennan now encountered amid the green -beauty of the woodland places. To him Padna Padna was one of the -immortals. Succeeding holiday after succeeding holiday had he met the -ancient man, fading surely but never wholly declining or disappearing. -The impulse which had prompted him to speak to Marse Prendergast a few -days previously now made him say: "How are you, old man?" to Padna -Padna. - -The venerable drunkard, by way of immediate reply, tapped upon his -lips with his fingers and then blew upon his fingers and whistled -in cogitation. It was with his ears that he saw, and he possessed an -amazing faculty for distinguishing between the different voices of -different people. - -"John Brennan!" he at length exclaimed, in his high, thin voice. "Is -that John Brennan?" - -"It is, the very one." - -"And how are ye, John?" - -"Very well, indeed, Padna. How are you?" - -"Poorly only. Ah, John, this is the hard day on me always, the Sunday. -I declare to me God I detest Sunday. Here am I marching through the -woods since seven and I having no drink whatever. That cursed Sergeant -McGoldrick! May he have a tongue upon him some day the color of an ould -brick and he in the seventh cavern of Hell! Did ye see Ned?" - -The sudden and tense question was not immediately intelligible to John -Brennan. There were so many of the name about Garradrimna. Padna Padna -pranced impatiently as he waited for an answer. - -"Ah, is it letting on you are that you don't know who I mean, and you -with your grand ecclesiastical learning and all to that. 'Tis your own -father, Ned Brennan, that I mean. I was in a 'join' with him to get a -can out of Brannigan's. Mebbe you didn't see him anywhere down through -the wood, for I have an idea that he's going to swindle me. Did ye see -him, I'm asking you?" - -Even still John did not reply, for something seemed to have caught him -by the throat and was robbing him of the power of speech. The valley, -with its vast malevolence of which his mother had so recently warned -him, was now driving him to say something which was not true. - -"No, Padna, I did not see him!" he at last managed to jerk out. - -"Mebbe he didn't manage to get me drink for me yet, and mebbe he did -get it and is after drinking it somewhere in the shadows of the trees -where he couldn't be seen. But what am I saying at all? Sure if he was -drinking it there before me, where you're standing, I couldn't see him, -me eyes is that bad. Isn't it the poor and the hard case to be blinded -to such an extent?" - -John Brennan felt no pity, so horrible was the expression that now -struggled into those dimming eyes. He thought of a puzzling fact of his -parentage. Why was it that his mother had never been able to save his -father from the ways of degradation into which he had fallen, the low -companions, the destruction of the valley; from all of which to even -the smallest extent she was now so anxious to save her son? - -Padna Padna was still blowing upon his fingers and regretting: - -"Now isn't it the poor and the hard case that there's no decent fellows -left in the world at all. To think that I can meet never a one now, me -that spent so much of me life driving decent fellows, driving, driving. -John, do ye know what it is now? You're after putting me in mind of -Henry Shannon. He was the decentest fellow! Many's the time I drove him -down to your grandmother's place when he wouldn't have a foot under him -to leave Garradrimna. That was when your mother was a young girl, John. -Hee, hee, hee!" - -John could not divine the reasons for the old man's glee, nor did he -perceive that the mind of Padna Padna, even in the darkening stages of -its end, was being lit by a horrible sneer at him and the very fact of -his existence. Instead he grew to feel rather a stir of compassion for -this old man, with his shattered conception of happiness such as it -was, burning his mind with memories while he rode down so queerly to -the grave. - -As he moved away through the long, peaceful aisles of the trees, his -soul was filled with gray questioning because of what he had just seen -of his father and because of the distant connection of his mother with -the incident. Why was it at all that his mother had never been able to -save his father? - -As he emerged from the last circle of the woods there seemed to be a -shadow falling low over the fields. He went with no eagerness towards -the house of his mother. This was Sunday, and it was her custom to -spend a large portion of the Sabbath in speaking of her neighbors. But -she would never say anything about his father, even though Ned Brennan -would not be in the house. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Just now there happened something of such unusual importance in the -valley that Mrs. Brennan became excited about it. The assistant teacher -of Tullahanogue Girls' School, Miss Mary Jane O'Donovan, had left, and -a new assistant was coming in her stead. Miss O'Donovan had always -given the making of her things to Mrs. Brennan, so she spoke of her, -now that she was gone, as having been "a _very_ nice girl." Just yet, -of course, she was not in a position to say as much about the girl who -was coming. But the entry of a new person into the life of the valley -was a great event! Such new things could be said! - -On Monday morning Mrs. Brennan called her son into the sewing-room to -describe the imminent nature of the event. The sense of depression that -had come upon him during the previous day did not become averted as he -listened. - -What an extraordinary mixture this woman who was his mother now -appeared before his eyes! And yet he could not question her in any -action or in any speech; she was his mother, and so everything -that fell from her must be taken in a mood of noble and respectful -acceptance. But she was without charity, and as he saw her in this -guise he was compelled to think of his father and the incident of -yesterday, and he could not help wondering. He suddenly realized that -what was happening presently in this room was happening in every house -down the valley. Even before her coming she was being condemned. It was -beneath the shadow of this already created cloud she would have to live -and move and earn her little living in the schoolhouse of Tullahanogue. -John Brennan began to have some pity for the girl. - -Ned Brennan now appeared at the door leading to the kitchen and -beckoned to his wife. She went at his calling, and John noticed that at -her return some part of her had fallen away. His father went from the -house whistling at a pitch that was touched with delight. - -"Where is my father bound for?" - -"He's gone to Garradrimna, John, to order lead for the roof of the -school. The valley behind the chimney is leaking again and he has to -cobble it. 'Tis the great bother he gets with that roof, whatever sort -it is. Isn't it a wonder now that Father O'Keeffe wouldn't put a new -one on it, and all the money he gets so handy ...?" - -"My father seems to be always at that roof. He used to be at it when I -was going to school there." - -The words of her son came to Mrs. Brennan's ears with a sound of sad -complaint. It caused her to glimpse momentarily all the villainy of Ned -Brennan towards her through all the years, and of how she had borne -it for the sake of John. And here was John before her now becoming -reverently magnified in that part of her mind which was a melting -tenderness. It was him she must now save from the valley which had -ruined her man. Thus was she fearful again and the heart within her -caused to become troubled and to rush to and fro in her breast like -rushing water. Then, as if her whole will was sped by some fearful -ecstasy, she went on to talk in her accustomed way of every one around -her, including the stranger who had not yet come to the valley. - -It was on the evening of this day that Rebecca Kerr, the new assistant -teacher, came through the village of Garradrimna to the valley of -Tullahanogue. Paddy McCann drove McDermott's hackney car down past -the old castle of the De Lacys. It carried her as passenger from -Mullaghowen, with her battered trunk strapped over the well. The group -of spitting idlers crowding around Brannagan's loudly asserted so much -as Paddy McCann and his cargo loomed out of the shadows beneath the -old castle and swung into the amazing realities of the village. It was -just past ten o'clock and the mean place now lay amid the enclosing -twilight. The conjunctive thirsts for drink and gossip which come at -this hour had attacked the ejected topers, and their tongues began to -water about the morsel now placed before them. - -A new schoolmistress, well, well! Didn't they change them shocking -often in Tullahanogue? And quare-looking things they were too, every -one of them. And here was another one, not much to look at either. They -said this as she came past. And what was her name? "Kerr is her name!" -said some one who had heard it from the very lips of Father O'Keeffe -himself. - -"Rebecca Kerr is her name," affirmed Farrell McGuinness, who had just -left a letter for her at the Presbytery. - -"Rebecca what? Kerr--Kerr--Kerr, is it?" sputtered Padna Padna; "what -for wouldn't it be _Carr_ now, just common and simple? But of course -_Kerr_ has a ring of the quality about it. _Kerr_, be God!" - -These were the oracles of Garradrimna who were now speaking of her -thus. But she had no thought of them at all as she glanced hurriedly -at the shops and puzzled her brains to guess where the best draper's -shop might be. She had a vague, wondering notion as to where she might -get all those little things so necessary for a girl. She had a fleeting -glimpse of herself standing outside one of those worn counters she was -very certain existed somewhere in the village, talking ever so much -talk with the faded girl who dispensed the vanities of other days, or -else exchanging mild confidences with the vulgar and ample mistress of -the shop, who was sure to be always floating about the place immensely. -Yes, just there was the very shop with its brave selection from the -fashions of yester-year in the fly-blown windows. - -And there was the Post Office through which her letters to link her -with the outer world would come and go. She quickly figured the old -bespectacled postmistress, already blinded partially, and bent from -constant, anxious scrutiny, poring exultantly over the first letters -that might be sent to "Miss Rebecca Kerr," and examining the postmark. -Then the quality and gender of the writing, and being finally troubled -exceedingly as to the person it could have come from--sister, mother, -brother, father, friend, or "boy." Even although the tall candles of -Romance had long since guttered and gone out amid the ashes of her -mind the assaulting suspicion that it was from "a boy" would drive -her to turn the letter in her hand and take a look at the flap. Then -the temptation that was a part of her life would prove too strong -for her and a look of longing would come into the dull eyes as she -went hobbling into the kitchen to place it over the boiling kettle and -so embark it upon its steamy voyage to discovery. In a few minutes -she would be reading it, her hands trembling as she chuckled in -her obscene glee at all the noble sentiments it might contain. The -subsequent return of the letter to the envelope after the addition of -some gum from a penny bottle if the old sticking did not suffice. Her -interludiary sigh of satisfaction when she remembered that one could -re-stick so many opened envelopes with a penny bottle of gum by using -it economically. The inevitable result of this examination, a superior -look of wisdom upon the withered face when the new schoolmistress, -Rebecca Kerr, came for the first time into the office to ask for a -letter from her love.... But so far in her life she had formed no deep -attachment. - -It was thus and thus that Rebecca Kerr ran through her mind a few -immediate sketchy realizations of this village in Ireland. She had -lived in others, and this one could not be so very different.... -There now was the butcher's stall, kept filthily, where she might -buy her bit of beef or mutton occasionally. She caught a glimpse of -the victualler standing with his dirty wife amid the strong-smelling -meat. The name above the door was that of the publichouse immediately -beside it. A little further on, upon the same side, was the newsagent's -and stationer's, where they sold sweets and everything. It was here -she might buy her notepaper to write to her own people in Donegal, -or else to some of her college friends with whom she still kept up -a correspondence. And here also she might treat herself, on rare -occasions, to a box of cheap chocolates, or to some of the injurious, -colored sweets which always gave her the toothache, presenting the most -of them, perhaps, to some child to whom she had taken a fancy. - -By little bits like these, which formed a series of flashes, she saw -some aspects of the life she might lead here. Each separate flash left -something of an impression before it went out of her mind. - -The jingling car swung on past the various groups upon the street, -each group twisting its head as one man to observe the spectacle of -her passing. "That's the new schoolmistress!" "There she is, begad!" -"I heard Paddy McCann saying she was coming this evening!" She was -now in line with the famous house of Tommy Williams, the gombeen-man. -She knew from the look of it that it was here she must buy her few -groceries, for this was the principal house in Garradrimna and, even so -far as she, the octopus of Gombeenism was sure to extend itself. To be -sure, the gombeen-man would be the father of a family, for it is the -clear duty of such pillars of the community to rear up a long string -of patriots. If those children happened to be of school-going age, it -was certain they would not be sent to even the most convenient school -unless the teachers dealt in the shop. This is how gombeenism is made -to exercise control over National Education. Anyhow Rebecca Kerr was -very certain that she must enter the various-smelling shop to discuss -the children with the gombeen-man's wife. - -It was indeed a dreary kind of life that she would be compelled to lead -in this place, and, as she passed the pretty chapel, which seemed to -stand up in the sight of Heaven as excuse for the affront that was -Garradrimna, she had a strange notion how she must go there sometimes -to find respite from the relentless crush of it all. On bitter -evenings, when her mind should ring with the mean tumults of the life -around her, it was there only she might go and, slipping in through the -dim vestibule where there were many mortuary cards to remind her of -all the dead, she would walk quickly to the last pew and, bending her -throbbing head, pour out her soul in prayer with the aid of her little -mother-of-pearl rosary.... They had gone a short distance past the -chapel and along the white road towards the valley. - -"This is the place," said Paddy McCann. - -She got down from the car wearily, and McCann carried her battered -trunk into the house of Sergeant McGoldrick which had been assigned as -her lodging by Father O'Keeffe. He emerged with a leer of expectation -upon his countenance, and she gave him a shilling from her little -possessions. At the door she was compelled to introduce herself. - -"So you are the new teacher. Well, begad! The missus is up in the -village. Come in. Begad!" - -He stood there, a big, ungainly man, at his own door as he gave the -invitation, a squalling baby in his arms, and in went Rebecca Kerr, -into the sitting-room where Mrs. McGoldrick made clothes for the -children. The sergeant proceeded to do his best to be entertaining. She -knew the tribe. He remained smoking his great black pipe and punctuated -the squalls of the baby by spitting huge volumes of saliva which hit -the fender with dull thuds. - -"It's a grand evening in the country," said Sergeant McGoldrick. - -"Yes, a nice evening surely," said Rebecca Kerr. - -"Oh, it was a grand, lovely day in the country, the day. I was out in -the country all through the day. I was collecting the census of the -crops, so I was; a difficult and a critical job, I can tell you!" - -With an air of pride he took down the books of lists and showed her -the columns of names and particulars.... It was stupidly simple. Yet -here was this hulk of a man expanding his chest because of his childish -achievement. He had even stopped smoking and spitting to give space -to his own amazement, and the baby had ceased mewling to marvel in -infantile wonder at the spacious cleverness of her da. - -After nearly half an hour of this performance Mrs. McGoldrick bustled -into the room. She was a coarse-looking woman, whose manner had -evidently been made even more harsh by the severe segregation to -which the wives of policemen are subjected. Her voice was loud and -unmusical, and it appeared to Rebecca from the very first that not even -the appalling cleverness of her husband was a barrier to her strong -government of her own house. The sergeant disappeared immediately, -taking the baby with him, and left the women to their own company. Mrs. -McGoldrick had seen the battered, many-corded trunk in the hall-way, -and she now made a remark which was, perhaps, natural enough for a -woman: - -"You haven't much luggage anyway!" was what she said. - -"No!" replied Rebecca dully. - -Then she allowed her head to droop for what seemed a long while, during -all of which she was acutely conscious that the woman by her side was -staring at her, forming impressions of her, summing her up. - -"I don't think you're as tall as Miss O'Donovan was, and you haven't as -nice hair!" - -Rebecca made no comment of any kind upon this candor, but now that the -way had been opened Mrs. McGoldrick poured out a flood of information -regarding the late assistant of the valley school. She was reduced to -little pieces and, as it were, cremated in the furnace of this woman's -mind until tiny specks of the ashes of her floated about and danced and -scintillated before the tired eyes of Rebecca Kerr. - -As the heavier dusk of the short, warm night began to creep into -the little room her soul sank slowly lower. She was hungry now and -lonely. In the mildest way she distantly suggested a cup of tea, but -Mrs. McGoldrick at once resented this uncalled-for disturbance of her -harangue by bringing out what was probably meant to be taken as the one -admirable point in the other girl's character. - -"Miss O'Donovan used always get her own tea." - -But the desolating silence of Rebecca at length drove her towards the -kitchen, and she returned, after what seemed an endless period, with -some greasy-looking bread, a cup without a handle, and a teapot from -which the tea dribbled in agony on to the tablecloth through a wound in -its side. - -The sickening taste of the stuff that came out of the teapot only added -to Rebecca's sinking feeling. Her thoughts crept ever downward.... At -last there came a blessed desire for sleep-sleep and forgetfulness of -this day and the morrow. Her head was already beginning to spin as she -inquired for her room. - -"Your room?" exclaimed Mrs. McGoldrick in harsh surprise. "Why, 'tis -upstairs. There's only two rooms there, myself and the sergeant's and -the lodger's room--that's yours. I hadn't time this week back to make -the bed since Miss O'Donovan left, but of course you'll do that for -yourself. The sergeant is gone up to the barracks, so I'll have to help -you carry up your box, as I suppose you'll be wanting to get out some -of your things." - -It was a cruelly hard job getting the trunk up the steep staircase, but -between them they managed it. Rebecca was not disappointed by the bare, -ugly room. Mrs. McGoldrick closed the door behind them and stood in an -attitude of expectation. Even in the present dull state of her mind -Rebecca saw that her landlady was, with tense curiosity, awaiting the -opening of the box which held her poor belongings.... Then something of -the combative, selfish attitude of the woman to her kind stirred within -her, and she bravely resolved to fight, for a short space, this prying -woman who was trying to torment her soul. - -She looked at the untidied bed with the well-used sheets.... What -matter? It was only the place whereon the body of another poor tortured -creature like herself had lain. She would bear with this outrage -against her natural delicacy. - -In perfect silence she took off her skirt and blouse and corset. She -let fall her long, heavy hair and, before the broken looking-glass, -began to dally wearily with its luxuriance. This hair was very fair -and priceless, and it was hers who had not great possessions. Her -shining neck and blossomy breasts showed as a pattern in ivory against -the background that it made.... Some man, she thought, would like to -see her now and love her maybe. Beyond this vision of herself she could -see the ugly, anxious face of the woman behind her. She could feel -the discord of that woman's thoughts with the wandering strands of -withering hair. - -No word had passed between them since they came together into the room, -and Mrs. McGoldrick, retreating from the situation which had been -created, left with abruptness, closing the door loudly behind her. - -With as much haste as she could summon, Rebecca took off her shoes and -got her night-gown out of the trunk. Then she threw herself into the -bed. She put out the light and fumbled in her faded vanity bag for her -little mother-of-pearl rosary. There was a strange excitement upon her, -even in the final moments of her escape, and soon a portion of her -pillow was wet with tears. Between loud sobs arose the sound of her -prayers ascending: - -"Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou -amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.... Hail, -Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou.... Hail, -Mary, full of grace...." - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -At tea-time Mrs. Brennan was still talking to John of the girl who was -coming to the valley. Outside the day was still full of the calm glory -of summer. He went to the window and looked down upon the clean, blue -stretch of the little lake.... He had grown weary of his mother's talk. -What possible interest could he have in this unknown girl? He took -a book from a parcel on the table. With this volume in his hand and -reading it, as he might his breviary at some future time, he went out -and down towards the lake. On his way, he met a few men moving to and -from their tasks in the fields. He bade them the time of day and spoke -about the beauty of the afternoon. As they replied, a curious kind of -smile played around their lips, and there was not one who failed to -notice his enviable condition of idleness. - -"Indeed 'tis you that has the fine times!" "Indeed you might say 'tis -you that has the fine times!" "Now isn't the learning the grand thing, -to say that when you have it in your head you need never do a turn with -your hands?" - -Their petty comments had the effect of filling him with a distracting -sense of irritation, and it was some time before he could pick up any -continued interest in the book. It was the story of a young priest, -such as he might expect to be in a few years. Suddenly it appeared -remarkable that he should be reading this foreshadowing of his future. -That he should be seeing himself with all his ideas translated into -reality and his training changed into the work for which he had been -trained. Strange that this thought should have come into his mind with -smashing force here now and at this very time. Hitherto his future had -appeared as a thing apart from him, but now it seemed intimately bound -up with everything he could possibly do. - -He began to see very clearly for the first time the reason for his -mother's anxiety to keep him apart from the life of the valley. Did it -spring directly from her love for him, or was it merely selfish and -contributory to her pride? The whole burden of her talk showed clearly -that she was a proud woman. He could never come to have her way of -looking at things, and so he now felt that if he became a priest it was -she and not himself who would have triumphed.... He was still reading -the book, but it was in a confused way and with little attention. The -threads of the story had become entangled somehow with the threads -of his own story.... Occasionally his own personality would cease to -dominate it, and the lonely woman in the cottage, his mother sitting in -silence at her machine, would become the principal character.... The -hours went past him as he pondered. - -The evening shadows had begun to steal down from the hills. The western -sky was like the color of a golden chalice. Men were coming home weary -from the labor of the fields; cows were moving towards field gates with -wise looks in their eyes to await the milking; the young calves were -lowing for their evening meal. The quiet fir trees, which had slept -all through the day, now seemed to think of some forgotten trust and -were like vigilant sentries all down through the valley of Tullahanogue. - -Suddenly the eyes of John Brennan were held by a splendid picture. The -sweep of the Hill of Annus lay outlined in all the wonder of its curve, -and, on the ridge of it, moving with humped body, was Shamesy Golliher, -the most famous drunkard of the valley. He passed like a figure of -destruction above the valley against the sunset. John smiled, for he -remembered him and his habits, as both were known far and wide. He was -now going towards a certain wood where the rabbits were plentiful. -His snares were set there. The thin, pitiful cry of the entrapped -creature now split the stillness, and the man upon the sweep of the -world began to move with a more determined stride.... John Brennan, his -mind quickening towards remembrance of incidents of his boyhood, knew -that the cunning of Shamesy Golliher had triumphed over the cunning -of the rabbits. Their hot little eager bodies must soon be sold for -eightpence apiece and the money spent on porter in Garradrimna. It was -strange to think of this being the ultimate fate of the rabbits that -had once frisked so innocently over the green spaces of the woods.... -He listened, with a slight turn of regret stirring him, until the last -squeal had been absorbed by the stillness. Then he arose and prepared -to move away from the lake. He was being filled by a deadly feeling of -sadness. Hitherto the continuous adventure of adolescence had sustained -him, but now he was a man and thinking of his future. - -On his way across the sweep of the hill he encountered Shamesy -Golliher. The famous drunkard was laden with the rabbits he had just -taken from the snares. The strength of his thirst had also begun to -attack him, so that by reason of both defects his legs now bent under -him weakly as he walked. Yet his attitude did not suggest defeat, for -he had never failed to maintain his reputation in the valley. He was -the local bard, the satiric poet of the neighborhood. He was the only -inhabitant of the valley who continually did what he pleased, for he -throve within the traditional Gaelic dread of satire. No matter how he -debased himself no man or woman dared talk of it for fear they might be -made the subject of a song to be ranted in the taprooms of Garradrimna. -And he was not one to respect the feelings of those whom he put into -his rimes, for all of them were conceived in a mood of ribald and -malignant glee. - -"Me sound man John, how are ye?" he said, extending a white, nervous -hand. - -"I'm very well, thanks; and how are you, Shamesy?" - -"Ah, just only middling. I don't look the very best. You'll excuse me -not being shaved. But that's on account of the neuralgia. God blast it! -it has me near killed. It has the nerves destroyed on me. Look at me -hand." ... It was the idiosyncrasy of Shamesy Golliher to assert that -drink was no part of his life. - -Immediately he dropped into his accustomed vein. He gazed down the Hill -of Annus and found material for his tongue. There were the daughters of -Hughie Murtagh. They had no brother, and were helping their father in -the fields. - -"Them's the men, them's the men!" said Shamesy, "though glory be to -God! 'twill be the hard case with them when they come to be married, -for sure you wouldn't like to marry a man, now would you? And for -pity's sake will you look at Oweneen Kiernan, the glutton! I hear he -ate five loaves at the ball in Ballinamult; and as sure as you're there -that powerful repast'll have to be made the material for a song." - -A loud laugh sprang from the lips of Shamesy Golliher and floated far -across the lake, and John Brennan was immediately surprised to find -himself laughing in the same way. - -The rimer was still pursuing Oweneen down the field of his mind. - -"Aye, and I thank ye, ye'll see him doing his best after the new -schoolmistress that's coming to us this evening. There's a great -look-out, I can tell you, to see what kind she'll be. Indeed the last -one wasn't much. Grand-looking whipsters, moryah! to be teaching the -young idea. Indeed I wouldn't be at all surprised to see one of them -going away from here sometime and she in the family way, although may -God pardon me for alluding to the like and I standing in the presence -of the makings of a priest!" - -John Brennan felt himself blushing ever so slightly. - -"And who d'ye think was in Garradrimna this evening? Why Ulick Shannon, -and he a big man. Down to stop with his uncle Myles he is for a -holiday. He wasn't here since he was a weeshy gosoon; for, what d'ye -think, didn't his mother and father send him away to Dublin to be -nursed soon after he was born and never seemed to care much about him -afterwards; but they were the quare pair, and it was no good end that -happened to themselves, for Henry Shannon and the girl he married, -Grace Gogarty, both died within the one year. He in the full pride of -his red life, and she while she was gallivanting about the country -wearing mourning for him and looking for another husband that she never -got before she went into the clay. Well, to make a long story short, -Myles Shannon looked after the orphan, paying for his rearing and his -education, and having him live as a gentleman in Dublin--until now -he's a great-looking fellow entirely, and going on, I suppose, for -Doctoring, or the Law, or some other profitable devilment like that. -The Shannons were always an unlucky family, but maybe Ulick'll break -the black curse, although I don't know, for he's the very spit and -image of his father and able to take his drink like a good one, I can -tell ye. This evening he came into McDermott's. There was no one there -but meself, it being the high evening, so says he to me: - -"'What'll ye have?' - -"'Begad, Mr. Shannon,' says I, 'I'll have a pint. And more power to -ye, sir!' says I, although I was grinning to meself all the time, for -I couldn't help thinking that he was only the son of Henry Shannon, -one of the commonest blackguards that ever disgraced this part of the -country. You didn't know him, but your mother could tell you about him. -You might swear your mother could tell you about him!" - -John Brennan did not notice the light of merriment which overspread the -face of Shamesy Golliher, for he was looking down towards the hush of -the lake, and experiencing a certain feeling of annoyance that this -young man should be becoming gradually introduced to him in this way. -But Shamesy was still speaking: - -"He stood me four pints and two glasses, and nothing would do him when -he was going away but he should buy me a whole glass of whiskey. He's -what you might call a gay fellow, I can tell you. And God save us! -isn't it grand to be that way, even though you never earned it, and -not have to be getting your drink like me be nice contriving among the -small game of the fields?" - -They parted in silence, Shamesy Golliher going eastward towards -Garradrimna and John Brennan in the opposite direction and towards -his mother's house. His mind had begun to slip into a condition of -vacancy when an accident happened to turn it again in the direction of -religion. As he came out upon the road he passed a group of children -playing between two neighboring houses. The group was made up of the -children of two families, the O'Briens and the Vaughans. It was said of -Mrs. Vaughan that although she had been married by Father O'Keeffe, and -went to Mass every second Sunday, she still clung to the religion into -which she had been born. Now her eldest child, a pretty, fair-haired -boy, was in the midst of the O'Briens' children. Their mother was what -you might call a good woman, for, although she had the most slovenly -house along the valley road, she went to Mass as often as Mrs. Brennan. -They were making the innocent child repeat phrases out of their prayers -and then laughing and mocking him because he could not properly -pronounce the long words. They were trying to make him bless himself, -but the hands of little Edward could not master the gestures of the -formula, and they were jeering at him for his ill-success. When he -seemed just upon the verge of tears they began to ask him questions in -the answers to which he would seem to have been well trained aforetime, -for he repeated them with glibness and enjoyment. - -"What religion are ye?" - -"I'm a little black Protestant." - -"And where will ye go when ye die?" - -"I'll go to hell." - -"What's hell?" - -"A big place bigger than the chapel or the church, with a terrible, -grand fire in it." - -"And what is it full of?" - -"It's full of little fellows like me!" - -This was the melancholy piece of catechism John Brennan was constrained -to hear as he went past. - -It added the last wave of sadness to the gray mood which had been -descending upon him by degrees since the beginning of the day.... He -stood upon the road and listened for anything in the nature of a sound -which might connect his mind with a thought that had some brightness. -Although only a few days had elapsed since his return his ears were -already beginning to redevelop that delicate perception of slight -sounds which comes to one in the quiet places. He now heard a car come -through Garradrimna and move a short distance down the valley road. -That, he thought, should be Paddy McCann driving the new mistress to -her lodging in the house of Sergeant McGoldrick. - -The small realization held occupation of his mind as he went into the -house of his mother. He was surprised to find that it was past ten. -Still lonely as he went to his room, he thought once more of the kind -invitation of Mr. Myles Shannon. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Myles Shannon had ever borne a passionate grudge against Mrs. Brennan. -He had loved his brother Henry, and he felt that she, of all people, -had had the most powerful hand in instituting the remorse which had -hurried him to his doom. Mrs. Brennan, on the other hand, believed -firmly that Henry Shannon would have married her, and made of her -a decent woman, but for the intervention of his brother Myles. -Furthermore, she believed darkly in her heart that the subtle plan -of the disastrous "honeymoon" had originated in the brain of Myles, -although in this she was wrong. She thought of Henry as being never of -that sort. He was wild and mad, with nothing too hot or too heavy for -him, but he was not one to concoct schemes. So, when Henry died, Mrs. -Brennan had thought well to transmit her hatred of the Shannon family -to his brother Myles. - -Myles Shannon lived a quiet life there in his big house among the trees -upon the side of Scarden, one of the hills which overlooked the valley. -In lonely, silent moments he often thought of his brother Henry and of -the strange manner in which he had burned out his life. With the end -of his brother before him always as a deterrent example, he did not -interest himself in women. He interested himself in the business of -his cattle and sheep all through each and every day of the year. He -did not feel the years slipping past him as he went about his easy, -contented life, watching, with great interest, his beef and mutton grow -up in the fields. - -The cattle in particular stood for the absorbing interest and the one -excitement of his life. He looked upon his goings and comings to and -from the markets at Dublin and at Wakefield in England as holiday -excursions of great enjoyment. - -It was during one of his trips to England that he had met Helena Cooper -at some hotel in Manchester. He was one to whom the powers of Romance -had remained strangers, yet now, when they at last came into his life, -it was with a force that carried away all the protection of his mind. -He wanted some one to fill the loneliness of the big house on Scarden -Hill, and so he set his heart upon Helena Cooper. - -He returned to the valley a different man. Quite suddenly he began to -have a greater interest in his appearance, and it was noticed that -he grew sentimental and became easy in his dealings. It began to be -whispered around that, even so late in life, almost at the close of -the middle period which surely marks the end of a man's prime, Myles -Shannon had fallen in love and was about to be married. - -It was a notable rumor, and although it was fifteen years since the -death of Henry Shannon, Mrs. Brennan, as one having a good reason to be -interested in the affairs of the Shannon family, became excited. - -"Indeed it was high time for him to think of it," she said to a -neighbor one Sunday morning, "before he turned into a real ould -blackguard of a bachelor--and who d'ye say the girl is?" - -"Why, then, they say she's an English lady, and that she's grand and -young." - -Mrs. Brennan was a great one for "ferreting-out" things. Once she -had set her mind upon knowing a thing, there was little possibility -of preventing her. And now she was most anxious to know whom Myles -Shannon was about to marry. So when she saw the old bent postmistress -taking the air upon the valley road later on in the day she brought her -into the sewing-room and, over a cup of tea, proceeded to satisfy her -curiosity. - -"There must be letters?" she said after they had come round to a -discussion of the rumored marriage. - -"Oh, yes, indeed. There's letters coming and going, coming and going," -the old lady wheezed. "A nice-looking ould codger, isn't he, to be -writing letters to a young girl?" - -"And how d'ye know she's young?" - -"How do I know, is it, how do I know? Well, well, isn't that my -business? To know and to mind." - -"You're a great woman." - -"I do my duty, that's all, Mrs. Brennan, as sure as you're there. And -d'ye imagine for a moment I was going to let Myles Shannon pass, for -all he's such a great swank of a farmer? She _is_ a young girl." - -"Well, well?" - -"There's no reason to misdoubt me in the least, for I saw her photo and -it coming through the post." - -"A big, enlarged photo, I suppose?" - -"Aye, the photo of a young girl in her bloom." - -"I suppose she's very nice?" - -"She's lovely, and 'tis what I said to myself as I looked upon her -face, that it would be the pity of the world to see her married to a -middling ould fellow like Myles Shannon." - -"And I suppose, now, that she has a nice name?" - -"Aye. It is that. And what you might call a grand name." - -A long pause now fell between the two women, as if both were -endeavoring to form in their minds some great resolve to which their -hearts were prompting them. The old postmistress delivered her next -speech in a whisper: - -"Her name is Helena Cooper, and her address is 15 Medway Avenue, -Manchester!" - -The two women now nudged one another in simultaneous delight. Mrs. -Brennan ran the direction over and over in her mind as if suddenly -fearful that some dreadful stroke of forgetfulness might come to -overthrow her chance of revenge upon her false, dead lover through the -great injury she now contemplated doing to his brother.... She made -an excuse of going to the kitchen to put more water upon the teapot -and, when she went there, scribbled the name and address upon the wall -beside the fireplace. - -When she returned to the sewing-room the old postmistress was using -her handkerchief to hide the smile of satisfaction which was dancing -around her mouth. She knew what was just presently running through -Mrs. Brennan's mind, and she was glad and thankful that she herself -was about to be saved the trouble of writing to Miss Cooper.... Her -hand was beginning to be quavery and incapable of writing a hard, -vindictive letter. Besides that Mr. Shannon was an influential man in -the district, and the Post Office was not above suspicion. She was -thankful to Mrs. Brennan now, and said the tea was nice, very nice. - -Yet, immediately that the information, for which she had hungered since -the rumor of Myles Shannon's marriage began to go the rounds, was in -her keeping, Mrs. Brennan ceased to display any unusual interest in -the old, bespectacled maid. Nor did the postmistress continue to be -excited by the friendly presence of Mrs. Brennan, for she, on her part, -was immensely pleased and considered that the afternoon had attained -to a remarkable degree of success.... From what she had read of her -productions passing through the post, she knew that Mrs. Brennan was -the woman who could write the strong, poisonous letter. Besides, who -had a better right to be writing it--about one of the Shannon family? - -Soon she was going out the door and down the white road towards -Garradrimna.... Now wasn't Mrs. Brennan the anxious and the prompt -woman; she would be writing to Miss Cooper this very evening?... As -she went she met young couples on bicycles passing to distant places -through the fragrant evening. The glamor of Romance seemed to hang -around them. - -"Now isn't that the quare way for them to be spending the Sabbath?" she -said to herself as she hobbled along. - -The Angelus was just beginning to ring out across the waving fields -with its sweet, clear sound as Mrs. Brennan regained the sewing-room -after having seen her visitor to the door, but, good woman though she -was, she did not stop to answer its holy summons. Her mind was driving -her relentlessly towards the achievement of her intention. The pen -was already in her hand, and she was beginning to scratch out "a full -account," as she termed it, of Mr. Myles Shannon for the benefit of -Miss Helena Cooper, whoever she might be. Through page after page she -continued her attack while the fire of her hate was still burning -brightly through her will. - -It had been her immemorial custom to send full accounts abroad whenever -one of the valley dwellers made attempts at assertion, but not one of -the Shannons had so far offered her such a golden opportunity. For the -moment she was in her glory. - -She announced herself as a good friend of this girl, whose name she -had only heard just now. She wrote that she would not like to see Miss -Cooper deceived by a man she had no opportunity of knowing in his real -character, such as Mr. Shannon. - -Now it was a fact that Myles, unlike his brother Henry, had not been -a notable antagonist of the Commandments. It was true, of course, -that he was not distinguished for the purity of his ways when he went -adventuring about the bye-ways of Dublin after a day at the cattle -market, and people from the valley, cropping up most unexpectedly, had -witnessed some of his exploits and had sent magnified stories winging -afar. But he had ruined no girl, and was even admirable in his habits -when at home in his lonely house among the trees. - -This, however, was not the Mr. Shannon that Mrs. Brennan set down in -her letter to Helena Cooper. It was rather the portrait of his brother -Henry, the wild libertine, that she painted, for, in the high moments -of her hate, she was as one blinded by the ecstasy that had come upon -her. The name of Shannon held for her only one significance, and, for -the moment, it was an abysmal vision which dazzled her eyes. - -Soon there came a communication from Miss Cooper to Mr. Shannon -which had the effect of nipping his green romance while it was still -young.... It asked him was this true and was that true?... The easy, -sentimental way he had looked upon the matter was suddenly kindled -into a deeper feeling, and he thought of having the girl now at all -costs.... He wrote a fine reply in justification. It was a clear, -straight piece of writing, and, although it pained him greatly, he was -compelled to admit that the statements about which Miss Cooper wished -to be satisfied were no more than the truth in relation to a certain -member of the Shannon family. But they related to his dead brother -Henry and not to him.... He prayed the forgiveness of forgetfulness -for the dead.... He volunteered the production of convincing proof for -every statement here made in regard to himself. - -But the old lady at the Post Office had something to say in the matter. -She had read Miss Cooper's letter, and as she now read the letter of -Mr. Shannon she knew that should it reach her this girl must be fully -satisfied as to his character, for his was a fine piece of pleading.... -But she could not let Mrs. Brennan have all the secret satisfaction for -the destruction of his love-affair. The bitter woman in the valley had -done the ugly, obvious part of the work, but she was in a position to -hurry it to secret, deadly completion.... So that evening the letter, -which it had given Myles Shannon such torture to write, was burned at -the fire in the kitchen behind the Post Office.... He wrote to Helena -Cooper again and yet again, but the same thing happened.... His third -letter had turned purely pathetic in its tone. The old lady said to -herself that it made her laugh like anything. - -At last he fell to considering that her affection for him could not -have been very deep seeing that she had allowed it to be so strongly -influenced by some poisonous letter from an anonymous enemy.... Yet -there were moments when he knew that he could never forget her nor -escape, through all the years he might live, from the grand dream her -first tenderness had raised up in his heart. In its immediate aspect -he was a little angry that the rumor of a contemplated marriage on his -part should have gone abroad. But he had almost triumphed over this -slight feeling of annoyance when there came to him, some month later, -the "account" that had been written about him to Miss Cooper without -a word of comment enclosed.... The old lady at the office had seen to -that, for the letter accompanying it as far as Garradrimna had gone the -way of Mr. Shannon's letters.... This had made her laugh also with its -note of wonder as to why he had made no attempt to explain.... If only -he would say that the statements made against him were all mere lies. -Of course she did not believe a word of them, but she wished him to say -so in a letter to her.... The Post Office was saved from suspicion by -this second bit of destruction, although it had done its work well. - -The bare, scurrilous note caused a blaze of indignation turning to -hatred to take possession of his soul which had hitherto been largely -distinguished by kindly influences. He had his suspicions at once that -it was the work of Mrs. Brennan. - -There was a letter of hers locked in a bureau in the parlor with other -things which had been the property of his dead brother Henry. They were -all sad things which related intimately to the queer life he had led. -This old faded letter from Nan Byrne was the one she had written asking -him for Christ's sake to marry her, now that she felt her misfortune -coming upon her.... A hard look came into his eyes as he began to -compare the weak handwriting. Yes, it was hers surely, beyond a shadow -of doubt.... He locked this thing which had so changed the course of -his life with the things of his brother. - -It was queer, he thought, that she, of all people, who should be prone -to silence, had thought fit, after the passage of so many years, to -meddle with dead things in the hope of ending other dreams which, -until now, had lived brightly. He continued to brood himself into -bitter determinations. He resolved that, as no other girl had come -greatly into his life before the coming of Helena Cooper, no other one -must enter now that she was gone. She was gone, and must the final -disaster of his affections narrow down to a mere piece of sentimental -renunciation? Strange, contradictory attitudes built themselves up in -his mind. - -Out of his brooding there grew before him the structure of a plan. This -woman had besmirched his brother, helping him towards the destruction -of his life, for it was in this light, as a brother, he had viewed the -matter always; and now, in her attempt to besmirch himself, she had -spoiled his dream. He had grown angry after the slow fashion which was -the way of his thought, but his resolve was now sure and deliberate. - -There was her son! He had just gone to some kind of college in England -to prepare for the priesthood, and the antecedents of a priest must be -without blemish. It was not the youth's fault, but his mother was Nan -Byrne, and some one must pay.... And why should she desire to bring -punishment of any kind upon him for his brother's sin with her? He had -loved his brother, and it was only natural to think that she loved her -son. And through that love might come the desolation of her heart. To -allow the blossom to brighten in her eye and then, suddenly, to wither -it at a blast. To permit this John Brennan to approach the sacred -portals of the priesthood and then to cause him to be cast adrift. - -The thought of how he might put a more delicate turn to the execution -of his plan had come to him as he journeyed down from Dublin with John -Brennan. He knew that his nephew, Ulick, had lived the rather reckless -student life of Dublin. Just recently he had been drawing him out. But -he was no weakling, and it was not possible that any of those ways -might yet submerge him. However, his influence acting upon a weaker -mind might have effect and produce again the degenerate that had not -fully leaped to life in him. If he were brought into contact with John -Brennan it might be the means of effecting, in a less direct way, the -result which must be obtained. - -It was with this thought simmering in his brain that Myles Shannon had -invited John Brennan to the friendship and company of his nephew. When -he had spoken of the Great War it was the condition of his own mind -that had prompted the thought, for it was filled with the impulse of -destruction. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -It is on his passage through the village of Garradrimna that we may -most truly observe John Brennan, in sharp contrast with his dingy -environment, as he goes to hear morning Mass at the instigation of -his mother, whose pathetic fancy fails to picture him in any other -connection. It is a beautiful morning, and the sun is already high. -There is a clean freshness upon all things. The tall trees which form -a redeeming background for the uneven line of the ugly houses on the -western side of the street are flinging their rich raiment wildly -upon the light breeze where it floats like the decorative garments of -a ballet dancer. The light winds are whipping the lightness of the -morning. - -The men of drink are already stirring about in anticipation. -Hubert Manning is striking upon the door of Flynn's, the grocery -establishment, which, in the heavy blindness of his thirst, he takes to -be one of the seven publichouses of Garradrimna. He is running about -like some purged sinner, losing patience at last hard by the Gate of -Heaven. In the course of her inclusive chronicles his mother had told -John Brennan the life history of Hubert Manning. For sixty odd years -he had bent his body in hard battle with the clay, until the doubtful -benefit of a legacy had come to change the current of his life. The -fortune, with its sudden diversion towards idleness and enjoyment, had -caused all the latent villainy of the man, which the soil had subdued, -to burst forth with violence. He was now a drunken old cur whom -Sergeant McGoldrick caused to spend a fortune in fines. - -"Just imagine the people who do be left the money!" said Mrs. Brennan, -as she told the story. - -John Brennan passes on. He meets the bill-poster, Thomas James. His -dark, red face displays an immense anxiety. He is going for his first -pint with a pinch of salt held most carefully in his hand. His present -condition is a fact to be deplored, for he was famous in his time and -held the record in Garradrimna for fast drinking of a pint. He could -drink twenty pints in a day. Hence his decline and the pinch of salt -now held so carefully in his hand. This is to keep down the first pint, -and if the operation be safely effected it is quite possible that the -other nineteen will give him no trouble. - -Coming in the valley road are Shamesy Golliher and Martin Connell. -In the distance they appear as small, shrinking figures, moving in -abasement beneath the Gothic arches of the elms. They represent the -advance guard of those who leave the sunlit fields on a summer morning -to come into the dark, cavernous pubs of Garradrimna. - -On the side of the street, distant from that upon which John Brennan -is walking, moves the famous figure of Padna Padna, slipping along -like some spirit of discontent and immortal longing, doomed forever to -wander. He mistakes the student for one of the priests and salutes him -by tipping his great hat lightly with his little fore-finger. - -And here comes yet another, this one with speed and determination in -his stride, for it is Anthony Shaughness, who has spent three-fourths -of his life running away from Death. - -"Will you save a life; will you save a life?" he whispers wildly, -clutching John by the arm. "I have a penny, but sure a penny is no -good, sir; and I want tuppence-ha'penny to add to it for the price of a -pint; but sure you won't mind when it's to save my life! I know you'll -give it to me for the love of God!" - -This is a very well-known request in the mouth of Anthony Shaughness, -and John Brennan has attended it so very often during the past few -years as to deserve a medal for life-saving. Yet he now takes the -coppers from his small store of pocket-money and gives them to the -dipsomaniac, who moves rapidly in the direction of "The World's End." - -There is presently an exciting interlude. They are just opening up at -Brannagan's as he goes past. The sleepy-looking barmaid has come to the -newly-opened door, and makes an ungraceful gesture in gathering up her -ugly dishevelled hair. A lout of a lad with a dirty cigarette in his -mouth appears suddenly. They begin to grin at one another in foolish -rapture, for it is a lovers' meeting. Through the doorway at which they -stand the smell of stale porter is already assaulting the freshness -of the morning. They enter the bar surreptitiously and John Brennan -can hear the swish of a pint in the glass in which it is being filled. -The usual morning gift, he thinks, with which this maiden favors this -gallant lover of a new Romance.... There comes to him suddenly the idea -that his name has been mentioned in this dark place just now.... He -goes on walking quickly towards the chapel. - - -The plan which Myles Shannon had originated was not lacking in -subtlety. He foresaw a certain clash of character, between his nephew -and the son of Nan Byrne, which must become most interesting as he -watched it out of his malevolence. He could never, never, forget what -she had done.... And always, beyond the desolation which appeared from -concentration of his revengeful intentions, he beheld the ruins of her -son. - -He often thought it puzzling how she should never have imagined that -some one like him might be tempted to do at some time what he was -now about to do. It seemed remarkable beyond all else that her mind -should possess such an opaque oneness of purpose, such an extraordinary -"thickness," to use the term of the valley. - -Yet this was a quality peculiar to the gentle hush of the grassy -places. It seemed to arise from the removal of an intelligent feeling -of humanity from the conduct of life and the replacement of it by a -spitefulness that killed and blinded. It was the explanation of many -of the tragedies of the valley. Like a malignant wind, it warped the -human growth within the valley's confines. It was what had happened to -Mrs. Brennan and, because of the action he was taking in regard to her, -what was now about to happen to Myles Shannon. He seemed to forget, as -he went about his vengeance, that subtlety is akin to humor, and that -humor, in its application to the satiric perception of things, is the -quality which constantly heals the cut it has made. He might certainly -leave the mark of his vengeance upon Mrs. Brennan, but there was the -danger of the weapon recoiling upon himself and his kinsman. It was a -horrible plan indeed, this, of setting one young man to ruin another. -It was such a conflict, with such an anticipated ending, as had shaped -itself inevitably out of the life of the valley. Where life was an -endless battle of conflicting characters and antagonized dispositions -it seemed particularly meet that a monumental conflict should at last -have been instituted. - - -Ulick Shannon was finding the valley very little to his mind. But for -the intervention of his uncle he was several times upon the point of -returning to Dublin. Although it was for a rest he had come the place -was too damnably dull. Garradrimna was an infernal hole! Yet he went -there often, and it was remarkable that his uncle said never a word -when he arrived home from the village, several nights, in a condition -that was not one of absolute sobriety. On the contrary, he seemed to -take a certain joyful interest in such happenings. His uncle often -spoke of the young man, John Brennan, whom he desired him to meet, and -it was surprising that this young man had not made the visit he had -promised to the house among the trees. - -Myles Shannon was beginning to be annoyed by the appearance of this -slight obstruction in the path of his plan. Had Mrs. Brennan forbidden -the friendship he had proposed? It was very like her indeed, and of -course she had her reasons.... But it would never do to let her triumph -over him now, and he having such a lovely plan. He would go so far as -to send his nephew to call at her house to make the acquaintance of -Nan Byrne's son. It would be queer surely to see him calling at that -house and inquiring for John Brennan when his father had gone there -aforetime to see John Brennan's mother. But how was Ulick to know and -view from such an angle this aspect of his existence? - -Yet, after all, the meeting of John Brennan and Ulick Shannon happened -quite accidentally and upon such a morning as we have seen John in -Garradrimna. - -Ulick had gone for a walk around that way before his breakfast. He was -not feeling particularly well as he paused at the end of the valley -road to survey the mean street of Garradrimna, down which he had -marched last night with many a wild thought rushing into his mind as -the place and the people fell far beneath his high gaze. - -His quick eye caught sight of something now which seemed a curiously -striking piece in the drab mosaic of his morning. It was a little party -of four going towards the chapel. The pair in front could possibly be -none other than the bridegroom and his bride. It was easy to see that -marriage was their purpose from the look of open rapture upon their -faces. The bridesmaid and the best man were laughing and chatting gaily -as they walked behind them. They seemed to be having the best of it. - -Ulick thought it interesting to see this pair moving eagerly towards -a mysterious purpose.... He was struck by the fact that it was a most -merciful thing that all men do not lift the veil of life so early as he -had done.... The harsh, slight laugh which came from him was like the -remembered laughter of a dead man. - -Now that his eyes were falling, with an unfilled look, upon the street -along which the four had gone he began to see people who had been -looking out move away from the squinting windows and a few seconds -later come hurriedly out of their houses and go towards the chapel. - -The poor, self-conscious clod, who had dearly desired to marry the girl -of his fancy quietly and with no prying eyes, amid the fragrance of -the fine June morning, had, after all, succeeded only in drawing about -him the leering attention of all the village. There were ever so many -people going towards the chapel this morning. The lot was large enough -to remind one of a Sunday congregation at either Mass, this black drove -now moving up the laneway. Ulick Shannon went forward to join it. - -Coming near the chapel he encountered a young man in black, who wore -the look of a student. This must be John Brennan, he thought, of whom -his uncle had so repeatedly spoken. He turned and said: - -"Good morning! I'm Ulick Shannon, and I fancy you're Brennan, the chap -my uncle has talked of so often. He has been expecting you to call at -Scarden House." - -They shook hands. - -"Yes, I'm John Brennan, and I'm delighted to meet you. I have not -forgotten your uncle's kind invitation." - -Together they entered the House of God.... Father O'Keeffe was already -engaged in uniting the couple. Distantly they could hear him mumbling -the words of the ceremony.... All eyes were upon the priest and the -four people at the altar.... Suddenly Ulick giggled openly, and John -Brennan blushed in confusion, for this was irreverence such as he had -never before experienced in the presence of sacred things. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -Next day Ulick Shannon made a call upon John Brennan and invited him -for a drive. Outside upon the road Charlie Clarke's motor was snorting -and humming. Ulick had learned to drive a car in Dublin, and had now -hired Mr. Clarke's machine for the day. - -"You see," he said airily, "that I have dispensed with the -sanctimonious Charlie and am driving myself. Meaning no respect to you, -Brennan, one approach to a priest is as much as I can put up with at a -time." - -Mrs. Brennan had come to the window, which looked out upon the little -garden wicket by which they were standing.... Her eyes were dancing and -wild thoughts were rushing into her mind.... Here, at last, was the -achieved disaster and the sight her eyes had most dreaded to see--her -son and the son of Henry Shannon talking together as brothers. - -An ache that was akin to hunger seemed to have suddenly attacked her. -Her lips became parched and dry and her jaws went through the actions -of swallowing although there was nothing in her mouth. Then she felt -herself being altogether obliterated as she stood there by the window. -She was like a wounded bird that had broken itself in an attempt to -attain to the sunlight beyond.... And to think that it had fallen at -last, this shadow of separation from her lovely son. John came to the -door and called in: - -"I'm going for a drive in the motor with Mr. Shannon, mother." - -These were his very words, and they caused her to move away towards -the sewing-room with the big tears gathering into her eyes. From her -seat she saw her son take up his proud position by the side of Ulick -Shannon. There was something for you, now! Her son driving in a motor -car with a young man who was going on to be a doctor, in the high noon -of a working day, all down through the valley of Tullahanogue. If only -it happened to be with any other one in the whole world. What would -all the people say but what they must say?... She saw the two students -laughing just before the car started as if some joke had suddenly -leaped into being between them. - -Ned Brennan came into the room. He had been making an effort to do -something in the garden when the car had distracted him from his task. -Well, that was what you might call a grand thing! While he was here -digging in his drought, his son, I thank ye, going off to drive in a -motor with a kind of a gentleman. His mind went swiftly moving towards -a white heat of temper which must be eventually cooled in the black -pools of Garradrimna. He came into the room, a great blast of a man in -his anger, his boots heavy with the clay of the garden. - -"Well, be the Holy Farmer! that's the grand turn-out!... But sure -they're a kind of connections, don't you know, and I suppose 'tis only -natural?" - -Great God! He had returned again to this, and to the words she feared -most of all to hear falling from his mouth. - -"A curious attraction, don't you know, that the breed of the Byrnes -always had for the breed of the Shannons. Eh, Nan?" - -Mrs. Brennan said nothing. It had been the way with her that she felt -a certain horror of Ned when he came to her in this state, but now she -was being moved by a totally different feeling. She was not without a -kind of pity for him as she suddenly realized once more how she had -done him a terrible and enduring injury.... As he stood there glowering -down upon her he was of immense bulk and significance. If he struck her -now she would not mind in the least. - -"And they're like one another too, them two chaps, as like as brothers. -And mebbe they are brothers. Eh, Nan, eh; what happened the child -you had for Henry Shannon? It died, did it? Why 'tis only the other -night that Larry Cully came at me again about it in Garradrimna. 'I -see you have your sons home about you,' says he, 'and that must be -the great comfort to a man, your son John,' says he, 'and your son -Ulick. Maybe ye never heard tell,' says he, 'that Grace Gogarty's child -died young and that Henry Shannon bought his other son from his other -mother-in-law to prevent it being a rising disgrace to him. Bought it -for a small sum,' says he, 'and put it in the place of his lawful son, -and his wife never suspected anything until the day she died, poor -woman; for she was to be pitied, having married such a blackguard.' Is -that true, is it, Nan?" - -Oh, Blessed Mother! this was even more terrible than the suspicion -Marse Prendergast had put upon her. It seemed less of a crime that -the little innocent babe should have been murdered in this house -and buried in the garden than that her old, dead mother should have -sold it to Henry Shannon. And how was she to know? Twenty-five years -had passed since that time when she had been at Death's door, nor -realizing anything.... And her mother had never told her.... It would -be strange if she had gone digging at any time for the tiny bones of -the little infant that had never been baptized. People passing the -road might suspect her purpose and say hard things.... But sure they -said hard things of her still after all the years. It was dreadful to -think how any one could concoct a lie like this, and that no one could -forget. Old Marse Prendergast knew well. Deep in her wicked mind, for -twenty-five years, the secret had been hidden. It was a torture to -think of the way she would be hinting at it forever.... And just quite -recently she had threatened to tell John. - -Bit by bit was being erected in her mind the terrible speculation as -to what really was the truth and the full extent of her sin. Yet it -was not a thing she could set about making inquiries after.... She -wondered and wondered did Myles Shannon, the uncle of Ulick, know the -full truth. Why did not her husband drop that grimy, powerful hand? Her -breasts craved its blow now, even as they had yearned long ago for the -fumbling of the little, blind mouth. - -But he was merely asking her for money to buy drink for himself in -Garradrimna. Hitherto this request had always given her pain, but now, -somehow, it came differently to her ears. There was no hesitation on -her part, no making of excuses. She went upstairs to the box which held -her most dear possession--the money she had saved so well through all -the years for the fitting-out of Ned to go proudly with her to attend -the ordination of their son John. She opened the box with the air of -one doing a deliberate thing. The money, which amounted in all to about -five pounds, was still in the form in which she had managed to scrape -it together. In notes and gold and silver, and even copper. Before this -it would have appeared as a sacrilege on her part to have touched a -penny of it, but now she had no thought of this kind. Ned wanted the -money to purchase the means of forgetfulness of the great injury she -had done him. - -She counted thirty pennies, one by one, into the pocket of her apron. -This seemed the least suspicious way of giving it to him, for he had -still no idea that she could have any little store laid by. It was -hardly possible when one considered how much he drank upon her in the -village. - -She came down the stairs in silence, and spoke no word to him as she -handed over the money. His lips seemed to split into a sort of sneer -as he took it from her. Then he went out the door quickly and down the -white road toward Garradrimna. - - -For the admiration and surprise of John Brennan, Ulick Shannon had -been displaying his skill with the wheel. Soon the white, tidy houses -beyond the valley were whizzing past and they were running down the -easy road which led into the village of Ballinamult. They had moved in -a continuous cloud of dust from Tullahanogue. - -Ulick said he was choked with dust as he brought the car to a -standstill outside the "North Leinster Arms." He marched deliberately -into the public bar, and John Brennan followed after with less sure -footsteps, for it was his first appearance in a place of this kind. -There was a little, plump girl standing up on a chair rearranging the -bottles of whiskey and dusting the shelves. - -Ulick would seem to have already visited this tavern, for he addressed -the girl rather familiarly as "Mary Essie." She looked at the young -man impudently as she wheeled around to exhibit herself to the best -advantage. Ulick leaned his elbows upon the low counter and gazed -towards her with his deep, dark eyes. Some quite unaccountable thing -caused John Brennan to blush, but he noticed that the girl was not -blushing. She was more brazenly forcing her body into exhibition. - -Ulick called for a drink, whatever his friend Brennan would have, and -a bottle of Bass for himself. It appeared a little wrong to John that -he should be about to partake of a drink in a pub., for the "North -Leinster Arms" was nothing more than a sufficiently bad public-house. -He had a sudden recollection of having once been given cakes and sweets -in an evil-smelling tap-room one day he had gone with his mother -long ago to Mullaghowen. He thought of the kind of wine he had been -given that day and immediately the name was forced to his lips by the -thought--"Port wine!" - -When the barmaid turned around to fill their drinks the young men had -a view of the curves of her body. John Brennan was surprised to find -himself dwelling upon them in the intense way of his friend. - -Before they left Ulick had many drinks of various kinds, and it was -interesting to observe how he expanded with their influence. He began -to tell "smutty" stories to Mary Essie. She listened with attention. -No blush came into her face, and her glad neck looked brazen.... John -Brennan felt himself swallowing great gulps of disgust.... His training -had led him to associate the female form with the angelic form coming -down from Heaven. Yet here was something utterly different.... A vulgar -girl, with fat, round hands and big breasts, her lips red as a recent -wound in soft flesh, and looking lonely. - -He was glad when they regained the sunlight, yet the day was of such -a character as creates oppression by the very height of its splendor. -Ulick was in such a mood for talk that they had almost forgotten the -luncheon-basket at the back of the car. - -Beyond Ballinamult they stopped again where the ruins of a moldering -Abbey lay quietly surrounded by a circle of furze-covered hills.... -Ulick expanded still further with the meal, yet his discourse still ran -along the old trail. He was favoring his friend with a sketch of his -life, and it seemed to be made up largely of the women he had known -in Dublin. Quite suddenly he said what seemed to John a very terrible -thing: - -"I have learned a lot from them, and let me tell you this--it has been -my experience that you could not trust your own mother or the girl of -your heart. They seem to lack control, even the control of religion. -They do not realize religion at all. They are creatures of impulse." - -Here was a sentiment that questioned the very fact of existence.... -It seemed dreadful to connect the triumph of love and devotion that -was his mother with this consequent suggestion of the failure of -existence.... Together they went across the grassy distance towards -the crumbling ruin wherein the good monks of old had lived and prayed. -And surely, he thought, the great spirit of holiness which had led -men hither to spend their lives in penance and good works could not -have departed finally from this quiet place, nor from the green fields -beyond the rim of furze-covered hills. - -Yet upon his ears were falling the even, convincing tones of Ulick -Shannon, still speaking cynically. - -"Behold," he was saying, "that it is to this place the younger -generation throng on the Sabbath. Around you, upon the ruined and bare -walls, you will observe not pious words, but the coupled names of those -who have come here to sin." - -"And look at this!" he exclaimed, picking from a niche in the wall -a long shin bone of one of the ancient monks, which possessed the -reputed power of cures and miracles. For a moment he examined it with a -professional eye, then handed it to John Brennan. There were two names -scribbled upon it in pencil, and beneath them a lewd expression. Ulick -had only laid hands upon it by the merest accident, but it immediately -gave body to all the airy ideas he had been putting forth. There was -something so greatly irreverent in the appearance of this accidental -piece of evidence that no argument could be put forward against it. It -was terrible and conclusive. - -The evening was far advanced when John Brennan returned home. His -mother and father were seated in the kitchen. His father was drunk, -and she was reading him a holy story, with an immeasurable feeling of -despondence in her tones. John became aware of this as he entered the -house. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Rebecca Kerr had been ill for a few days and did not attend school -until the Monday following her arrival in the valley. There she made -the acquaintance of Mrs. Wyse, the principal of Tullahanogue Girls' -School, and Monica McKeon, the assistant of Tullahanogue Boys' School. -Mrs. Wyse was a woman who divided her energies between the education of -other women's children and the production of children of her own. Year -by year, and with her growing family, had her life narrowed down to -the painful confines of its present condition. She had the reputation -of being a hard mistress to the children and a harsh superior to -her assistants. From the very first she seemed anxious to show her -authority over Rebecca Kerr. - -In the forenoon of this day she was standing by her blackboard at the -east end of the school, imparting some history to her most advanced -class. Rebecca was at the opposite end teaching elementary arithmetic -to the younger children when something in the would-be impressive -seriousness of her principal's tone caused her to smile openly. - -Mrs. Wyse saw the smile, and it lit her anger. She called loudly: - -"Miss Kerr, are you quite sure that that exercise in simple addition is -correct?" - -"Yes, perfectly certain, Mrs. Wyse." - -The chalk had slipped upon the greasy blackboard, making a certain 5 -to appear as a 6 from the distance at which she stood, and it was into -this accidental trap that Mrs. Wyse had fallen. Previous assistants -had studied her ways and had given up the mistake of contradicting her -even when she was obviously in the wrong. But this was such a straight -issue, and Rebecca Kerr had had no opportunity of knowing her. She -came down in a flaming temper from the rostrum. Rebecca awaited her -near approach with a smiling and assured complacency which must have -been maddening. But Mrs. Wyse was not one to admit a mistake. Quick as -lightning she struck upon the complaint that the exercise was beyond -the course of instruction scheduled for this particular standard.... -And here were the foundations of an enmity laid between these two -women. They would not be friends in any fine way through the length of -all the long days they might teach together. - -Thus for Rebecca the first day in the valley school dragged out its -slow length and was dreary and dreadful until noon. Then Monica McKeon -came in from the Boys' School and they took their luncheon together.... -They went on chattering away until the door of the schoolroom was -suddenly darkened by the shadows of two men. The three women arose -in confusion as Master Donnellan called them to the door. There was -a young man standing outside who presented a strong contrast to -the venerable figure of the master. The latter, in his roundabout, -pedagogic way, went on to tell how the stranger had strayed into the -school playground and made himself known. He wished to show him the -whole of the building, and introduced him as "Mr. Ulick Shannon, Mr. -Myles Shannon's nephew, you know." - -The three female teachers took an immediate mental note of the young -man. They saw him as neat and well-dressed, with a half-thoughtful, -half-reckless expression upon his fine face, with its deep-set, -romantic eyes. The few words he spoke during the general introduction -appeared to Rebecca to be in such a gentle voice. There were some -moments of awkward silence. Then, between the five of them, they -managed to say a few conventional things. All the while those great, -deep eyes seemed to be set upon Rebecca, and she was experiencing the -disquieting feeling that she had met him at some previous time in some -other place in this wide world. The eyes of Monica McKeon were upon -both of them in a way that seemed an attempt to search their minds for -their thoughts of the moment. - -Immediately he was gone Mrs. Wyse and Miss McKeon fell to talking of -him: - -"He's the hateful-looking thing; I'd hate him like poison," said Monica. - -"Indeed what could he be and the kind of a father he had? Sure I -remember him well, a quare character," said Mrs. Wyse. - -"I wonder what could have brought him around here to-day of all days -since he came to Scarden?" - -This with her eyes set firmly upon Rebecca. - -Mrs. Wyse was not slow to pick up the insinuation. - -"Oh, looking after fresh girls always, the same as his father." - -"He's not bad-looking." - -"No; but wouldn't you know well he has himself destroyed with the kind -of life he lives up in Dublin? They say he's gone to the bad and that -he'll never pass his exams." - -Every word of the conversation seemed to be spoken with the direct -intention of attacking certain feelings which had already begun to rise -in the breast of Rebecca Kerr.... Her mind was being held fast by the -well-remembered spell of his eyes. - -The afternoon passed swiftly for Mrs. Wyse. She was so engrossed by -thought of this small thing that had happened that she gave wrong dates -in another history lesson, false notes in the music lesson, and more -than one incorrect answer to simple sums in the arithmetic lesson. - -Rebecca was glad when three o'clock and her freedom at last came. Out -in the sunlight she would be able to indulge in certain realizations -which were impossible of enjoyment here in this crowded schoolroom. The -day was still enthroned beneath the azure dome. This was the period -of its languorous yawn when it seemed to dream for a space and gather -strength before it came down from its high place and went into the -long, winding ways of evening. - -There were men engaged in raising sand from a pit by the roadside as -she passed along. A pause in the ringing of their shovels made her -conscious that they had stopped in their labor to gaze after her as she -went.... Her neck was warm and blushing beneath the shadow of her hair. - -Her confusion extended to every portion of her body when she came upon -Ulick Shannon around a bend of the road, book in hand, sauntering along. - -He saluted as she overtook him, and spoke of the pleasant -afternoon.... She hoped he was enjoying his holidays here in the -valley. He seemed to be spending the time very quietly. Reading? -Poetry? Just fancy! _The Daffodil Fields_, by John Masefield. What a -pretty name! Was he devoted to poetry, and was this particular poem a -good one? - -"It is a great tale of love and passion that happened in one of the -quiet places of the world," he told her with a kind of enthusiasm -coming into his words for the first time. - -"One of the quiet places?" she murmured, evidently at a loss for -something else to say. - -"Yes, a quiet place which must have been like this place and yet, at -the same time, most wonderfully different, for no poet at all could -imagine any tale of love and passion springing from the life about us -here. The people of the valley seem to have died before they were born. -I will lend you this poem, if you'd care to have it." - -"Oh, thank you, Mr. Shannon!" she said. - -They had wandered down a lane which led from the high road towards the -peaceful fields beyond the little lake. This lane, he told her, was -called "The Road of the Dead," and would afford her a short cut to her -lodging at Sergeant McGoldrick's. - -For lack of anything else to say, she remarked upon the strangeness of -this name--The Road of the Dead. He said it seemed a title particularly -suitable. He went on to elaborate the idea he had just expressed: - -"Around and about here they are all dead--dead. No passion of any kind -comes to light their existence. Their life is a thing done meanly, -shudderingly within the shadow of the grave. That is how I have been -seeing it for the past few weeks. They hate the occurrence of new -people in their midst. They hate me already, and now they will hate -you. The sight of us walking together like this must surely cause them -to hate us still more." - -She was wondering that his words should hold a sense of consideration -for her, seeing that they had been acquainted only such a short while. - -"This way leads from a graveyard to a graveyard, and they have a -silly superstition that dead couples are sometimes seen walking -here. Particularly dismal also do I consider this picture of their -imagination. The idea of any one thinking us a dead couple!" - -As he said this her blushing cheek showed certainly that life was -strong in her.... Upon the wings of his words grand thoughts had gone -flying through her mind. All day she had been looking forward with -dread to the yellow, sickly, sunlit time after school. And now to think -that the miracle of this romantic young man had happened.... Both grew -silent. Rebecca's eyes were filling with visions and wandering over a -field of young green corn. They were dancing upon the waves of sunlight -which shimmered over all the clean, feathery surface of the field. The -eyes of Ulick were straying from the landscape and dwelling upon her -deeply, upon the curves of her throat and bosom, and upon the gentle -billows of her hair. Over all his face was clouding that mysterious, -murky expression which had come as he gazed upon the little barmaid of -the "North Leinster Arms" a few days previously. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Rebecca wanted some light blouses. Those she possessed had survived -through one summer, and it was all that could be expected of them. So -one day she ran down to Brennan's, during the half hour allowed for -recreation, to leave the order. When she entered the sewing-room Mrs. -Brennan was busy at her machine. Her ever-tired eyes struggled into a -beaming look upon Rebecca. - -The young girl, with her rich body, seemed to bring a clean freshness -into the room. For a moment the heavy smell of the miscellaneous -materials about her died down in the nostrils of Mrs. Brennan. But this -might have arisen from a lapse of other faculties occasioned by her -agreeable surprise. So here was the new teacher who had so recently -occupied her tongue to such an extent. She now beheld her hungrily. - -Rebecca laid her small parcel of muslin upon the table, and became -seated at the request of Mrs. Brennan. - -"That's the grand day, ma'am," said she. - -"'Tis the grand day indeed, miss," said Mrs. Brennan. - -"Not nice, however, to be in a stuffy schoolroom." - -"Indeed you might swear that, especially in such a school as -Tullahanogue, with a woman like Mrs. Wyse; she's the nice-looking -article of a mistress!" - -Rebecca almost bounded in her chair. She had fancied Mrs. Brennan, -from the nature of her occupation, as a gabster, but she had not -reckoned upon such a sudden and emphatic confirmation of her notion. -Immediately she tried to keep the conversation from taking this turn, -which, in a way, might bring it to a personal issue. But Mrs. Brennan -was not to be baulked of her opportunity. - -She began to favor her visitor with a biography of Mrs. Wyse. It was a -comprehensive study, including all her aspects and phases. Her father -and his exact character, and her mother and what she was. Her husband, -and how the marriage had been arranged. How she had managed to gain her -position. Everything was explained with a wealth of detail. - -Rebecca out of the haze into which the garrulous recital had led her, -spoke suddenly and reminded Mrs. Brennan of the passage of the half -hour. Mrs. Brennan quickly fancied that the cause of the girl's lack of -enthusiasm in this outpouring of information might have arisen from the -fact that Mrs. Wyse had forestalled her with a previous attack. Thus, -by a piece of swift transition, she must turn the light upon herself -and upon the far, bright period of her young girlhood. - -Now maybe Miss Kerr would like to look through the album of photos upon -the table. This was a usual extension of feminine curiosity.... Rebecca -opened the heavy, embossed album and began to turn over the pages.... -There was a photo of a young girl near the beginning. She was of -considerable beauty, even so far as could be discerned from this faded -photo, taken in the early eighties. As Rebecca lingered over it, the -face of Mrs. Brennan was lit by a sad smile. - -"She was nice, and who might she have been?" said Rebecca. - -"That was me when I was little and innocent," said Mrs. Brennan. - -Rebecca looked from Mrs. Brennan to the photo, and again from the photo -to Mrs. Brennan. She found it difficult to believe that this young -girl, with the long, brown hair and the look of pure innocence in the -fine eyes, could be the faded, anxious, gossipy woman sitting here at -her labor in this room.... She thought of the years before herself and -of all the tragedy of womanhood.... There was silence between them for -a space. Mrs. Brennan appeared as if she had been overpowered by some -sad thought, for not a word fell from her as she began to untie the -parcel of blouse material her customer had brought. There was no sound -in the wide noontide stillness save the light fall of the album leaves -as they were being turned.... Rebecca had paused again, and this time -was studying the photos of two young men set in opposite pages. Both -were arrayed in the fashions of 1890, and each had the same correct, -stiff pose by an impossible-looking pedestal, upon which a French-gray -globe reposed. But there was a great difference to be immediately -observed as existing between the two men. One was handsome and of such -a hearing as instantly appeals to feminine eyes. It was curious that -they should have been placed in such contiguous contradistinction, for -the other man seemed just the very opposite in every way to the one who -was so handsome. It could not have been altogether by accident, was -Rebecca's thought, and, with the intuition of a woman at work in her, -she proceeded to lay the foundations of a romance.... Mrs. Brennan was -observing her closely, and it grew upon her that she had been destined -to bare her soul to this girl in this moment. - -"That was the nice young man," said Rebecca, indicating the one who, -despite his stiff pose by the pedestal, looked soldierly with his great -mustache. - -"Indeed he was all that," said Mrs. Brennan. "I met him when I was away -off in England. He was a rich, grand young man, and as fond of me as -the day was long; but he was a Protestant and fearful of his people to -change his religion, and to be sure I could not change mine. For the -sake of me holy religion I gave up all thoughts of him and married Ned -Brennan, whose likeness you see on the other page." - -Rebecca lifted her eyes from the album and looked full at Mrs. Brennan. -She wondered how much truth could be in this story. The dressmaker -was a coarse woman and not at all out of place in this mean room. She -imagined the heavy husband of her choice as a suitable mate for her. - -This sudden adoption of the attitude of a kind of martyr did not seem -to fit well upon her. Rebecca could not so quickly imagine her as -having done a noble and heroic thing for which she had not received -sufficient beatification. - -Rebecca was still turning the leaves. She had hurried through this -little pageant of other generations, and was at the last pages. Now -she was among people of the present, and her attention was no longer -held by the peculiarities of the costumes.... Her mind was beginning to -wander. Suddenly she was looking down upon a photo in the older style -and the anachronism was startling. Had it been placed in any other -portion of the album she might not have so particularly noticed it. It -was the likeness of a dark, handsome man on horseback. - -"Who was he?" she said, almost unconsciously. - -A flush passed over the face of Mrs. Brennan, but she recovered herself -by an effort. She smiled queerly through her confusion and said: - -"Indeed 'tis you who ought to know that." - -"How should I know?"--Rebecca was amazed. - -"Don't you know Ulick Shannon?" - -It was now Rebecca's turn to be confused. - -Fancy this woman knowing that she had been talking just once with Ulick -Shannon.... Evidently the tongue of this place had already begun to -curl around her. - -"But this is not Ulick Shannon!" She blushed as she found herself -speaking his name. - -"No, but it is the photo of his dead father, Henry Shannon." - -Mrs. Brennan heaved a great sigh as she said this. She rose from her -seat by the machine and moved towards the place where Rebecca was -bending over the album. She gazed down at the picture of the dead man -with moist eyes.... There was silence between them now for what seemed -a long time. Rebecca became alarmed as she thought that she might have -overstayed the half hour. At the school the priest or the inspector -might have called and found her absent from her post. - -She broke in abruptly upon Mrs. Brennan's fit of introspection, and -gave a few hurried orders about the blouses. - -"Will you be giving me the making of your next new costume?" said Mrs. -Brennan. - -"Well, I'm sorry--I don't think so. You see I have it being made -already in Dublin." - -"In Dublin itself? Well, well! that'll be the great style." - -She felt it as an affront to her reputation that any one who lived in -the neighborhood should patronize other places for their needs. She -took such doings as exhibitions of spite and malice against her. And, -somehow, she could not get rid of the idea now, although this girl -evidently knew nothing of her history. - -She was seeing Rebecca to the door when John Brennan came up the little -path. She introduced him, and told how he was her son and, with vanity -in her tones, that he was going to be a priest. - -"That'll give her something to think of, with her slighting me be -telling how she was having her costume made be another. A woman that's -going to have a son a priest ought to be good enough to make for her, -and she a whipster that's after coming from God knows where." - -The mind of Mrs. Brennan was saying this to itself as she stood there -at her own door gazing in pride upon her son. Rebecca Kerr was looking -up into his face with a laugh in her eyes. He was such a nice young -fellow, she was thinking. John Brennan was blushing in the presence of -this girl and glancing shyly at her hair. - -Suddenly she broke away from them with a laughing word upon her lips, -ran out to the road, and down towards the school. - -"She's a very nice girl, mother." - -"Oh! indeed she's not much, John; and I knew well I wouldn't like her -from the very first I heard tell of her coming." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Large posters everywhere announced the holding of a concert in -Garradrimna. As in many other aspects of life in the village, it was -not given to John Brennan to see their full meaning. He had not even -seen in Thomas James, who posted the bills, a symbolic figure, but only -one whom disaster had overtaken through the pursuit of his passion. For -many a year had Thomas James gone about in this way, foretelling some -small event in the life of Garradrimna. Now it was a race-meeting or a -circus, again an auction or a fair. All the while he had been slipping -into his present condition, and herein lay the curious pathos of him. -For he would never post like this the passing of his own life; he would -never set up a poster of Eternity. - -It was curious to think of that, no poster at all of the exact moment -amid the mass of Time when the Great White Angel would blow his blast -upon the Shining Trumpet to awaken all Earth by its clear, wide ringing -across the Seven Seas. - -John Brennan spoke to his mother of the concert. - -"The cheek of them I do declare, with their concert. People don't find -it hard enough to get their money without giving it to them. Bits of -shop-boys and shop-girls! But I suppose they want new clothes and -costumes for the summer. I'll go bail you'll see them girls with new -hats after this venture." - -"The bills announce that it is for the Temperance Club funds." - -"And them's the quare funds, you might say, and the quare club. Young -fellows and young girls meeting in the one room to get up plays. No -good can come of it." - -"Of course we need not attend if we don't like." - -"Ah, we must go all the same. If we didn't, 'tis what they would say -mebbe that we hadn't the means, and so we must let them know that we -have. It wouldn't be nice to see you away from it." - -"I have no desire to go, mother, I assure you. A quiet evening more or -less will not matter." - -"But sure it'll be a bit of diversion and amusement." - -"Yes, that is exactly what I was thinking, so I didn't see anything -very wrong in going or in supporting those who organized it. But if you -don't care to go, it does not matter." - -"Ah, but wouldn't it be the quare thing to see your mother ignorant and -not having a word to say about what was after passing to any one that -would come in, and they knowing the whole thing? Now what you'll do for -me, John, is this. You'll go into Phillips's this evening and get two -of the most expensive tickets, one for yourself and one for me." - -John Brennan had a momentary realization of the pitiful vanity behind -this speech. He remained thinking while she went upstairs for the price -of the tickets, for that must be her object, he fancied, in ascending -into the upper story. He could hear her moving a trunk and opening it. -The sounds came to him with perfect clearness in the still room and -struck him with a sense of their little mournfulness, even though he -was quite unaware that his mother had secretly begun the destruction -of a bright portion of her life's dream. - -In the evening he went to the village for the tickets. - -"It'll be a grand turn-out," said Jimmy Phillips, as he took in the -money and blinked in anticipation with his one eye. - -"I'm sure," said John, as he left the little shop where you might buy -the daily newspaper and sweets and everything. - -He strolled up the street towards the old castle of the De Lacys. The -local paper, published at Mullaghowen, was never tired of setting down -its fame. The uncouth historians of the village had almost exhausted -their adjectives in relating the exploits of this marauding baron of -the Normans who had here built him a fortress, from which his companies -of conquering freebooters had sallied forth so long ago. Yet, as an -extraordinary mistake on the part of those who concerned themselves so -intimately with the life around them, they had altogether missed the -human side of the crumbling ruin. Of what romances of knighthood it -had once been the scene? Of what visions of delight when fair women -had met cuirassed gallants? Of all that pride which must have reared -itself aloft in this place which was now the resort, by night, of the -most humble creatures of the wild? Not one of them had ever been able -to fancy the thoughts which must have filled the mind of Hugh De Lacy -as he drew near this noble monument of his glory after some successful -expedition against the chieftains of the Pale. - -Through the thin curtain of the twilight John Brennan saw two figures -stealing from the labyrinthine ways which led beneath the castle into -what were known as "The Cells." These were dark, narrow places in which -two together would be in close proximity, and it was out from them that -this man and this woman were now stealing. He could not be certain of -their identity, but they looked like two whom he knew.... And he had -heard that Rebecca Kerr was going to sing at the concert, and also -that Ulick Shannon was coaching the Garradrimna Dramatic Class in the -play they were to produce, which was one he had seen at the Abbey -Theater.... A curious thrill ran through him which was like a spasm of -pain. Could it be this girl and this young man who had spoken with such -disgusting intimacy of the female sex in the bar of the "North Leinster -Arms" in Ballinamult ...? They went by a back way into the Club, where -the rehearsals were now going forward. - - -John Brennan was sitting stiffly beside his mother in the front -seats. Around and about him were people of renowned respectability, -who had also paid two shillings each for their tickets. The seven -publicans of Garradrimna were there, some with their wives, some with -their wives and daughters, and some with their wives and daughters -and sisters-in-law. The Clerk of the Union continually adjusting and -re-adjusting his lemon-colored gloves. The old bespectacled maid from -the Post Office sitting near the gray, bullet-headed postmaster, -whose apoplectic jowl was shining. They were keeping up a continual -chatter and buzz and giggle before the rise of the curtain. The jaws -of the ancient postmistress never ceased to work, and those hot words -of criticism and scorn which did not sizzle outwardly from her lips -dropped inwardly to feed the fire of her mind, which was a volcano in -perpetual eruption. - -Mrs. Brennan sat in silence by the side of her son, in the pride of his -presence, glad that he and she were here. She was as fine as any of -them, for she kept fine raiment for such occasions. In the first place -as an advertisement for her craft of dressmaker, and, secondly, to -afford a cloak for her past, even as those among whom she sat cloaked -their pasts in heavy garments of pride. Her attention was concentrated -not so much upon the performance she was about to witness as upon the -audience assembled to witness it. To her the audience was the concert, -and, although she was speaking no word, she was as nervously observant -as the old postmistress. She was concerned by the task before her, for -would she not be in honor bound to "go over" all that passed to any one -who might happen into the sewing-room next day, and lay everything bare -with a searching and deadly analysis for her son John? Thus was she not -distracted by the chattering and giggling, but perfectly at ease while -her mind worked nimbly within the limits of its purpose. - -The mind of John Brennan was not enjoying the same contentment. He was -a little excited by the presence of Rebecca Kerr on a seat adjacent. -She had a place on the program, and was awaiting her time to appear. -His eye was dwelling upon her hair, which lifted gracefully from her -white neck in a smooth wave of gold. It was the fairest thing in this -clouded place of human fumes, and the dear softness from which it -sprang such a recess of beauty. - -The concert had at last begun. Harry Holton, the comic, was holding the -stage and the audience was in convulsions. Harry Holton was a distant -disciple of Harry Lauder. Having heard the funny Scotchman upon the -gramophone he rather fancied that it was he who should have been Harry -Lauder. In course of time, he had grown to think that it was Lauder and -not himself who was doing the impersonation. His effort to be broadly -Scotch, while the marks of the son of Erin were so strong upon him, was -where, all unseen, his power to move towards laughter really lay. Yet -the audience rocked its sides in crude mirth at this crude exhibition, -and each man asked his neighbor was it not the funniest damned thing? -The seven sleek publicans of Garradrimna threatened to explode.... John -Brennan saw big beads of perspiration rise upon the comedian's brow and -gleam in the sickly glare of the lamplight. Beyond the excitement, from -behind the scenes, came a new sound--the popping of a cork--and through -a chink in the back cloth he saw Ulick Shannon take his drink from -the bottle.... Had Rebecca Kerr seen that as well as he or----. But -his speculation was cut short by the exit of the comedian after many -encores, amidst tumultuous applause. - -Next came Agnes McKeon, a near relation of Monica's and the -schoolmistress of Ballinamult. Her big spectacles gave her the look of -her profession, and although she sang well in a pleasing contralto, she -appeared stiff and unalluring in her white dress, which was starched to -a too strong resplendence. John heard two old maids with scraggy necks -remarking, not upon the power of Miss McKeon's voice, but upon the -extraordinary whiteness of her dress, and saying it was grand surely, -but they anxiously wondered were all her garments as clean for they -were ready to credit her with extreme slovenliness of habit. - -The play was the notable event of the evening. Although the work of a -famous Abbey playwright, it had been evidently re-written for Harry -Holton, who was the principal character. It was purely a Harry Holton -show. Dramatic point and sequence were sacrificed to give scope to -his renowned abilities. The other players would seem to have merged -themselves to give him prominence. But the ladies had not merged their -natural vanity. One in particular, who was supposed to represent an old -woman of Ireland, wore an attractive dress which was in the prevailing -fashion. It was the illiterate pronunciation of even the simplest words -which chiefly amused John Brennan. Herein might be detected the touch -of Ulick Shannon, who, in coaching the production, had evidently added -this means of diversion for his own amusement. John fancied that his -friend must be enjoying it hugely in there behind the scenes. - -When the play had been concluded by Harry Holton giving a few steps -of a dance, John Brennan saw Rebecca moving towards the stage. He -observed the light grace with which she went to the ordeal. Here was no -self-consciousness, but instead that easy quietness which is a part of -dignity.... It was Ulick Shannon who held aside the curtain allowing -her to pass in upon the stage. - -"Well now, isn't that one the brazen thing?" - -This was the expression of opinion which came clearly from out the -whispering and giggling. It was an unpardonable offense to appear in -public like this without a certain obvious fluttering and fear which -it was one of Garradrimna's most notable powers to create. It was a -great flout. Even his mother was moved to nudge him, so unusual was the -method of this strange girl, appearing in public before the place into -which she had come to earn a living. - -But she was singing. Rebecca Kerr was singing, and to John Brennan -this was all he wished to know. He trembled as he listened and grew -weary with delight. He became nervous, as before some unaccountable -apprehension, and turned to his mother. She was looking quizzically -at the girl on the stage. But the stage to him was now a sort of haze -through which there moved ever little dancing specks. - -The concert was over and his mind had not yet returned to realization. -Rebecca had not come from behind the scenes. He moved with his mother -out into the night, and, as they went, glanced around the corner of the -hall. He saw Rebecca Kerr and Ulick Shannon standing within the shadow -of the surrounding wood. He spoke no word to his mother as they went -down the road towards the house in the valley. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -As if from the excitement of the concert, John Brennan felt weary next -morning. He had been awake since early hours listening to the singing -of the birds in all the trees near the house. The jolly sounds came to -him as a great comfort. Consequently it was with an acute sensation -of annoyance that there crowded in upon his sense of hearing little -distracting noises. Now it was the heavy rumble of a cart, again -the screech of a bicycle ridden by Farrell McGuinness on his way to -Garradrimna for the letters of his rounds; and, continually, the hard -rasp of nailed boots upon the gravel of the road. - -His mother was moving about in the sewing-room beneath. He could hear -the noise made by her scissors as, from time to time, she laid it down -and picked it up again, while, mingled with these actions, occasionally -came up to him the little, unmusical song of the machine. His father -was still snoring. - -Last night Rebecca Kerr had shone in his eyes.... But how exactly had -she appeared before the eyes of Garradrimna and the valley? After what -manner would she survive the strong blast of talk? The outlook of his -mother would be representative of the feeling which had been created. -Yet he felt that it would be repugnant to him to speak with his mother -of Rebecca Kerr. There would be that faded woman, looking at him with -a kind of loving anxiety which seemed always to have the effect of -crushing him back relentlessly towards the realities of the valley and -his own reality. After his thoughts of last night and this morning he -hated to face his mother. - -When at last he went down into the room where she sat sewing he had -such an unusual look in his eyes as seemed to require the solace of an -incident to fill it. If he had expected to find a corresponding look -upon his mother's face he was disappointed. It seemed to wear still the -quizzical expression of last night, and a slight curl at the corners -of her mouth told that her mind was being sped by some humorous or -satirical impulse. - -"Whatever was the matter with you last night, John?" she asked. - -She did not give him time to frame an answer, but went on: - -"And I dying down dead to talk to you about the concert, I could not -get you to speak one word to me and we coming home." - -He noticed that she was in good heart, and, although it was customary -with him to be pleased to see his mother in a mood of gladness, he -could not enter into laughter and gossip with her now. - -But she could not be silent. This small expedition into the outer world -of passing events was now causing her mind to leap, with surprising -agility, from topic to topic.... Yet what was striking John more than -her talk, and with a more arresting realization, was, that although -the hour of his Mass-going was imminent, she was not reminding him or -urging him to remembrance of the good custom.... At last he was driven -by some scruple to remind her of the time, and it was her answer that -finally amazed him: - -"Ah, sure you mightn't go to-day, John. You're tired and all to that, I -know, and I want to tell you.... He! he! he! Now wasn't it the funniest -thing to see the schoolmistress of Ballinamult and the schoolmistress -of Tullahanogue and they up upon the one stage with Harry Holton's -dramatics making sport for a lot of grinning idiots? Like a couple of -circus girls they were, the brazen things! Indeed Miss Kerr is the -bold-looking hussy, with not a bit of shame in her at all. But sure -we may say she fell among her equals, for there wasn't much class -connected with it anyhow." - -"I think Ulick Shannon was knocking about the stage." - -The words strayed, without much sense of meaning or direction, out of -the current of his musing, but they produced a swift and certain effect -upon Mrs. Brennan. Her eyes seemed to cloud suddenly behind her glasses. - -"Aye ... I wonder who was the girl he went off with through the wood as -we came out. Never fear it was the new schoolmistress." - -She said this with a curious, dead quietness in her tones, and when she -had spoken she seemed instantly sorry that the words had slipped from -her lips.... It seemed a queer thing to say to her son and he going on -to be a priest. - -John thought it very strange that she too should have observed this -incident, which he had imagined must have been hidden from all eyes -save his own. He now wondered how many more must have seen it as he -tried to recall the sensations with which it had filled him.... But -beyond this remarkable endeavor of his mind his mother was again -speaking: - -"If you went now, you'd be in time for half-past eight Mass." - -He did not fail to notice the immediate change which had taken place in -her, and wondered momentarily what could have been its sudden cause. -He was beginning to notice of late that she had grown more and more -subject to such unaccountable fits. - -In his desire to obey her he was still strong, but, this morning, as he -walked along to Garradrimna he was possessed by a certain feeling of -annoyance which seemed to strain the bond that stretched between them. - -In the chapel he knelt beside Charlie Clarke, like the voteens around -them, with a lifeless acquiescence in the ceremony. He was here not -because his heart was here, but merely because his mother had wished -it. When his lips moved, in mechanical mimicry of the priest, he felt -that the way of the hypocrite must be hard and lonely. - -When he came out, upon the road he was confused to find himself face -to face with Rebecca Kerr. It seemed a trick of coincidence that he -should meet her now, for it had never happened on any other morning. -Then he suddenly remembered how his mother had kept him late from -"eight o'clock" by her talk of the concert, and it was now Miss Kerr's -school-going time.... She smiled and spoke to him. - -She looked handsome as she moved there along the road from the house -of Sergeant McGoldrick to the Girls' School of Tullahanogue. She was -in harmony with the beauty of the morning. There had been a dull pain -upon his mind since he had last seen her, but already it was gone. - -Although the concert might appear as the immediate subject to which -their minds would turn, this was not so. They began to talk of places -and things away from Garradrimna. - -She spun for his amusement many little yarns of the nuns who conducted -the college where she had been trained. He told her stories of the -priests who taught in the English college where he was being educated -for the priesthood. They enlarged upon the peculiarities of monastic -establishments. - -"And you're going to be a priest?" she said, looking up into his face -suddenly with dancing eyes. - -Such a question had never before been put to him in exactly this way. - -"I am.... At least, I think so.... Oh, yes!" he faltered. - -She laughed in a ringing, musical way that seemed to hold just the -faintest trace of mockery in its tones, but it seemed, next instant, -to be only by way of preface to another conventual tale which she -proceeded to tell. - -Through the period of this story they did not notice that they were -being stared at by those they were meeting upon the road.... As she -chatted and laughed, his eyes would be straying, in spite of him, to -that soft place upon her neck from which her hair sprang upward. - -It was with painful abruptness that she said: "Good morning, Mr. -Brennan!" and went into the old, barrack-like school. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -When John regained the house he saw that his father's boots had -disappeared from their accustomed place beside the fire. No doubt he -had gone away in them to Garradrimna. He had not met him on the road, -but there was a short way across the fields and through the woods, a -backward approach to three of the seven publichouses along which Ned -Brennan, some rusty plumber's tool in his hand and his head downcast, -might be seen passing on any day. - -He did not go straight into the sewing-room, for the door was closed -and he could hear the low murmur of talk within. It must be some -customer come to his mother, he thought, or else some one who had -called in off the road to talk about the concert. Immediately he -realized that he was wrong in both surmises, for it was the voice -of Marse Prendergast raised in one of its renowned outbursts of -supplication. - -"Now I suppose it's what you think that you're the quare, clever woman, -Nan Byrne, with your refusing me continually of me little needs; but -you'd never know what I'd be telling on you some day, and mebbe to your -grand son John." - -"Sssh--sssh--sure I'll get it for you when he goes from the kitchen." - -This last was in a low tone and spoken by his mother. - -"Mebbe it's what you're ashamed to let him see you giving to me. -That's a grand thing now, and I knowing what I know!" - -"Can't you be easy now and maybe 'tis a whole shilling I'll be giving -you in a few minutes." - -This was altogether too generous of his mother. It gave scope to Marse -Prendergast to exercise her tyranny. Her threat was part of the begging -convention she had framed for herself, and so it did not move him -towards speculation or suspicion. His mind drifted on to the enjoyment -of other thoughts, the girl he had just walked with down the valley, -the remembered freshness of the morning road. He came out to the door. -The little kitchen garden stretched away from his feet. An abandoned -spade stood up lonely and erect in the middle of the cabbage-plot. -Around it were a few square feet of freshly-turned earth. It was the -solitary trace of his existence that his father had left behind.... As -the mind of John Brennan came to dwell upon the lonely spectacle of the -spade the need for physical exertion grew upon him. - -He went out into the little garden and lifted the rude implement of -cultivation in his hand. He had not driven it many times into the soft -clay of the cabbage-bed when a touch of peace seemed to fall upon him. -The heavy burden that had occupied his mind was falling into the little -trench that was being made by the spade. - -He had become so interested in his task that he had not heard his -mother go upstairs nor seen Marse Prendergast emerge from the house -some moments later. - -The old shuiler called out to him in her high, shrill voice: - -"That's right, John! That's right! 'Tis glad myself is to see you doing -something useful at last. Digging the cabbage-plot, me sweet gosoon, -and your father in Garradrimna be this time with his pint in his hand!" - -Mrs. Brennan had followed her to the door, and her cruelty was stirred -to give the sore cut by reviving the old dread. - -"That's the lad! That's the lad! But mind you don't dig too far, for -you could never tell what you'd find. And indeed it would be the quare -find you might say!" - -He laughed as she said this, for he remembered that, as a child she -had entertained him with the strangest stories of leprecauns and their -crocks of gold, which were hidden in every field. The old woman passed -out on the road, and his mother came over to him with a pitiful look of -sadness in her eyes. - -"Now, John, I'm surprised at you to have a spade in your hand before -Marse Prendergast and all. That's your father's work and not yours, and -you with your grand education." - -The speech struck him as being rather painful to hear, and he felt as -if he should like to say: "Well, what is good enough for my father -ought to be good enough for me!" But this, to his mother, might have -looked like a back-answer, a piece of impertinence, so he merely -stammered in confusion: "Oh, sure I was only exercising and amusing -myself. When this little bit is finished I'm going down to have a read -by the lake." - -"That's right, John!" she said in a flat, sad voice, and turned back to -her endless labor. - -He stopped, his hands folded on the handle-end of the spade, and fell -into a condition of dulness which even the slightest labor of the body -brings to those unaccustomed to it. All things grew so still of a -sudden. There seemed to come a perfect lull in the throbbing, nervous -realization of his brain from moment to moment.... He felt himself -listening for the hum of his mother's machine, but it was another -sound that came to him--the desolating sound of her lonely sobbing. -She was crying to herself there now in the sewing-room and mourning -forever as if for some lost thing.... There were her regular sobs, -heavy with an eternal sadness as he listened to them. Into such acute -self-consciousness had his mood now moved that he could not imagine -her crying as being connected with anything beyond himself. He was -the perpetual cause of all her pain.... If only she would allow him, -for short spaces, to go out of her mind they might both come into the -enjoyment of a certain freedom, but sometimes the most trivial incident -seemed to put her out so. This morning she had been in such heart and -humor, and last night so interested in the concert, and here now she -was in tears. It could not have been the visit of Marse Prendergast -or her talk, for there was nobody so foolish, he thought, as to take -any notice of either. It must have been the digging and the fact that -people passing the road might see him. Now was not that foolish of her, -for did not Father O'Keeffe himself dig in his own garden with his own -two blessed hands ...? But he must bend in obedience to her desire, and -go walking like a leisured gentleman through the valley. He was looking -forward to this with dread, for, inevitably, it must throw him back -upon his own thoughts. - -As he came down past the school he could hear a dull drone from among -the trees. The school had not yet settled down to the business of the -day, and the scholars were busy with the preparation of their lessons. -John stopped by the low wall, which separated its poor playground from -the road, to gaze across at the hive of intellect. Curious that his -mother should now possess a high contempt for this rude academy where -he had been introduced to learning. But he had not yet parted company -with his boyhood. He was remembering the companions of his schooldays -and how this morning preparation had been such a torture. Still moving -about the yard before his formal entrance to the school, was Master -Donnellan. As John Brennan saw him now he appeared as one misunderstood -by the people of the valley, and yet as one in whom the lamp of the -intellect was set bright and high. But beyond this immediate thought -of him he appeared as a man with overthrown ambitions and shattered -dreams, whose occasional outbursts of temper for these reasons had -often the effect of putting him at enmity with the parents of the -children. - -Master Donnellan was a very slave of the ferrule. He had spent his -brains in vain attempts to impart some knowledge to successive -generations of dunces of the fields. It had been his ambition to be -the means of producing some great man whose achievements in the world -might be his monument of pride. But no pupil of his in the valley -school had ever arisen as a great man. Many a time, in the long summer -evenings, when the day would find it hard to disappear from Ireland, -he would come quietly to the old school with a step of reverence, -and going into the moldy closet, where all the old roll-books and -register-books were kept, take them down one by one and go searching -through the lists of names. His mind would be filled with the ringing -achievements of men who had become notable in the world.... Not a -trace of any of those famous names could he find here, however far he -might search in all the musty books until the day had faded.... Then -he would rely upon his memory in a further aspect of his search. He -had not even produced a local great man. In his time no priests had -come out of the valley. There was a strange thing now--no priests, and -it was a thing that was always said by angry mothers and fathers when -they called at the valley school to attack him for his conduct towards -their children--"And you never to have made a priest or a ha'porth!" -It was not the unreasonableness of their words that annoyed him, but -rather the sense of impotence with which they filled him.... If only it -would happen that he could say he had produced one famous man. A priest -would be sufficiently fine to justify him in the eyes of the valley. It -was so strange that, although he had seen many young men move towards -high attainment, some fatality had always happened to avert his poor -triumph. He thought of young Brennan as his present hope and pride. - -John went on towards the lake. When he came to the water's edge he -was filled with a sense of peace. He sat down beneath one of the fir -trees and, in the idleness of his mood, began to pick up some of the -old dried fir-cones which were fallen beneath. They appeared to him -as things peculiarly bereft of any sap or life. He gathered until he -had a handful and then cast them from him one by one on the surface of -the water. It seemed a surprising thing that the small eddies which -the light splashes of them made rolled distantly to the shores of the -little lake. He began to wonder would his life come to be like that--a -small thing to be flung by the Hand of Fate and creating its little -ripple to eddy to the far shores of Time. - -"Me sound man, John!" - -It was the voice of Shamesy Golliher coming from behind a screen of -reeds where he had been fishing. - -"'Tis a warm day," he said, pushing back his faded straw hat from his -brow, "Glory be to the Son of God!" - -This was a pious exclamation, but the manner of its intonation seemed -to make it comical for John Brennan laughed and Shamesy Golliher -laughed. - -"Now isn't them the clever, infernal little gets of fishes? The divil -a one can I catch only the size of pinkeens, and I wanting to go to -Garradrimna with a hell of a thirst!" - -"And is that all you have troubling you?" said John. - -"Is that all? Begad if it isn't enough after last night. If the priests -knew all the drink that bees drunk at concerts in aid of Temperance -Halls you wouldn't see a building of that kind in the country. - -"Now down with me last night to the concert with me two lovely -half-pints of malt. Well, to make a long story short, I finished one -of them before I went in. I wasn't long inside, and I think it was -while Harry Holton was singing, when who should give me a nudge only -Hubert Manning: 'Are ye coming out, Shamesy?' says he. He had two -bottles of stout and a naggin, and we had them finished before Harry -Holton had done his first song. I was striving for to crush back into -me place when who should I knock against only Farrell McGuinness? -He had a lot of bottles in his pocket. He seemed to have about four -dozen of stout on his person, according to the noise he made: 'For the -honor of Jases,' says he, 'will you not spill me porter?' But then -when he saw it was me he had in it: 'Come to hell oura this,' says he, -'into the night air.' I was so glad to see that he hadn't broken his -bottles, I introduced th'other half pint. Sure he nearly swallowed -it, bottle and all. Then we fell to at the porter, and such a bloody -piece of drinking never was seen. And it wasn't that we had plenty of -drink of our own, but strange people were coming running through the -wood putting half-pints and naggins into our mouths just as if we were -little sucking childer. I fell a corpse under a tree about eleven. I -don't know how long I was insensible, but when I came to I had a quare -feeling that I was in Hell or some place. I wasn't able to move an -inch, I was that stiff and sick.... Somewhere near me I could hear two -whispering and hugging in the darkness. They were as close as ever they -could be. I couldn't stir to get a better look for fear they'd hear me. -But there was quare goings on I can tell you, things I wouldn't like to -mention or describe. Whisper, I'm near sure it was Ulick Shannon and -the schoolmistress, Miss Kerr, or whatever the hell her name is----." - -Shamesy's sickening realism was brought to an abrupt end by the ducking -of his cork, which had been floating upon the surface of the water. -There was a short moment of joyous excitement and then a dying perch -lay on the grass by the side of John Brennan. - -He viewed with sorrow that clean, shining thing wriggling there beneath -the high heavens. Its end had come through the same pitiful certainty -as that of the rabbits which had aforetime contributed to the thirst of -Shamesy, who presently said with delight: - -"Now I have the correct number. I can sell them for sixpence in 'The -World's End,' and you'd never know the amount of good drink that -sixpence might bring." - -He prepared to take his departure, but ere he went across the hill he -turned to John and said: - -"That was the fine walk you were doing with Ulick Shannon's girl this -morning! She was in great form after last night." - -He said it with such a leer of suggestion as cast John, still blushing, -back into his gloom. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -Last night and this morning, what Shamesy Golliher had told him of -last night and said of the walk with Rebecca this morning--all this -was now recurring clearly to his mind, although Shamesy had long since -disappeared across the sweep of the hill on his way to Garradrimna. - -Mrs. Brennan had so recently reminded her son of his coming exaltation -that the suggestion was now compelling him beyond the battle of his -thought to picture himself as a priest ordained. Yet an immense gulf of -difference still separated him from the condition of Father O'Keeffe, -for instance. His thought had been further helped to move this way by -the sudden appearance of Father O'Keeffe riding along The Road of the -Dead. - -John did not see the man as he really was. Yet it was the full reality -of him that was exercising a subconscious influence upon his mind and -helping, with other things, to turn his heart away from the priesthood. - - -Father O'Keeffe came directly from that class so important in -Ireland--the division of the farmer class which has come to be known as -"The Grabbers." The word "grabber" had not been invented to describe a -new class, but rather to denote the remarkable character of a class -already in existence. That was their innermost nature, these farmers, -to be close-fisted and to guard with an almost savage tenacity those -possessions to which they had already attained. It was notable also -that they were not too careful or particular as to the means they -employed to come into possession. This was the full answer to the -question why so many of them put a son on for the Church. It was a -double reason, to afford a means of acquiring still further and to be -as an atonement in the sight of Heaven for the means they had used in -acquiring thus far. This at once appeared amazingly true if one applied -it to the case of Father O'Keeffe, who could on occasion put on such a -look of remoteness from this world, that it was difficult to set about -analyzing him by any earthly standard. Yet, among all the _pedigrees_ -she had read for him, as a notable example in Mrs. Brennan's crowd -of examples, had continually appeared and re-appeared this family of -O'Keeffe. His mother had always endeavored to fix firmly in his mind -the wonder of their uprise. It was through the gates of the Church -that the O'Keeffes had gone to their enjoyment. No doubt they had -denied themselves to educate this Louis O'Keeffe who had become P.P. of -Garradrimna, but their return had been more than satisfying. There was -now no relation of his to the most distant degree of blood who did not -possess great comfort and security in the land. - -At bottom Father O'Keeffe was still a man of the clay and loved the -rich grass and the fine cattle it produced. He had cattle in every -quarter of the parish. Men bought them and saw to their fattening -and sold them for him, even going so far as adding the money to -his account in the bank. He had most discreetly used a seeming -unworldliness to screen his advance upon the ramparts of Mammon. Citing -the examples of Scripture, he consorted with notable, though suddenly -converted, sinners, and, when some critic from among the common people -was moved to speak his mind as one of the converted sinners performed -a particularly unscrupulous stroke of business, he was immediately -silenced by the unassailable spectacle of his parish priest walking -hand in hand with the man whose actions he was daring to question. The -combination was of mutual benefit; the gombeen man, the auctioneer and -the publican were enabled to proceed with their swindle of the poor by -maintaining his boon companionship. - -Thus, while publicly preaching the admonishing text of the camel and -the rich man and the needle's eye, Father O'Keeffe was privately -engaged in putting himself in such a condition that the task of -negotiating the needle's eye might be as difficult to him as the camel. -He went daily for a walk, reading his office, and returned anxiously -scanning stock exchange quotations and letters from cattle salesmen in -Dublin. But in spite of this he was a sportsman, and thought nothing of -risking a ten-pound note upon a horse or a night's card-play. - -When he first came to the parish his inclinations were quickly -determined. In the whirl of other interests cards had fallen into -disuse in Garradrimna. They had come to be considered old-fashioned, -but now suddenly they became "all the rage." Old card-tables were -rediscovered and renewed, and it was said that Tommy Williams was -compelled to order several gross of playing cars--for, what the -"elite" of the parish did, the "commonality" must needs follow and do. -Thus was a public advantage of doubtful benefit created; for laboring -men were known to lose their week's wages to the distress of their -wives and children.... At the "gorgeous card-plays" never an eyelid was -lifted when Father O'Keeffe "renayged." - -These took place in the houses of shopkeepers and strong farmers, and -were cultivated to a point of excessive brilliance. Ancient antagonists -of the tongue met upon this new field, and strategic attempts were made -to snatch Father O'Keeffe as a prize of battle. Thus was an extravagant -sense of his value at once created and, as in all such cases, the worst -qualities of the man came to be developed. His natural snobbishness, -for one thing, which led him to associate a great deal with the gilded -youth of Garradrimna--officials of the Union and people of that kind -who had got their positions through every effort of bribery and -corruption. At athletic sports or coursing matches you would see him -among a group of them, while they smoked stinking "Egyptian" cigarettes -up into his face. - -Yet it must not be thought that Father O'Keeffe neglected the ladies. -In evenings in the village he might be seen standing outside the worn -drapery counters back-biting between grins and giggles with the women -of the shops. This curious way of spending the time had once led an -irreverent American to describe him as "the flirtatious shop-boy of -Garradrimna." - -His interest in the female sex often led him upon expeditions beyond -the village. Many a time he might be seen riding his old, fat, white -horse, so strangely named, "King Billy," down some rutted boreen on -the way to a farmer's house where there were big daughters with weighty -fortunes. Those were match-making expeditions when he had come to tell -them of his brother Robert O'Keeffe and his broad acres.... While "King -Billy" was comforting himself with a plentiful feed of oats, he would -be sitting in the musty parlor with the girl and her mother, taking -wine and smoking cigars, which were kept in every house since it had -come to be known that Father O'Keeffe was fond of them. He generally -smoked a good few at a sitting, and those he did not consume he carried -away in his pocket for future use in his den at the Presbytery. - -"Isn't Father O'Keeffe, God bless him, the walking terror for cigars?" -was all the comment ever made upon this extraordinary habit. - -Robert O'Keeffe, in the intentions of his brother, was a much-married -man, for there was not a house in the parish holding a marriageable -girl into which Father O'Keeffe had not gone to get him a match. He had -enlarged upon the excellence of his brother, upon his manners and ways -and the breadth of his fields. - -"He's the grand, fine man, is Robert," he would say, by way of giving a -final touch to the picture. - -Upon those whose social standing was not a thing of any great certitude -this had always a marked effect towards their own advantage and that -of Father O'Keeffe. It gave them a certain pride in their own worth to -have a priest calling attentively at the house and offering his brother -in marriage. It would be a gorgeous thing to be married to a priest's -brother, and have your brother-in-law with power in his hands to help -you out of many a difficulty. He never inquired after the cattle their -fathers were grazing free of charge for him until he would be leaving -the house. - - -John Brennan followed the black figure upon the white horse down all -The Road of the Dead until Father O'Keeffe had disappeared among the -trees which surrounded the Schools of Tullahanogue, where he was making -a call. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -John now saw Ulick Shannon coming towards him across the Hill of Annus. -It was strange that he should be appearing now whose presence had just -been created by the Rabelaisian recital of Shamesy Golliher. As he -came along boldly his eyes roamed cheerfully over the blue expanse of -water and seemed to catch something there which moved him to joyous -whistling. John Brennan felt a certain amount of reserve spring up -between them as they shook hands.... For a moment that seemed to -lengthen out interminably the two young men were silent. The lake was -without a ripple in the intense calm of the summer day.... Suddenly it -reflected the movement of them walking away, arm in arm, towards the -village. - -It was high noontide when they reached Garradrimna. The Angelus was -ringing. Men had turned them from their various occupations to bend -down for a space in prayer. The drunkards had put away the pints from -their mouths in reverence. The seven sleek publicans were coming to -their doors with their hats in their hands, beating their breasts in -a frenzy of zeal and genuflecting. Yet, upon the appearance of the -students, a different excitement leaped up to animate them. They began -to hurry their prayers, the words becoming jumbled pell mell in their -mouths as they cleared a way for their tongues to say to one another -the thing they wanted to say of the two young men. - -By their God, there was John Brennan and Ulick Shannon coming into -Garradrimna in the middle of the day. To drink, they at once supposed. -Their tongues had been finding fine exercise upon Ulick Shannon for -a considerable time, but it was certainly a comfort to have the same -to say of John Brennan. A clerical student coming up the street with -a Dublin scamp. That was a grand how-d'ye-do! But sure they supposed, -by their God again, that it was only what she deserved (they were -referring to Mrs. Brennan). - -Her mention at once brought recollection of her story, and it came to -be discussed there in the heat of the day until the lonely woman, who -was still crying probably as she sat working by her machine in the -little house in the valley, became as a corpse while the vultures of -Garradrimna circled round it flapping great wings in glee. - -The students strode on, reciting the Angelus beneath their breaths with -a devotion that did not presently give place to any worldly anxiety. -They were doing many things now, as if they formed a new personality -in which the will and the inclination of each were merged. They turned -into McDermott's, and it seemed their collective intention from the -direction they took upon entering the shop to take refuge in the -retirement of the particular portion known as Connellan's office. It -was the place where Mick Connellan, the local auctioneer, transacted -business on Fridays. On all other days it was considered the more -select and secluded portion of this publichouse. But when they entered -it was occupied. Padna Padna, the ancient drunkard, was sitting by the -empty grate poking the few drawn corks in it as if they were coals. He -was speaking to himself in mournful jeremiads, and after the fashion of -one upon whom a great sorrow has fallen down. - -"Now what the hell does he want with his mission, and it too good we -are? A mission, indeed, for to make us pay him money every night, and -the cosht of everything, drink and everything. He, he, he! To pay the -price of a drink every night to hear the missioners denounce drink. Now -that's the quarest thing ever any one heard. To go pay the price of -a drink for hearing a man that doesn't even know the taste of it say -that drink is not good for the human soul. Begad Father O'Keeffe is the -funny man!" - -After this fashion did Padna Padna run on in soliloquy. He had seen -many a mission come to bring, in the words of the good missioners, "a -superabundance of grace to the parish," and seen it go without bringing -any appreciable addition of grace to him or any change in his way of -life. It seemed a pity that his tradition had set Padna Padna down as -a Christian, and would not allow him to live his life upon Pagan lines -and in peace. The struggle which continually held occupation of his -mind was one between Christian principles and Pagan inclinations. He -now began whispering to himself--"The Book of God! The Book of God! A -fellow's name bees written in the Book of God!" ... So absorbed was he -in his immense meditation that he had hardly noticed the entry of the -students. But as he became aware of their presence he stumbled to his -feet and gripping John Brennan by the arm whispered tensely: "Isn't -that a fact, young fellow, that one's name bees down there always, and -what one does, and that it's never blotted out?" - -"It is thus we are told," said John, speaking dogmatically and as if he -were repeating a line out of the Bible. - -Padna Padna, as he heard these words and recognized the voice of -their speaker, put on what was really his most gruesome expression. -He stripped his shrunken gums in a ghastly little smile, and a queer -"Tee-Hee!" issued from his furrowed throat.... Momentarily his concern -for Eternity was forgotten in a more immediate urgency of this world. -He gripped John still more tightly and in a higher whisper said: "Are -ye able to stand?" - -It was a strange anti-climax and at once betrayed his sudden descent -in the character of his meditation, from thinking of what the Angel -had written of him to his immortal longing for what had determined the -character of that record regarding immortality. - -"Yes, I'll stand," said Ulick, breaking in upon John Brennan's reply to -Padna Padna and pushing the bell. - -Mr. McDermott himself, half drunk and smelling of bad whiskey, came in -and soon the drinks were before them. New life seemed to come pushing -into the ancient man as he took his "half one." He looked up in blind -thankfulness into their faces, his eyes running water and his mouth -dribbling like that of a young child.... His inclinations were again -becoming rapidly Pagan.... From smiling dumbly he began to screech with -laughter, and moved from the room slowly tapping his way with his short -stick.... He was going forth to fresh adventures. Spurred on by this -slight addition of drink he would be encouraged to enter the other six -publichouses of Garradrimna, and no man could tell upon what luck he -might happen to fall. So fortunate might his half-dozen expeditions -prove that he would probably return to the house of the good woman who -was his guardian, led by Shamesy Golliher, or some other one he would -strike up with in the last dark pub, as if he were a toddling infant -babbling foolish nonsense about all the gay delights which had been his -of old. The mad drives from distant villages upon his outside car, his -passengers in the same condition as himself--a state of the wildest -abandon, and dwelling exultingly in that moment wherein they might make -fitting models for a picture by Jack B. Yeats. - -Ulick and John were now alone. The day outside was hot and still upon -the dusty street, but this office of Connellan's was a cool place like -some old cellar full of forgotten summers half asleep in wine.... They -were entering still deeper into the mood of one another.... Ulick had -closed the door when Padna Padna had passed through, tapping blindly -as he moved towards the far places of the village. He would seem to -have gone for no other purpose than to publish broadcast the presence -of Ulick Shannon and John Brennan together in McDermott's, and they -drinking. For now the door of Connellan's office was being opened and -closed every few minutes. People were calling upon the pretense of -looking for other people, and going away leaving the door open wide -behind them so that some others might come also and see for themselves -the wonderful thing that was happening.... Padna Padna was having such -a time as compared favorably with the high times of old. A "half-one" -of malt from every man he brought to see the sight was by no means -a small reward. And so he was coming and going past the door like a -sentry on guard of some great treasure which increased in value from -moment to moment. He was blowing upon his fingers and tapping his lips -and giggling and screeching with merriment down in his shivering frame. - -And most wonderful of all, the two young men who were creating all -this excitement were quite unconscious of it.... They were talking a -great deal, but each, as it were, from behind the barricade of his -personality, for each was now beginning for the first time to notice -a peculiar thing. They were discovering that their personalities were -complementary. John lacked the gift, which was Ulick's, of stating -things brilliantly out of life and experience and the views of those -modern authors whom he admired. On the other hand, he seemed to possess -a deeper sense of the relative realities of certain things, a faculty -which sprang out of his ecclesiastical training and which held no -meaning for Ulick, who spoke mockingly of such things. Ulick skimmed -lightly over the surface of life in discussing it; John was inclined to -plow deeply. - -Suddenly a desire fell upon John to hear Ulick discuss again those -matters he had talked of at the "North Leinster Arms" in Ballinamult. -It was very curious that this should be the nature of his thoughts -now, this inclination towards things which from him should always -have remained far distant and unknown.... But it may have been that -some subtle impulse had stirred in him, and that he now wished to -see whether the outlook of Ulick had changed in any way through his -rumored friendship with Rebecca Kerr. Would it be a cleaner thing and -purified through power of that girl? He fondly fancied that no thought -at all could be soiled within the splendid precinct of her presence. - -Josie Guinan, the new barmaid of McDermott's, came in to attend them -with other and other drinks. Her bosom was attractive and ample, -although her hair was still down upon her back in rich brown plaits.... -She dallied languorously within the presence of the two young men.... -Ulick began to tell some of the stories he had told to Mary Essie, and -she stood even as brazenly enjoying them with her back to the door -closed behind her. Then the two came together and whispered something, -and a vulgar giggle sprang up between them. - -And to think that this was the man to whom Rebecca Kerr might be giving -the love of her heart.... If John had seen as much of life as the other -he would have known that Ulick was the very kind of man who, at all -times, has most strongly appealed to women. Yet it was in this moment -and in this place that he fell in love with Rebecca.... He became -possessed of an infinite willingness to serve and protect her, and it -was upon the strength of his desire that he arose. - -Through all this secret, noble passage, Ulick remained laughing as at -some great joke. He, too, was coming into possession of a new joy, for -he was beginning to glimpse the conflagration of another's soul. Out -of sheer devilment, and in conspiracy with Josie Guinan, he had caused -John Brennan's drink, the small, mild measure of port wine, to be dosed -with flaming whiskey. Even the wine in the frequency of its repetition -had already been getting the better of him. They had been hours -sitting here, and outside the day was fading. - -John began to stutter now in the impotence of degradation which was -upon him. His thoughts were all burning into one blazing thought. The -small room seemed suddenly to cramp and confine his spirit as if it -were a prison cell.... And Ulick was still smiling that queer smile of -his with his thick red lips and sunken eyes. - -He sprang towards the door and, turning the handle, rushed out into the -air.... Soon he was fleeing as if from some Unknown Force, staggering -between the rows of the elms which stretched all along the road into -the valley. It had rained a shower and the strong, young leaves held -each its burden of pearly drops. A light wind now stirred them and like -an aspergillus they flung a blessing down upon him as he passed. And -ever did he mutter her name to himself as he stumbled on: - -"Rebecca Kerr, Rebecca Kerr, I love you, Rebecca, I love you surely! -Oh, my dear Rebecca!" - -She was moving before him, with her hair all shining through the -twilight. - -"Oh, dear Rebecca! I love you! Oh, my dear!" - -He turned The Road of the Dead and down by the lake, where he lay -in the quiet spot from which Ulick Shannon had taken him away to -Garradrimna. There he remained until far on in the evening, when his -mother, concerned for his welfare, came to look for him. She found him -sleeping by the lake. - -She had no notion of how he had passed the evening. Her imagination -was, after all, only a very small thing and worked rigorously within -the romantic confines of the holy stories which were her continual -reading. When she had awakened him she asked a characteristic question: - -"And I suppose, John, you're after seeing visions and things have -appeared to you?" - -"Yes, mother, I have seen a vision, I think," he said, as he opened -his eyes and blinked stupidly at the lake. He was still midway between -two conditions, but he was not noticeable to her, who could not have -imagined the like. - -These were the only words he spoke to her before he went to bed. - -Back in McDermott's a great crowd thronged the public bar. Every man -seemed to be in high glee and a hum of jubilation hung low between -them. A momentous thing had happened, and it was of this great event -they were talking. _John Brennan had left the house and he was -reeling._ Men from the valley foregathered in one group and, as each -new-comer arrived, the news was re-broken. It was about the best thing -that had ever happened. The sudden enrichment of any of their number -could not have been half so welcome in its importance. - -Padna Padna and Shamesy Golliher were standing in one corner taking sup -for sup. - -"Damn it, but it was one of the greatest days ever I seen in -Garradrimna since the ould times. It was a pity you missed of it," said -Padna Padna. "If you were to see him!" - -"Sure I'm after seeing him, don't I tell ye, lying a corpse be the -lake." - -"A corpse be the lake. He, he, he! Boys-a-day! Boys-a-day!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -Mrs. Brennan, although she pondered it deeply, had made no advance -towards full realization of her son's condition by the lakeside. Yet -John felt strangely diffident about appearing before her next morning. -It seemed to him that another attack had been made upon the bond -between them. But when at last he came into the sewing-room she was -smiling, although there was a sinking feeling around his heart as he -looked upon her. Yet this would pass, he hoped, when they began to talk. - -The children were going the road to school, and it was the nature -of Mrs. Brennan that she must needs be making comment upon what was -passing before her eyes. - -"God help the poor, little girls," she cried, "sure 'tis the grand -example they're being set by that new one, Miss Kerr, with her quare -dresses and her light ways. They say she was out half the night after -the concert with Ulick Shannon, and that Mrs. McGoldrick and the -Sergeant are in terror of their lives for fear of robbers or the likes, -seeing that they have to leave the door on the latch for her to come in -at any time she pleases from her night-walking. And the lad she bees -with that's after knocking about Dublin and couldn't be good anyway. -But sure, be the same token, there's a touch of Dublin about her too. -How well she wouldn't give me the making of her new dress? But I -suppose I'm old-fashioned in my cut. Old-fashioned, how are ye; and I -buying _Weldon's Ladies' Journal_ every week? But of course she had to -go to Dublin to be in the tip of the fashion and see what they wear in -Grafton Street in the lamplight. She had to get an outfit of immodest -fol-the-dols to be a disgrace in the chapel every Sunday, and give -room to the missioners when they come to say things that may have an -injurious effect upon poor dressmakers like myself who strive to earn a -living as decently as we can." - -This harangue was almost unnoticed by John Brennan. It was a failing -of his mother to be always speaking thus in terms of her trade. He -knew that if Miss Kerr had come here with her new dress, fine words -and encomiums would now be spoken of her in this room. But it was his -mother who was speaking--and he was thinking of the girl who had filled -his vision. - -And his mother was still talking: - -"That Ulick Shannon, I hate him. I wish you wouldn't let yourself be -seen along with him. It is not good for you, _avic machree_. Of course -I know the kind of talk you do be having, son. About books and classes -and the tricks and pranks of you at college. Ah, dear, I know; but I'd -rather to God it was any other one in the whole world. I'm fearing in -me heart that there's a black, black side to him. It's well known that -he bees always drinking in Garradrimna, and now see how he's after -striking up with the schoolmistress one. Maybe 'tis what he'd try to -change you sometime, for as sure as you're there I'm afraid and afraid. -And to think after all I have prayed for you through all the years, -upon me two bare knees in the lonely nights, if an affliction should -come." - -"What affliction, mother? What is it?" - -He came nearer, and gazing deep into her face saw that there were tears -in her eyes. Her eyes were shining like deep wells. - -"Ah, this, son. If it should ever come that you did not think well to -do me wish, after all I have done--" - -She checked herself of a sudden, and it was some moments before John -replied. He, too, was thinking of Ulick Shannon. There was a side to -his friend that he did not like. Yesterday he had not liked him. There -were moments when he had hated him. But that mood and the reason for -it seemed to have passed from him during the night. It was a far thing -now, and Ulick Shannon was as he had been to John, who could not think -ill of him. Yet it was curious that his mother should be hinting at -things which, if he allowed his mind to dwell upon them at all, must -bring back his feelings of yesterday.... But he felt that he must speak -well of his friend. - -"Ah, sure there is nothing, mother. You are only fancying queer things. -At college I have to meet hundreds of fellows. He's not a bad chap, and -I like speaking to him. It is lonely here without such intercourse. He -realizes keenly how people are always talking of him, how the smallest -action of his is construed and constructed in a hundred different ways, -until he's driven to do wild things out of very defiance to show what -he thinks of the mean people of the valley and their opinion of him--" - -"They're not much, I know--" - -"But at heart, I think, he's somehow like myself, and I can't help -liking him." - -"All the same he shouldn't be going with a girl and, especially, a -little chit of a schoolmistress like this one, for I can't stand her." - -Why did she continue to hammer so upon the pulse of his thought?... -With bowed head he began to drift out of the room. Why had she driven -him to think now of Rebecca Kerr?... He was already in the sunlight. - -To-day he would not go towards the lake, but up through the high green -fields of Scarden. He was taking _The Imitation of Christ_ with him, -and, under the shade of some noble tree, it was his intention to turn -his thoughts to God and away from the things of life. - -It seemed grand to him, with a grandeur that had more than a touch of -the color of Heaven, to be ascending cool slopes through the green, -soft grass and to be looking down upon the valley at its daily labor. -The potatoes and turnips still required attention. He saw men move -patiently behind their horses over the broken fields of red earth -beneath the fine, clear clay, and thought that here surely was the true -vocation of him who would incline himself unto God.... But how untrue -was this fancy when one came to consider the real personality of these -tillers of the soil? There was not one of whom Mrs. Brennan could not -tell an ugly story. Not one who did not consider it his duty to say -uncharitable things of Ulick Shannon and Rebecca Kerr. Not one who -would not have danced with gladness if a great misfortune had befallen -John Brennan, and made a holiday in Garradrimna if anything terrible -had happened to any one within the circle of their acquaintance. - -John Brennan's attention was now attracted by a man who moved with an -air of proprietorship among a field of sheep. He was a tall man in -black, moving darkly among the white crowd of the sheep, counting them -leisurely and allowing his mind to dwell upon the pageant of their -perfect whiteness. He seemed to be reckoning their value as the pure -yield of his pastures. Here was another aspect of the fields.... The -man in black was coming towards him with long strides. - -It took John some moments to realize that he had strayed into the -farm of the Shannons and that this was Myles Shannon who was coming -over to meet him.... He was a fine, clean man seen here amid the -rich surroundings of his own fields. But he had advanced far into -bachelorhood, and the russet was beginning to go out of his cheeks. It -seemed a pity of the world that he had not married, for just there, -hidden behind the billowy trees, was the fine house to which he might -have brought home a wife and reared up a family to love and honor him -in his days. But his romance had been shattered by a piece of villainy -which had leaped out from the darkness of the valley. And now he was -living here alone. But he was serenely independent, exhibiting a -fine contempt, as well he might, for the mean strugglers around him. -He took his pleasures here by himself in this quiet house among the -trees. Had he been asked to name them, he could have told you in three -words--books and drink. Not that they entered into his life to any -great extent, for he was a wise man even in his indulgence.... But who -was there to see him or know since he did not choose to publish himself -in Garradrimna? And there was many a time when he worked himself into -a great frenzy while brooding over the story of his dead brother Henry, -and his own story, and Nan Byrne.... Even now he was thinking darkly of -Nan Byrne as he came forward to meet her son across his own field. - -"Good-day, Mr. Brennan!" he said affably. He had no personal grudge -against this young man, but his scheme of revenge inevitably included -him, for it was through John Brennan, her son, that Nan Byrne now hoped -to aspire, and it was him she hoped to embody as a monument of her -triumph over destructive circumstances before the people of the valley. - -John went forward and shook the hand of Mr. Shannon with deference. - -A fine cut of a man, surely, this Myles Shannon, standing here where -he might be clearly viewed. He appeared as a survival from the latter -part of the Victorian era. He was still mutton-chopped and mustachioed -after the fashion of those days. He wore a long-tailed black coat like -a morning-coat. His waistcoat was of the same material. Across the -expanse of it extended a wide gold chain, from which dangled a bunch -of heavy seals. These shook and jingled with his every movement. His -trousers were of a dark gray material, with stripes, which seemed -to add to the height and erectness of his figure. His tall, stiff -collar corrected the thoughtful droop of his head, and about it was -tastefully fixed a wide black tie of shiny silk which reached down -underneath his low-cut waistcoat. His person was surmounted by an -uncomfortable-looking bowler hat with a very hard, curly brim. - -When he smiled, as just now, his teeth showed in even, fine rows and -exhibited some of the cruelty of one who has allowed his mind to dwell -darkly upon a passionate purpose. But the ring of his laugh was hearty -enough and had the immediate effect of dispelling suspicions of any -sinister purpose. - -He said he was glad to see how his casual suggestion, made upon the day -they had journeyed down from Dublin together, had borne fruit, that Mr. -Brennan and his nephew, Ulick, had so quickly become friends. - -John thanked him, and began to speak in terms of praise about Ulick -Shannon. - -Mr. Shannon again bared his even, white teeth in a smile as he -listened.... A strong friendship, with its consequent community of -inclinations, had already been established. And he knew his nephew. - -"He's a clever chap, I'll admit, but he's so damned erratic. He seems -bent upon crushing the experience of a lifetime into a few years. Why -I'm a man, at the ripened, mellow period of life, and it's a fact that -he could teach me things about Dublin and all that." - -John Brennan was uncertain in what way he should confirm this, but at -last he managed to stammer out: - -"Ulick is very clever!" - -"He's very fond of Garradrimna, and I think he's very fond of the -girls." - -"It's so dull around here compared with Dublin." - -John appeared a fool by the side of this man of the world, who was -searching him with a look as he spoke again: - -"It's all right for a young fellow to gain his experience as early as -he can, but he's a bit too fond of his pleasure. He's going a bit too -far." - -John put on a strained look of advocacy, but he spoke no word. - -"He's not a doctor yet, and even then his living would not be assured; -and do ye know what he had the cheek to come telling me the other -night-- - -"'I've got infernally fond of that little girl,' he says. - -"'What girl?' I asked in amazement. - -"'Why, that schoolmistress--Rebecca Kerr. I'm "gone" about her. I'm in -love with her. She's not at all like any of the others.'" - -Myles Shannon, with his keen eyes, saw the sudden light of surprise -that leaped into the eyes of John Brennan. The passion of his hatred -and the joy of his cruelty were stirred, and he went on to develop the -plot of the story he had invented. - -"And what for," said I to him, "are you thinking of any girl in that -way. I, as your guardian, am able to tell you that you are not in a -position to marry. Surely you're not going to ruin this girl, or allow -her to ruin you. Besides she is only a strolling schoolmistress from -some unknown part of Donegal, and you are one of the Shannon family. -'But I'm "gone" about her,' was what Ulick said. How was I to argue -against such a silly statement?" - -The color was mounting ever higher on John Brennan's cheeks. - -But the relentless man went on playing with him. - -"Of course I have not seen her, but, by all accounts, she's a pretty -girl and possesses the usual share of allurements. Is not that so?" - -"She's very nice." - -"And, do you know what? It has come to me up here, although I may seem -to be a hermit among the fields who takes no interest in the world, -that you have been seen walking down the valley road together. D'ye -remember yesterday morning, eh?" - -John was blushing still, and a kind of sickly smile made his fine face -look queer. All kinds of expressions were trying to form themselves -upon his tongue, yet not one of them could he manage to articulate. - -"Not that I blame a young fellow, even one intended for the Church, if -he should have a few inclinations that way. But I can see that you are -the good friend of my nephew, and indeed it would be a pity if anything -came to spoil that friendship, least of all a bit of a girl.... And -both of you being the promising young men you are.... It would be -terrible if anything like that should come to pass." - -Even to this John could frame no reply. But the ear of Mr. Shannon did -not desire it, for his eye had seen all that he wished to know. He -beheld John Brennan shivering as within the cold and dismal shadows of -fatality.... They spoke little more until they shook hands again, and -parted amid the dappled grass. - -To Myles Shannon the interview had been an extraordinary success.... -Yet, quite suddenly, he found himself beginning to think of the -position of Rebecca Kerr. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -Outside the poor round of diversions afforded by the valley and her -meetings with Ulick Shannon, the days passed uneventfully for Rebecca -Kerr. It was a dreary kind of life, wherein she was concerned to avoid -as far as possible the fits of depression which sprang out of the -quality of her lodgings at Sergeant McGoldrick's. - -She snatched a hasty breakfast early in the mornings, scarcely ever -making anything like a meal. When she did it was always followed -by a feeling of nausea as she went on The Road of the Dead towards -the valley school. When she returned after her day's hard work her -dinner would be half cold and unappetizing by the red ashy fire. Mrs. -McGoldrick would be in the sitting-room, where she made clothes for the -children, the sergeant himself probably digging in the garden before -the door, his tunic open, his face sweating, and the dirty clay upon -his big boots.... He was always certain to shout out some idiotic -salutation as she passed in. Then Mrs. McGoldrick would be sure to -follow her into the kitchen, a baby upon her left arm and a piece of -soiled sewing in her right hand. She was always concerned greatly about -the number at school on any particular day, and how Mrs. Wyse was and -Miss McKeon, and how the average was keeping up, and if it did not keep -up to a certain number would Mrs. Wyse's salary be reduced, and what -was the average required for Miss McKeon to get her salary from the -Board, and so on. - -Sometimes Rebecca would be so sick at heart of school affairs and of -this mean, prying woman that no word would come from her, and Mrs. -McGoldrick would drift huffily away, her face a perfect study in -disappointment. And against those there were times when Rebecca, with -a touch of good humor, would tell the most fantastical stories of -inspectors and rules and averages and increments and pensions, Mrs. -McGoldrick breathless between her "Well, wells!" of amazement.... Then -Rebecca would have a rare laugh to herself as she pictured her landlady -repeating everything to the sergeant, who would make mental comparisons -the while of the curious correspondence existing between those pillars -of law and learning, the Royal Irish Constabulary, and the National -Teachers of Ireland. - -Next day, perhaps, Mrs. McGoldrick would enlarge upon the excellent and -suitable match a policeman and a teacher make, and how it is such a -general thing throughout the country. She always concluded a discourse -of this nature by saying a thing she evidently wished Rebecca to -remember: - -"Let me tell you this, now--a policeman is the very best match that any -girl can make!" - -And big louts of young constables would be jumping off high bicycles -and calling in the evenings.... This was at the instigation of Mrs. -McGoldrick, but they made no impression whatsoever upon Rebecca, even -when they arrived in mufti. - -In school the ugly, discolored walls which had been so badly -distempered by Ned Brennan; the monotony of the maps and desks; the -constant sameness of the children's faces. All this was infinitely -wearying, but a more subtle and powerful torment arose beyond the hum -of the children learning by heart. Rebecca always became aware of it -through a burning feeling at the back of her neck. Glancing around -she would see that, although presumably intent upon their lessons, -many eyes were upon her, peering furtively from behind their books, -observing her, forming opinions of her, and concocting stories to tell -their parents when they went home. For this was considered an essential -part of their training--the proper satisfaction of their elders' -curiosity. It was one of the reasons why the bigger girls were sent to -school. They escaped the drudgery of house and farm because they were -able to return with fresh stories from the school every evening. Thus -were their faculties for lying and invention brought into play. They -feared Mrs. Wyse, and so these faculties came to be trained in full -strength upon Rebecca. As she moved about the school-room, she was made -the constant object of their scrutiny. They would stare at her with -their mean, impudent eyes above the top edges of their books. Then they -would withdraw them behind the opened pages and sneer and concoct. And -it was thus the forenoon would pass until the half-hour allowed for -recreation, when she would be thrown back upon the company of Mrs. Wyse -and Monica McKeon. No great pleasure was in store for her here, for -their conversation was always sure to turn upon the small affairs of -the valley. - -There was something so ingenuous about the relations of Rebecca and -Ulick Shannon that neither of the two women had the courage to comment -upon the matter openly. But the method they substituted was a greater -torture. In the course of half an hour they would suggest a thousand -hateful things. - -"I heard Ulick Shannon was drunk last night, and having arguments with -people in Garradrimna," Miss McKeon would say. - -Mrs. Wyse would snatch up the words hastily. "Is that so? Oh, he's -going to the bad. He'll never pass his exams, never!" - -"Isn't it funny how his uncle does not keep better control of him. Why -he lets him do what he likes?" - -"Control, is it? It doesn't look much like control indeed to see him -encouraging his dead brother's son to keep the company he favors. -Indeed and indeed it gives me a kind of a turn when I see him going -about with Nan Byrne's son, young John Brennan, who's going on to be -a priest. Well, I may tell you that it is 'going on' he is, for his -mother as sure as you're there'll never see him saying his first Mass. -Now I suppose the poor rector of the college in England where he is -hasn't a notion of his antecedents. The cheek of it indeed! But what -else could you expect from the likes of Nan Byrne? Indeed I have a good -mind to let the ecclesiastical authorities know all, and if nothing -turns up from the Hand of God to right the matter, sure I'll have to do -it myself. Bedad then I will!" - -"Musha, the same John Brennan doesn't look up to much, and they say -Ulick Shannon can wind him around his little finger. He'll maybe make a -_lad_ of him before the end of the summer holidays." - -"I can't understand Myles Shannon letting them go about together so -openly unless he's enjoying the whole thing as a sneer. But it would -be more to his credit indeed to have found other material for his fun -than a blood relation. I'm surprised at him indeed, and he knowing what -he knows about Nan Byrne and his brother Henry." - -With slight variations of this theme falling on her ears endlessly -Rebecca was compelled to endure the torture of this half hour every -day. No matter what took place in the valley Monica would manage, -somehow, to drag the name of Ulick into it. If it merely happened to -be a copy of the _Irish Independent_ they were looking at, and if they -came upon some extraordinary piece of news, Monica would say: - -"Just like a thing that Ulick Shannon would do, isn't it?" - -And if they came across a photo in the magazine section, Monica would -say again: - -"Now wouldn't you imagine that gentleman has a look of Ulick Shannon?" - -Rebecca had become so accustomed to all this that, overleaping its -purpose, it ceased to have any considerable effect upon her. She had -begun to care too much for Ulick to show her affection in even the -glimpse of an aspect to the two who were trying to discover her for the -satisfaction of their spite. It was thus that she remained a puzzle to -her colleagues, and Monica in particular was at her wit's end to know -what to think. At the end of the half hour she was always in a deeper -condition of defeat than before it began, and went out to the Boys' -School with only one idea warming her mind, that, some day, she might -have the great laugh at Rebecca Kerr. She knew that it is not possible -for a woman to hide her feelings forever, even though she thought -this one cute surely, cute beyond all the suggestion of her innocent -exterior. - -Towards the end of each day Rebecca was thrown altogether with the -little ones who, despite all the entreaties of their parents, had not -yet come very far away from Heaven. She found great pleasure in their -company and in their innocent stories. For example: - -"Miss Kerr, I was in the wood last night. With the big bear and the -little bear in the wood. I went into the wood, and there was the big -bear walking round and round the wood after the little bear, and the -big bear was walking round and round the wood." - -"I was in America last night, and I saw all the motor cars ever were, -and people riding on horses, and the highest, whitest buildings ever -were, and people going to Mass--big crowds of people going to Mass." - -"My mammy brought me into the chapel last night, and I saw God. I was -talking to God and He was asking me about you. I said: 'Miss Kerr is -nice, so she is.' I said this to God, but God did not answer me. I -asked God again did He know Miss Kerr who teaches in the valley school, -and He said He did, and I said again: 'Miss Kerr is nice, so she is.' -But He went away and did not answer me." - -Rebecca would enter into their innocence and so experience the happiest -hours of the day. - -She would be recalled from her rapt condition by the harsh voice of -Mrs. Wyse shouting an order to one of the little girls in her class, -this being a hint that she herself was not attending to her business. - -But soon the last blessed period of the day would come, the half hour -devoted to religious instruction. She found a pleasure in this task, -for she loved to hear the little children at their prayers. Sometimes -she would ask them to say for her the little prayer she had taught them: - -"O God, I offer up this prayer for the poor intentions of Thy servant -Rebecca Kerr, that they may be fulfilled unto the glory of Thy Holy -Will. And that being imperfect, she may approach to Thy Perfection -through the Grace and Mercy of Jesus Christ, Our Lord." - -She would feel a certain happiness for a short space after this, at -least while the boisterous business of taking leave of the school was -going forward. But once upon the road she would be meeting people who -always stared at her strangely, and passing houses with squinting -windows.... Then would come a heavy sense of depression, which might be -momentarily dispelled by the appearance of John Brennan either coming -or going upon the road. For a while she had considered this happening -coincidental, but of late it had been borne in upon her that it was -very curious he should appear daily at the same time.... The silly -boy, and he with his grand purpose before him.... She would smile upon -him very pleasantly, and fall into chat sometimes, but only for a few -minutes. She looked upon herself as being ever so much wiser. And she -thought it queer that he should find an attraction for his eyes in her -form as it moved before him down the road. She always fancied that she -felt low and mean within herself while his eyes were upon her.... But -he would be forever coming out of his mother's cottage to meet her -thus upon the road. - -After dinner in the house of Sergeant McGoldrick she would betake -herself to her little room. It would be untidy after the hurry in which -she had left it, and now she would set about putting it to rights. -This would occupy her half an hour or more. Then there would be a few -letters to be written, to her people away in Donegal and to some of -the companions of her training college days. She kept up a more or -less regular correspondence with about half-a-dozen of these girls. -Her letters were all after the frivolous style of their schooldays. To -all of them she imparted the confidence that she had met "a very nice -fellow" here in Garradrimna, but that the place was so lonely, and how -there was "nothing like a girl friend." - -"Ah, Anna," she would write, or "Lily" or "Lena," "There's surely -nothing after all like a girl friend." - -After tea she would put on one of her tidiest hats, and taking the -letters with her go towards the Post Office of Garradrimna. This was a -torture, for always the eyes of the old, bespectacled maid were upon -her, looking into her mind, as she stood waiting for her stamps outside -the ink-stained counter. And, further, she always felt that the doors -and windows of the village were forever filled with eyes as she went -by them. Her neck and face would burn until she took the road that led -out past the old castle of the De Lacys. There was a footpath which -took one to the west gate of the demesne of the Moores. The Honorable -Reginald Moore was the modern lord of Garradrimna. It was this way she -would go, meeting all kinds of stragglers from the other end of the -parish. People she did not know and who did not know her, queer, dark -men coming into Garradrimna through the high evening in quest of porter. - -"Fine evening, miss!" they would say. - -Once on the avenue her little walk became a golden journey for Ulick -always met her when she came this way. It was their custom to meet here -or on The Road of the Dead. But this was their favorite spot, where -the avenue led far into the quiet woods. A scurrying-away of rabbits -through the undergrowth would announce their approach to one another. - -Many were the happy talks they had here, of books and of decent life -beyond the boorishness of Garradrimna. She had given him _The Poems of -Tennyson_ in exchange for _The Daffodil Fields_. Tastefully illuminated -in red ink on the fly-leaf he had found her "favorite lines" from -Tennyson, whom she considered "exquisite": - - - "Glitter like a storm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid." - - - "Cursed be the gold that gilds the straightened forehead of - the fool." - - - "Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships, - And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips." - - -These had made him smile, and then he did not read any more of -Tennyson.... He was fond of telling her about the younger Irish poets -and of quoting passages from their poems. Now it would be a line or so -from Colum or Stephens, again a verse from Seumas O'Sullivan or Joseph -Campbell. Continually he spoke with enthusiasm of the man they called -Æ.... She found it difficult to believe that such men could be living -in Ireland at the present time. - -"And would you see them about Dublin?" - -"Yes, you'd see them often." - -"_Real_ poets?" - -"Real poets surely. But of course they have earthly interests as well. -One is a farmer--" - -"A farmer!!!" - -This she found it hardest of all to believe, for the word "farmer" made -her see so clearly the sullen men with the dirty beards who came in the -white roads every evening to drink in Garradrimna. There was no poetry -in them. - -Often they would remain talking after this fashion until night had -filled up all the open spaces of the woods. They would feel so far -away from life amid the perfect stillness.... Their peace was rudely -shattered one night by a sudden breaking away from them through the -withered branches.... Instantly Ulick knew that this was some loafer -sent to spy on them from Garradrimna, and Rebecca clung to him for -protection. - -Occasionally through the summer a lonely wailing had been heard in the -woods of Garradrimna at the fall of night. Men drinking in the pubs -would turn to one another and say: - -"The Lord save us! Is that the _Banshee_ I hear crying for one of the -Moores? She cries like that always when one of them dies, they being a -noble family. Maybe the Honorable Reginald is after getting his death -at last in some whore-house in London." - -"Arrah not at all, man, sure that's only Anthony Shaughness and he -going crying through the woods for drink, the poor fellow!" - -But the sound had ceased to disturb them for Anthony Shaughness had -found an occupation at last. This evening he came running down from -the woods into McDermott's bar, the loose soles of his boots slapping -against the cobbles of the yard. Josie Guinan went up to him excitedly -when he entered. - -"Well?" This in a whisper as their heads came close together over the -counter. - -"Gimme a drink? I'm choked with the running, so I am!" - -"Tell me did you see them first, or not a sup you'll get. Don't be so -smart now, Anthony Shaughness!" - -"Oh, I saw them all right. Gimme the drink?" - -She filled the drink, making it overflow the glass in her hurry. - -"Well?" - -"Bedad I saw them all right. Heard every word they were saying, so I -did, and everything! It was the devil's father to find them, so it was, -they were that well hid in the woods.... Gimme another sup, Josie?" - -"Now, Anthony?" - -"Ah, but you don't know all I have to tell ye!" - -Again she overflowed the glass in her mounting excitement. - -"Well?" - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -The summer was beginning to wane, August having sped to its end. The -schools had given vacation, and Rebecca Kerr had gone away from the -valley to Donegal. Ulick Shannon had returned to Dublin. This was -the uneventful season in the valley. Mrs. Brennan, finding little to -talk about, had grown quiet in herself. Ned had taken his departure -to Ballinamult, where he was engaged in putting some lead upon the -roof of the police-barracks. He was drinking to his heart's content, -she knew, and would come home to her without a penny saved against -his long spell of idleness or the coming rigors of the winter. But -she was thankful for the present that he had removed himself from the -presence of his son. It was not good for such a son to be compelled -to look upon such a father. She had prayed for this blessing and lo! -it had come. And it extended further. Ulick Shannon too was gone from -the valley, and so she was no longer annoyed by seeing him in company -with her son. Their friendship had progressed through the months of -July and August, and she was aware that they had been seen together -many times in Garradrimna. She did not know the full truth but, as on -the first occasion, the lake could tell. Rebecca Kerr was gone, and -so there was no need to speak of this strange girl for whom some wild -feeling had enkindled a flame of hatred within her. Thus was she left -in loneliness and peace to dwell upon the wonder of her son. He seemed -more real to her during these quiet days, nearer perhaps, than he had -ever been since she had first begun to dream her great dream. - -Of late he had taken to his room upstairs, where he did a little study -daily. "So that it won't be altogether too strange when I go back again -to college," he told her on more than one occasion when she besought -him not to be blinding his eyes while there was yet leisure to rest -them. There were times during the long quiet day in the house when -her flood of love for him would so well up within her that she would -call him down for no other reason than that she might have the great -pleasure of allowing her eyes to rest upon him for a short space only. -She would speak no word at all, so fearful would she be of disturbing -the holy peace which fell between them. In the last week of his -present stay in the valley this happened so often that it became a -little wearying to John, who had begun to experience a certain feeling -of independence in his own mind. It pained him greatly now that his -mother should love him so.... And there were many times when he longed -to be back in his English college, with his books and friends, near -opportunities to escape from the influences which had conspired to -change him. - -One morning, after his mother had gazed upon him in this way, he came -out of the house and leaned over the little wicket gate to take a look -at the day. It was approaching Farrell McGuinness's time to be along -with the post, and John expected him to have a letter from the rector -of the College giving some directions as to the date of return. Yet he -was not altogether so anxious to return as he had been towards the -ends of former vacations.... At last Farrell McGuinness appeared around -the turn of the road. His blue uniform was dusty, and he carried his -hard little cap in his hand. He dismounted from his red bicycle and -took two letters out of his bag. He smirked obviously as he performed -this action. John glanced in excitement at the letters. One was -addressed in the handwriting of his friend Ulick Shannon and the other -in the handwriting of a girl. It was this last one that had caused -Farrell McGuinness to smirk so loudly. - -"'Tis you that has the times, begad!" he said to John as he mounted his -red bicycle and went on up the road, fanning his hot brow with his hard -cap. - -Mrs. Brennan came to the door to hear tidings of the letters from her -son, but John was already hurrying down through the withering garden, -tearing open both letters simultaneously. - -"Who are they from?" she called out. - -"From Ulick Shannon." - -"And th'other one?" - -"From a chap in the college," he shouted across his shoulder, lying -boldly to her for the first time in his life. But if only she could see -the confusion upon his face? - -She went back into the sewing-room, a feeling of annoyance showing in -the deep lines about her eyes. It seemed strange that he had not rushed -immediately into the house to tell her what was in the letters, strange -beyond all how he had not seen his way to make that much of her. - -Down the garden John was reading Rebecca Kerr's letter first, for it -was from her that the letter from "one of the chaps in the college" had -come. - -It told of how she was spending her holidays at a seaside village in -Donegal. "It is even far quieter than Garradrimna and the valley. I go -down to the sea in the mornings, but it is only to think and dream. The -sea is just like one big lake, more lonely by far than the lake in the -valley. This is surely the loneliest place you could imagine, but there -is a certain sense of peace about it that is quite lovely. It is some -distance from my home, and it is nice to be amongst people who have no -immense concern for your eternal welfare. I like this, and so I have -avoided making acquaintances here. But next week I am expecting a very -dear friend to join me, and so, I dare say, my holidays will have a -happy ending after all. I suppose you will have gone from the valley -when I go back in October. And it will be the dreary place then...." -She signed herself, "Yours very sincerely, Rebecca Kerr." - -His eyes were dancing as he turned to read Ulick Shannon's letter.... -In the opening passages it treated only in a conventional way of -college affairs, but suddenly he was upon certain lines which to his -mind seemed so blackly emphasized: - -"Now I was just beginning to settle back into the routine of things -when who should come along but Miss Kerr? She was looking fine. She -stayed a few days here in Dublin, and I spent most of them with her. -I gave her the time of her life, the poor little thing! Theaters -every night, and all the rest of it. She was just lost for a bit of -enjoyment. Grinding away, you know, in those cursed National Schools -from year's end to year's end. Do you know what it is, John? I am -getting fonder and fonder of that girl. She is the best little soul in -all the world. - -"She is spending her holidays up in some God-forsaken village in -Donegal. Away from her people and by herself, you know. She has a girl -friend going to see her next week. You will not be able to believe it -probably--_but I am the girl friend_." - -He read them and re-read them, these two letters which bore so -intimately upon one another and which, through the coincidence of their -arrival together, held convincing evidence of the dramatic moment that -had arrived in the adventure of those two lives. - -He became filled by an aching feeling that made him shiver and grow -weak as if with some unknown expectation.... Yet why was he so -disturbed in his mind as to this happening; what had he to do with it? -He was one whose life must be directed away from such things. But the -vision of Rebecca Kerr would be filling his eyes forever. And why had -she written to him? Why had she so graphically pictured her condition -of loneliness wherein he might enter and speak to her? His acquaintance -with her was very slight, and yet he desired to know her beyond all the -knowledge and beauty of the world.... And to think that it was Ulick -Shannon who was now going where he longed to go. - -A heavy constraint came between him and his mother during the remaining -days. He spoke little and moved about in meditation like one fearful -of things about to happen. But she fondly fancied as always that he -was immersed in contemplation of the future she had planned for him. -She never saw him setting forth into the autumn fields, a book in his -hand, that she did not fancy the look of austere aloofness upon his -face to be the expression of a priest reading his office. But thoughts -of this kind were far from his mind in the fields or by the little -wicket gate across which he often leaned, his eyes fixed upon the -white, hard road which seemed to lead nowhere. - -The day of his release at last came. Now that Ned was away from her, -working in Ballinamult, she had managed to scrape together the price of -another motor drive to Kilaconnaghan, but it was in the misfortune of -things that Charlie Clarke's car should have been engaged for the very -day of John's departure by the Houlihans of Clonabroney. It worried her -greatly that she could not have this piece of grandeur upon this second -occasion. Her intense devotion to religious literature had made her -superstitious to a distressing degree. It appeared to her as an omen -across the path of John and her own magnification. But John did not -seem to mind. - -It was notable that through his advance into contemplation he had -triumphed over the power of the valley to a certain extent. So long -as his mind had been altogether absorbed in thought of the priesthood -he had moved about furtively, a fugitive, as it were, before the -hateful looks of the people of the valley and the constant stare of the -squinting windows. Now he had come into a little tranquillity and his -heart was not without some happiness in the enjoyment of his larger -vision.... And yet he was far from being completely at peace. - -As he sat driving with his mother in the ass-trap to Kilaconnaghan, -on his way back to the grand college in England, his doubts were -assailing him although he was so quiet, to all seeming, sitting there. -Those who passed them upon the road never guessed that this pale-faced -young man in black was at war with his soul.... Few words passed -between him and his mother, for the constraint of the past week had not -yet been lifted. She was beginning to feel so lonely, and she was vexed -with herself that the period of his stay in the valley had not been all -she had dreamt of making it. It had been disappointing to a depressing -extent, and now especially in its concluding stage. This sad excursion -in the little ass-trap, without any of the pomp and circumstance which -John so highly deserved, was a poor, mean ending. - -He was running over in his mind the different causes which had given -this vacation its unusual character. First there came remembrance of -his journey down from Dublin with Mr. Myles Shannon, who had then -suggested the friendship with his nephew Ulick. Springing out of this -thought was a very vivid impression of Garradrimna, that ugly place -which he had discovered in its true colors for the first time; its vile -set of drunkards and the few secret lapses it had occasioned him. Then -there was his father, that fallen and besotted man whom the valley had -ruined past all hope. As a more intimate recollection his own doubts -of the religious life by the lakeside arose clear before him. And the -lake itself seemed very near, for it had been the silent witness of all -his moods and conditions, the dead thing that had gathered to itself -a full record of his sojourn in the valley. But, above all, there was -Rebecca Kerr, whom he had contrived to meet so often as she went from -school. It was she who now brought light to all the darkened places of -his memory. Her letter to him the other day was the one real thing he -had been given to take away from the valley. How he longed to read it -again! But his mother's eyes were upon him.... At last he began to have -a little thought of the part she had played. - -Already they had reached the railway station of Kilaconnaghan. They -went together through the little waiting-room, which held sad memories -for Mrs. Brennan, and out upon the platform, where a couple of porters -leaned against their barrows chewing tobacco. Two or three passengers -were sitting around beside their luggage waiting to take the train for -Dublin. A few bank clerks from the town were standing in a little group -which possessed an imaginary distinction, laughing in a genteel way -at a puerile joke from some of the London weekly journals. They were -wearing sporting clothes and had fresh fags in their mouths. It was -an essential portion of their occupation, this perpetual delight in -watching the outgoing afternoon train. - -"Aren't they the grand-looking young swells?" said Mrs. Brennan; "I -suppose them have the great jobs now?" - -"Great!" replied John, quite unconscious of what he said. - -He spoke no other word till he took his place in the train. She kissed -him through the open window and hung affectionately to his hand.... -Then there fluttered in upon them the moment of parting.... Smiling -wistfully and waving her hand, she watched the train until it had -rounded a curve. She lingered for a moment by the advertisement for -Jameson's Whiskey in the waiting-room to wipe her eyes. She began to -remember how she had behaved here in this very place on the day of -John's home-coming, and of how he had left her standing while he talked -to Myles Shannon.... He seemed to have slipped away from her now, -and her present thought made her feel that the shadow of the Shannon -family, stretching far across her life, had attended his going as it -had attended his coming. - -She went out to the little waiting ass and, mounting into the trap, -drove out of Kilaconnaghan into the dark forest of her fears. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -Through the earlier part of this term at college there was no peace -in the mind of John Brennan, and his unsettled state arose, for the -most part, from simple remembrance of things that had happened in -the valley. Now it was because he could see again, some afternoon in -the summer, Rebecca Kerr coming towards him down the road in a brown -and white striped dress, that he thought was pretty, and swinging a -sun-bonnet by its long cotton strings from her soft, small hand. Or -again, some hour he had spent listening to Ulick Shannon as he talked -about the things of life which are marked only by the beauty of passion -and death. Always, too, with the aid of two letters he still treasured, -his imagination would leap towards the creation of a picture--Rebecca -and Ulick together in far-off Donegal. - -He did not go home at Christmas because it was so expensive to return -to Ireland, and in the lonely stretches of the vacation, when all his -college friends were away from him, he felt that they must surely be -meeting again, meeting and kissing in some quiet, dusky place--Rebecca -as he had seen her always and Ulick as he had known him. - -Even if he had wished to leave Ulick and Rebecca out of his mind, it -would have been impossible, so persistently did his mother refer to -both in her letters. There was never a letter which did not contain -some allusion to "them two" or "that one" or "that fellow." In -February, when the days began to stretch out again, he thought only of -the valley coming nearer, with its long period of delight.... Within -the fascination of his musing he grew forgetful of his lofty future. -Yet there were odd moments when he remembered that he had moved into -the valley a very different man at the beginning of last June. The -valley had changed him, and might continue to change him when he went -there again. - -Nothing came to stay the even rise of his yearning save his mother's -letters, which were the same recitals at all times of stories about the -same people. At no time did he expect to find anything new in them, and -so it was all the stronger blow when from one letter leaped out the -news that Ulick Shannon had failed to pass his final medical exam., and -was now living at home in Scarden House with his uncle Myles. That he -had been "expelled from the University and disgraced" was the way she -put it. It did not please John to see that she was exulting over what -had happened to Ulick while hinting at the same time that there was no -fear of a like calamity happening to her son. To him it appeared as -not at all such an event as one might exult about. It rather evoked -pity and condolence in the thought that it might happen to any man. It -might happen to himself. Here surely was a fearful thing--the sudden -dread of his return to the valley, a disgrace for life, and his mother -a ruined woman in the downfall of her son.... This last letter of hers -had brought him to review all the brave thoughts that had come to him -by the lakeside, wild thoughts of living his own life, not in the way -appointed for him by any other person, but freely, after the bent of -his own will. Yet when he came to think of it quietly there was not -much he could do in the world with his present education. It seemed -to have fitted him only for one kind of life. And his thoughts of the -summer might have been only passing distractions which must disappear -with the full development of his mind. To think of those ideas ever -coming suddenly to reality would be a blow too powerful to his mother. -It would kill her. For, with other knowledge, the summer holidays had -brought him to see how much she looked forward to his becoming a priest. - -Quite unconsciously, without the least effort of his will, he found -himself returning to his old, keen interest in his studies. He found -himself coming back to his lost peace of mind. He felt somehow that -his enjoyment of this grand contentment was the very best way he could -flash back his mother's love. Besides it was the best earnest he had of -the enjoyment of his coming holidays. - -Then the disaster came. The imminence of it had been troubling the -rector for a long time. His college was in a state of disintegration, -for the Great War had cast its shadow over the quiet walls. - -It was a charity college. This was a secret that had been well kept -from the people of the valley by Mrs. Brennan. "A grand college in -England" was the utmost information she would ever vouchsafe to any -inquirer. She had formed a friendly alliance with the old, bespectacled -postmistress and made all her things free of charge for keeping close -the knowledge of John's exact whereabouts in England. Yet there was -never a letter from mother to son or from son to mother that the old -maid did not consider it her bounden duty to open and read. - -The college had been supported by good people who could find nothing -else to do with their money. But, in war-time, charity was diverted -into other channels, and its income had consequently dwindled almost to -vanishing point. Coupled with this, many of the students had left aside -their books and gone into the Army. One morning the rector appeared in -the lecture-hall to announce to the remnant that the college was about -to be closed for "some time." He meant indefinitely, but the poor man -could not put it in that way. - -John heard the news with mingled feelings. In a dumb way he had longed -for this after his return from the valley, but now he saw in it, -not the arrival of a desired event, but a postponement of the great -intention that had begun to absorb him again. He was achieving his -desire in a way that made it a punishment.... To-morrow he would be -going home.... But of course his mother knew everything by this time -and was already preparing a welcome for him. - -The March evening was gray and cold when he came into the deserted -station of Kilaconnaghan. It had been raining ceaselessly since -Christmas, and around and away from him stretched the sodden country. -He got a porter to take his trunk out to the van and stand it on end -upon the platform. Then he went into the waiting-room to meet his -mother. But she was not there. Nor was the little donkey and trap -outside the station house. Perhaps she was coming to meet him with -Charlie Clarke in the grand and holy motor car. If he went on he might -meet them coming through Kilaconnaghan. He got the porter to take his -box from its place on the platform and put it into the waiting-room. -All down through the town there was no sign of them, and when he got -out upon the road to Garradrimna and the valley there was no sign of -them either. The night had fallen thick and heavy, and John, as he -went on through the rain, looked forward to the comforting radiance of -Charlie Clarke's headlights suddenly to flash around every corner. But -the car did not come and he began to grow weary of tramping through the -wet night. All along the way he was meeting people who shouldered up -to him and strove to peer into his face as he slipped past. He did not -come on to the valley road by way of Garradrimna, but instead by The -Road of the Dead, down which he went slopping through great pools at -every few yards. - -He was very weary when he came at last to the door of his mother's -house. Before knocking he had listened for a while to the low hum of -her reading to his father. Then he heard her moving to open the door, -and immediately she was silhouetted in the lamp-light. - -"Is that you, John? We knew you were coming home. We got the rector's -letter." - -He noticed a queer coldness in her tone. - -"I'd rather to God that anything in the world had happened than this. -What'll they say now? They'll say you were expelled. As sure as God, -they'll say you were expelled!" - -He threw himself into the first chair he saw. - -"Did any one meet you down the road? Did many meet you from this to -Kilaconnaghan?" - -He did not answer. This was a curious welcome he was receiving. Yet he -noticed that tears were beginning to creep into her eyes, which were -also red as if from much recent weeping. - -"Oh, God knows, and God knows again, John, I'd rather have died than it -should have come to this. And why was it that after all me contriving -and after all me praying and good works this bitter cross should have -fallen? I don't know. I can't think for what I am being punished and -why misfortune should come to you. And what'll they say at all at all? -Oh you may depend upon it that it's the worst thing they'll say. But -you mustn't tell them that the college is finished. For I suppose it's -finished now the way everything is going to be finished before the war. -But you mustn't say that. You must say that it is on special holidays -you are, after having passed a Special examination. And you must behave -as if you were on holidays!" - -Such a dreadful anxiety was upon her that she appeared no longer as his -mother, the infinitely tender woman he had known. She now seemed to -possess none of the pure contentment her loving tenderness should have -brought her. She was altogether concerned as to what the people would -say and not as to the effect of the happening upon her son's career. -He had begun to think of this for himself, but it was not of it that -she was now thinking.... She was thinking of herself, of her pride, and -that was why she had not come to meet him. And now his clothes were wet -and he was tired, for he had walked from Kilaconnaghan in the rain. - -Ned Brennan, stirring out of his drunken doze, muttered thickly: "Ah, -God blast yourselves and your college, can't you let a fellow have a -sleep be the fire after his hard day!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -John went from the kitchen to a restless night. Soon after daybreak he -got up and looked out of the window. The crows had been flying across -it darkly since the beginning of the light. He gazed down now towards -the stretch of trees about the lake. They were dark figures in the -somber picture. He had not seen them since autumn, and even then some -of the brightness of summer had lingered with them. Now they looked -as if they had been weeping. He could see the lake between the clumps -of fir-trees. The water was all dark like the scene in which it was -framed. It now beat itself into a futile imitation of billows, into -a kind of make-believe before the wild things around that it was an -angry sea, holding deep in its caverns the relics of great dooms. But -the trees seemed to rock in enjoyment and to join forces with the wild -things in tormenting the lake. - -John looked at the clock. It was early hours, and there would be no -need to go out for a long time. He went back to bed and remained there -without sleep, gazing up at the ceiling.... He fell to thinking of what -he would have to face in the valley now.... His mother had hinted at -the wide scope of it last night when she said that she would rather -anything in God's world had happened than this thing, this sudden -home-coming.... She was thinking only of her own pride. It was an -offense against her pride, he felt, and that was all. It stood to -lessen the exalted position which the purpose of his existence gave -her before the other women of the valley. But he had begun to feel the -importance of his own person in the scheme of circumstance by which he -was surrounded. It had begun to appear to him that he mattered somehow; -that in some undreamt-of way he might leave his mark upon the valley -before he died. - -He would go to Mass in Garradrimna this morning. He very well knew how -this attendance at morning Mass was a comfort to his mother. He was -about to do this thing to please her now. Yet, how was the matter going -to affect himself? He would be stared at by the very walls and trees as -he went the wet road into Garradrimna; and no matter what position he -might take up in the chapel there would be very certain to be a few who -would come kneeling together into a little group and, in hushed tones -within the presence of their God upon the altar, say: - -"Now, isn't that John Brennan I see before me, or can I believe my -eyes? Aye, it must be him. Expelled, I suppose. Begad that's great. -Expelled! Begad!" If he happened to take the slightest side-glance -around, he would catch glimpses of eyes sunk low beneath brows which -published expressions midway between pity and contempt, between delight -and curiosity.... In some wonderful way the first evidence of his long -hoped for downfall would spread throughout the small congregation. -Those in front would let their heads or prayerbooks fall beside or -behind them, so that they might have an excuse for turning around to -view the young man who, in his unfortunate presence here, stood for -this glad piece of intelligence. The acolytes serving Father O'Keeffe, -and having occasional glimpses of the congregation, would see the -black-coated figure set there in contradistinction to Charlie Clarke -and the accustomed voteens with the bobbing bonnets. In their wise -looks up at him they would seem to communicate the news to the priest. - -And although only a very few seconds had elapsed, Father O'Keeffe -would have thrown off his vestments and be going bounding towards the -Presbytery for his breakfast as John emerged from the chapel. It would -be an ostentatious meeting. Although he had neither act nor part in it, -nor did he favor it in any way, Father O'Keeffe always desired people -to think that it was he who was "doing for Mrs. Brennan's boy beyond -in England." ... There would be the usual flow of questions, a deep -pursing of the lips, and the sudden creation of a wise, concerned, -ecclesiastical look at every answer. Then there was certain to come -the final brutal question: "And what are you going to do with yourself -meanwhile, is it any harm to ask?" As he continued to stare up vacantly -at the ceiling, John could not frame a possible answer to that -question. And yet he knew it would be the foremost of Father O'Keeffe's -questions. - -There would be the hurried crowding into every doorway and into all -the squinting windows as he went past. Outwardly there would be smiles -of welcome for him, but in the seven publichouses of Garradrimna the -exultation would be so great as to make men who had been ancient -enemies stand drinks to one another in the moment of gladness which had -come upon them with the return of John Brennan. - -"'Tis expelled he is like Ulick Shannon. That's as sure as you're -there!" - -"To be sure he's expelled. And wouldn't any one know he was going to -be expelled the same as the other fellow, the way they were conducting -themselves last summer, running after gerrls and drinking like hell?" - -"And did ye ever hear such nonsense? The idea of him going on for to be -a priest!" Then there would be a shaking of wise heads and a coming of -wise looks into their faces. - -He could see what would happen when he met the fathers of Garradrimna, -when he met Padna Padna or Shamesy Golliher. There would be the short, -dry laugh from Padna Padna, and a pathetic scrambling of the dimming -intelligence to recognize him. - -"And is that you, John? Back again! Well, boys-a-day! And isn't it -grand that Ulick Shannon is at home these times too? Isn't it a pity -about Ulick, for he's a decent fellow? Every bit as decent as his -father, Henry Shannon, was, and he was a damned decent fellow. Ah, 'tis -a great pity of him to be exshpelled. Aye, _'tis a great pity of any -one that does be exshpelled_." - -The meeting with Shamesy Golliher formed as a clearer picture before -his mind. - -"Arrah me sound man, John, sure I thought you'd be saying the Mass -before this time. There's nothing strange in the valley at all. Only -'tis harder than ever to get the rabbits, the weeshy devils! Only for -Ulick Shannon I don't know what I'd do for a drink sometimes. But, -damn it, he's the decentest fellow.... You're only a few minutes late, -sure 'tis only this blessed minute that Miss Kerr's gone on to the -school.... And you could have been chatting with her so grandly all the -way!" - -That John Brennan should be thinking after this fashion, creating all -those little scenes before the eye of his mind and imagining their -accompanying conversations, was indicative of the way the valley and -the village had forced their reality upon him last summer. But this -pictured combination of incidents was intensified by a certain morbid -way of dwelling upon things his long spells of meditation by the lake -had brought him. Yet he knew that even all his clear vision of the -mean ways of life around him would not act as an incentive to combat -them but, most extraordinary to imagine, as a sort of lure towards the -persecution of their scenes and incidents. - -"It must be coming near time to rise for Mass," he said aloud to -himself, as he felt that he had been quite a long time giving himself -up to speculations in which there was no joy. - -There was a tap upon the door. It was his mother calling him, as had -been her custom during all the days of his holiday times. The door -opened and she came into the room. Her manner seemed to have changed -somewhat from the night before. The curious look of tenderness she had -always displayed while gazing upon him seemed to have struggled back -into her eyes. She came and sat by the bedside and, for a few moments, -both were silent. - -"'Tis very cold this morning, mother," was the only thing John could -think of saying. - -A slight confusion seemed to have come upon her since her entrance to -the room. Without any warning by a word, she suddenly threw her arms -about him as he lay there on the bed and covered his face with kisses. -He was amazed, but her kisses seemed to hurt him.... It must have been -years and years since she had kissed him like this, and now he was a -man.... When she released him so that he could look up at her he saw -that she was crying. - -"I'm sorry about last night, John," she said. "I'm sorry, darling; -but surely I could not bring myself to do it. Even for a few hours I -wanted to keep them from knowing. I even wanted to keep your father -from knowing. So I did not tell him until I heard your poor, wet foot -come sopping up to the door. He did not curse much then, for he seems -to have begun to feel a little respect for you. But the curses of him -all through the night were enough to lift the roof off the house. Oh, -he's the terrible man, for all me praying and all me reading to him of -good, holy books; and 'tis no wonder for all kinds of misfortune to -fall, though God between us and all harm, what am I saying at all?... -It was the hard, long walk down the wet, dark road from Kilaconnaghan -last night, and it pained me every inch of the way. If it hurt your -feet and your limbs, _avic_, remember that your suffering was nothing -to the pain that plowed through your mother's heart all the while you -were coming along to this house.... But God only knows I couldn't. I -couldn't let them see me setting off into the twilight upon the little -ass, and I going for me son. I even went so far as to catch the little -ass and yoke him, and put on the grand clothes I was decked out in when -I met you last June with the motor. But somehow I hadn't the heart -for the journey this time, and you coming home before you were due. I -couldn't let them see me! I couldn't let them see me, so I couldn't!" - -"But it is not my fault, mother. I have not brought it about directly -by any action of mine. It comes from the changed state of everything on -account of the Great War. You may say it came naturally." - -"Ah, sure I know that, dear, I know it well, and don't be troubling -yourself. In the letter of the rector before the very last one didn't -he mention the change of resigned application that had at last come to -you, and that you had grown less susceptible--I think that is the grand -word he used--aye, less susceptible to distractions and more quiet in -your mind? And I knew as well as anything that it was coming to pass -so beautifully, that all the long prayers I had said for you upon me -two bare, bended knees were after being heard at last, and a great joy -was just beginning to come surging into me heart when the terrible blow -of the last letter fell down upon me. But sure I used to be having the -queerest dreams, and I felt that nothing good was going to happen when -Ulick Shannon came down here expelled from the University in Dublin. -You used to be a great deal in his company last summer, and mebbe there -was some curse put upon the both of you together. May God forgive me, -but I hate that young fellow like poison. I don't know rightly why -it is, but it vexes me to see him idling around the way he is after -what's happened to him. Bragging about being expelled he bees every -day in McDermott's of Garradrimna. And his uncle Myles is every bit -as bad, going to keep him at home until the end of next summer. 'To -give him time to think of things,' he says. 'I'm going to find a use -for him,' he says to any one that asks him, 'never you fear!' Well, -begad, 'tis a grand thing not to know what to do with your money like -the Shannons of Scarden Hill.... But sure I'm talking and talking. 'Tis -what I came in to tell you now of the plan I have been making up all -night. If we let them see that we're lying down under this misfortune -we're bet surely. We must put a brave face upon it. You must make -a big show-off that you're after getting special holidays for some -great, successful examination you've passed ahead of any one else in -the college. I'll let on I'm delighted, and be mad to tell it to every -customer that comes into the sewing-room. But you must help me; you -must go about saying hard things of Ulick Shannon that's after being -expelled, for that's the very best way you can do it. He'll mebbe seek -your company like last year, but you must let him see for certain that -you consider yourself a deal above him. But you mustn't be so quiet -and go moping so much about the lake as you used to. You must go about -everywhere, talking of yourself and what you're going to be. Now you -must do all this for my sake--won't you, John?" - -His tremulous "yes" was very unenthusiastic and seemed to hold no great -promise of fulfilment. These were hard things his mother was asking him -to do, and he would require some time to think them over.... But even -now he wondered was it in him to do them at all. The attitude towards -Ulick Shannon which she now proposed would be a curious thing, for they -had been the best of friends. - -"And while you're doing this thing for me, John, I'll be going on with -me plans for your future. It was me, and me only, that set up this -beautiful plan of the priesthood as the future I wanted for you. I got -no one to help me, I can tell you that. Only every one to raise their -hands against me. And in spite of all that I carried me plan to what -success the rector spoke of in his last letter. And even though this -shadow has fallen across it, me son and meself between us are not going -to let it be the end. For I want to see you a priest, John. I want to -see you a priest before I die. God knows I want to see that before I -die. Nan Byrne's son a priest before she dies!" - -Her speech mounted to such a pitch of excitement that towards the end -it trailed away into a long, frenzied scream. It awoke Ned Brennan -where he dozed fitfully in the next room, and he roared out: - -"Ah, what the hell are yous gosthering and croaking about in there at -this hour of the morning, the two of yous? It'd be serving you a lot -better to be down getting me breakfast, Nan Byrne!" - -She came away very quietly from the bedside of her son and left the -room. John remained for some time thinking over the things she had been -saying. Then he rose wearily and went downstairs. It was only now he -noticed that his mother had dried his clothes. It must have taken her -a good portion of the night to do this. His boots, which had been so -wet and muddy after his walk from Kilaconnaghan, were now polished -to resplendence and standing clean and dry beside the fire. The full -realization of these small actions brought a fine feeling of tenderness -into his mind.... He quickly prepared himself to leave the house. She -observed him with concern as she went about cooking the breakfast for -her man. - -"You're not going to Mass this morning, are ye, John?" - -"Oh, no!" he replied with a nervous quickness. "Our chat delayed me. It -is now past nine." - -"Ah, dear, sure I never thought while I was talking. The last time I -kept you it was the morning after the concert, and even then you were -in time for 'half-past eight'.... But sure, anyhow, you're too tired -this morning." - -"I'm going for a little walk before breakfast." - -The words broke in queerly upon the thought she had just expressed, -but his reason was nothing more than to avoid his father, who would be -presently snapping savagely at his breakfast in the kitchen. - -The wet road was cheerless and the bare trees and fields were cold and -lonely. Everything was in contrast to the mood in which he had known it -last summer. It seemed as if he would never know it in that mood again. -Now that he had returned it was a poor thing and very small beside the -pictures his dream had made.... He was wandering down The Road of the -Dead and there was a girl coming towards him. He knew it was Rebecca -Kerr, and this meeting did not appear in the least accidental. - -She was dressed, as he had not previously seen her, in a heavy brown -coat, a thick scarf about her throat and a pretty velvet cap which hid -most of her hair. Her small feet were well shod in strong boots, and -she came radiantly down the wet road. A look of surprise sprang into -her eyes when she saw him, and she seemed uncertain of herself as they -stopped to speak. - -"Back again?" she said, not without some inquisitive surprise in her -tones. - -"Yes, another holiday," he said quickly. - -"Nothing wrong?" she queried. - -"Well, well, no; but the college has closed down for the period of the -war." - -"That is a pity." - -He laughed a queer, excited little laugh, in which there did not seem -to be any mirth or meaning. Then he picked himself up quickly. - -"You won't tell anybody?" - -"What about?" - -"This that I have told you, about the college." - -"Oh, dear no!" she replied very quickly, as if amazed and annoyed that -he should have asked her to respect this little piece of information as -a confidence. And she had not reckoned on meeting him at all. Besides -she had not spoken so many words to him since the morning after the -concert. - -She lifted her head high and went on walking between the muddy puddles -on the way to the valley school. - -John felt somewhat crushed by her abruptness, especially after what -he had told her. And where was the fine resolve with which his mother -had hoped to infuse him of acting a brave part for her sake before the -people of the valley? - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -Myles Shannon and his nephew Ulick sat at breakfast in the dining-room -of the big house among the trees. The _Irish Times_ of the previous -day's date was crackling in the elder man's hand. - -"Did you ever think of joining the Army, Ulick? It is most -extraordinary, the number of ne'er-do-wells who manage to get -commissions just now. Why I think there should be no bother at all -if you tried. With your knowledge I fancy you could get into the -R.A.M.C. It is evidently infernally easy. I suppose your conduct at the -University would have nothing to do with your chances of acceptance or -rejection?" - -"Oh, not at all." - -"I thought not." - -"But I fancied, uncle, that when I came down here from Dublin I had -done with intending myself to kill people. That is, with joining any -combination for purposes of slaughter." - -Myles Shannon lifted his eyes from the paper and smiled. Evidently he -did not appreciate the full, grim point of the joke, but he rather -fancied there was something subtle about it, and it was in that quiet -and venerable tradition of humorous things his training had led him to -enjoy. This was one of the reasons why, even though a Catholic and a -moderate Nationalist, he had remained a devoted reader of the _Irish -Times_. He was conservative even in his humor. - -"But in Army medical work, however, there is always the compensating -chance of the gentleman with the license to kill getting killed -himself," continued Ulick. - -His lips closed now, for he had at last come to the end of his joke. -The conversation lapsed, and Mr. Shannon went on with his reading. -Ulick had been to Garradrimna on the previous evening, and he was -acutely conscious of many defects in his own condition and in the -condition of the world about him this morning. His thoughts were now -extending with all the power of which they were capable to his uncle, -that silent, intent man, whose bald head stretched expansively before -him. - -Myles Shannon was a singularly fine man, and in thinking of him as such -his mind began to fill with imaginations of the man his father must -have been. He had never known his father nor, for the matter of that, -could he boast of any deep acquaintance with his uncle, yet what an -excellent, restrained type of man he was to be sure! Another in the -same position as his guardian would have flogged himself into a fury -over the mess he had made of his studies. But it had not been so with -his uncle. He had behaved with a calm forbearance. He had supplied him -with time and money, and had gone even so far as to look kindly upon -the affair with Rebecca Kerr. He had been here since the beginning of -the year, and all his uncle had so far said to him by way of asserting -his authority was spoken very quietly: - -"Now, I'll give you a fair time to think over things. I'll give you -till the end of the summer holidays, till after young Brennan comes and -goes." These had been his uncle's exact words, and he had not attempted -to question them or to qualify them at the time. But just now they were -running through his brain with the most curious throbbing insistence. -"Till after young Brennan comes and goes." He knew that his uncle had -taken an unusual fancy to John Brennan and evidently wished that his -summer holidays should be spent enjoyably. But it was a long time until -summer, and he was not a person one might conscientiously commend to -the friendship of a clerical student. He very often went to Garradrimna. - -Ulick had already formed some impressions of his fellow man. He -held it as his opinion that at the root of an action, which may -appear extraordinary because of its goodness, is always an amount of -selfishness. Yet, somehow, as he carefully considered his uncle in the -meditative spaces of the breakfast he could not fit him in with this -idea. - -As he went on with his thought he felt that it was the very excess of -his uncle's qualities which had had such a curious effect upon his -relations with Rebecca Kerr. It was the very easiness of the path he -had afforded to love-making which now made it so difficult. If they had -been forbidden and if they had been persecuted, their early affection -must have endured more strongly. The opposition of the valley and the -village still continued, but Ulick considered their bearing upon him -now as he had always considered it--with contempt. - -There had been a good deal of wild affection transported into their -snatched meetings during the past summer in Donegal. After Christmas, -too, he had gone there to see her, and then had happened the climax of -their love-making in a quiet cottage within sound of the sea.... Both -had moved away from that glowing moment forever changed. Neither could -tell of the greatness of the shadow that had fallen between them. - -He remembered all her tears on the first evening he had met her after -coming back to the valley. There had been nothing in her letters, only -the faintest suggestion of some strained feeling. Then had come this -unhappy meeting.... She had tortured herself into the belief that it -was she who was responsible for his failure. - -"With all the time you have wasted coming to see me I have destroyed -you. When you should have been at your studies I was taking you up to -Donegal." - -As he listened to these words between her sobs, there rushed in upon -him full realization of all her goodness and the contrast of two -pictures her words had called to his mind.... There was he by her side, -her head upon his shoulder in that lonely cottage in Donegal, their -young lives lighting the cold, bare place around them.... And then -the other picture of himself bent low over his dirty, thumb-greased -books in that abominable street up and down which a cart was always -lumbering. All the torture of this driving him to Doyle's pub at the -corner, and afterwards along some squalid street of ill-fame with a few -more drunken medical students. - -He was glad to be with her again. They met very often during his first -month at his uncle's house, in dark spots along the valley road and The -Road of the Dead. Then he began to notice a curious reserve springing -up between them. She was becoming mysterious while at the same time -remaining acutely present in his life. - -One morning she had asked him if he intended to remain long in the -valley, and he had not known how to reply to her. Another time she -had asked him if he was going to retire altogether from the study of -medicine, and with what did he intend to occupy himself now? And, upon -a certain occasion, she had almost asked him was it the intention of -his uncle to leave him the grand farm and the lovely house among the -trees? - -These were vexatious questions and so different from any part of the -talk they used to have here in the valley last summer or at the cottage -in Donegal. Her feeling of surrender in his presence had been replaced -by a sense of possession which seemed the death of all that kindling of -her heart. Then it had happened that, despite the encouragement of his -uncle, a shadow had fallen upon his love-affair with Rebecca Kerr.... -He was growing tired of his idle existence in the valley. Very slowly -he was beginning to see life from a new angle. He was disgusted with -himself and with the mess he had made of things in Dublin. He could not -say whether it was her talk with him that had shamed him into thinking -about it, but he felt again like making something of himself away from -this mean place. Once or twice he wondered whether it was because he -wanted to get away from her. Somehow his uncle and himself were the -only people who seemed directly concerned in the matter. His uncle -was a very decent man, and he felt that he could not presume on his -hospitality any longer. - -Mr. Shannon took off his spectacles and laid by the _Irish Times_. -There was an intimate bond between the man and his paper. He always -considered it as hitting off his own opinions to a nicety upon any -subject under the sun. This always after he had read the leaders which -dealt with these subjects. It afforded a contribution to his thought -and ideas out of which he spoke with a surer word. - -Old Susan Hennessy came into the room with some letters that Farrell -McGuinness was after leaving. She hobbled in, a hunched, decrepit -woman, now in the concluding stages of her long life as housekeeper to -the Shannons, and put the letters into her master's hand.... Then she -lingered, quite unnecessarily, about the breakfast-table. Her toothless -gums were stripping as words began to struggle into her mouth.... Mr. -Shannon took notice of her. This was her usual behavior when she had -anything of uncommon interest to say. - -"Well, what is it now?" said Mr. Shannon, not without some weariness in -his tones, for he expected only to hear some poor piece of local gossip. - -"It's how Farrell McGuinness is after telling me, sir, that John -Brennan is home." - -"Is that a fact?" - -"And Farrell says that by the looks on the outside of a certain letter -that came to Mrs. Brennan th'other day it is what he is after being -expelled." - -"Expelled. Well, well!" - -There was a mixture of interest and anxiety in Mr. Shannon's tones. - -"A good many of those small English colleges are getting broken up -and the students drifting into the Army, I suppose that's the reason; -but of course they'll say he's been expelled," Ulick ventured as old -Susan slipped from the room and down to the loneliness of the kitchen, -where she might brood to her heart's content over this glad piece of -information, for she was one who well knew the story of John Brennan's -mother and "poor Misther Henery Shannon." - -"Is that so?" The interest of Mr. Shannon was rapidly mounting towards -excitement. - -"A case like that is rather hard," said Ulick. - -"Yes, it will be rather hard on Mrs. Brennan, I fancy, she being so -stuck-up with pride in him." - -He could just barely hide his feelings of exultation. - -"And John Brennan is not a bad fellow." - -"I daresay he's not." - -There was now a curious note of impatience in the elder man's tones as -if he wished, for some reason or other, to have done speaking of the -matter. - -"It will probably mean the end of his intention for the Church." - -"That is more than likely. These sudden changes have the effect of -throwing a shadow over many a young fellow's vocation." - -His eyes twinkled, but he fingered his mustache nervously as he said -this. - -"Funny to think of the two of us getting thrown down together, we being -such friends!" - -The doubtful humor in the coincidence had appealed to the queer kink -that was in the mind of Ulick, and it was because of it he now spoke. -It was the merest wantonness that he should have said this thing, and -yet it seemed instantly to have struck some hidden chord of deeper -thought in his uncle's mind. When Myles Shannon spoke again it was -abruptly, and his words seemed to spring out of a sudden impulse: - -"You'd better think over that matter of the Army I have just mentioned." - -It was the first time his uncle Myles had spoken to him in this way, -and now that the rod of correction had fallen even thus lightly he did -not like it at all. He felt that his face was already flushing.... And -into his mind was burning again the thought of how he had made such a -mess of things.... He moved towards the door, and there was his uncle's -voice again raised as if in the reproof of authority: - -"And where might you be going to-day?" - -"Down the valley to see my friend John Brennan, who'll be surely lonely -on the first day at home," he said, rather hurriedly, as he went out in -the hallway to get his overcoat. - -When Myles Shannon was left alone he immediately drifted into deeper -thought there in the empty room with his back to the fire. With one -hand he clasped his long coat-tails, and with the other nervously -twirled his long mustache. He was thinking rapidly, and his thoughts -were so strong within him that he was speaking them aloud. - -"I might not have gone so far. Don't you see how I might have waited in -patience and allowed the hand of Fate to adjust things? See how grandly -they are coming around.... And now maybe I have gone too far. Maybe I -have helped to spoil Ulick's life into the bargain. And then there's -the third party, this girl, Rebecca Kerr?" - -He looked straight out before him now, and away over the remains of -the breakfast.... He crossed to the window and gazed for a while over -the wet fields. He moved into the cold, empty parlor and gazed from -its window also over the fields.... Then he turned and for a space -remained looking steadfastly at the bureau which held so much of -_Her_. Quite suddenly he crossed over and unlocked it.... Yes, there, -with the other dead things, were the photograph of Helena Cooper and -the letters she had written, and the letter John Brennan's mother had -written about him. He raised his eyes from the few, poor relics and -they gathered into their depths the loneliness of the parlor.... Here -was the picture of this girl, who was young and lovely, while around -him, surging emptily forever, was the loneliness of his house. It was -Nan Byrne who had driven him to this, and it was Nan Byrne who had -ruined his brother Henry.... And yet he was weakly questioning his -just feelings of revenge against this woman, but for whom he might now -be a happy man. He might have laughter in this house and the sound -of children at play. But now he had none of these things, and he was -lonely.... He looked into the over-mantel, and there he was, an empty -figure, full of a strong family pride that really stood for nothing, -a polite survival from the mild romance of the early nineties of the -last century, a useless thing amid his flocks and herds. A man who had -none of the contentment which comes from the company of a woman or her -children, a mean creature, who, during visits to the cattle-market, -occasionally wasted his manhood in dingy adventure about low streets -in Dublin. One who remained apart from the national thought of his own -country reading queer articles in the _Irish Times_ about "resolute" -government of Ireland. - -His head lay low upon his chest because he was a man mightily oppressed -by a great feeling of abasement. - -"In the desolation of her heart through the destruction of her son," he -muttered to himself, not without a certain weariness, as he moved away -from the mirror. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -Whenever a person from the valley went abroad now to fair or market the -question was always asked: - -"Is it a fact that Ulick Shannon was expelled from the University in -Dublin and is at home? And is it a fact that John Brennan is at home -from the college he was at too, the grand college in England whose -story his mother spread far and wide?" - -"That's quite so, ma'am. It's a double fact!" - -"Well, well!" - -"And is it a fact that they do be always together, going by back ways -into the seven publichouses of Garradrimna?" - -"Oh, indeed, that's true, ma'am, and now you have the whole of it. Sure -it was in the same seven publichouses that the pair of them laid the -foundations of their ruination last summer. Sure, do ye know what I'm -going to tell you? They couldn't be kept out of them, and that's as -sure as you're there!" - -Now it was true that if Ulick had gone at all towards Garradrimna it -was through very excess of spirits, and it was for the very same reason -that he had enticed John Brennan to go with him.... That time they were -full of hope and their minds were held by their thoughts of Rebecca. -But now, somehow, she seemed to have slipped out of the lives of both -of them. And because both had chosen. The feeling had entered into -Ulick's heart. But in the case of John Brennan it was not so certain. -What had brought him out upon the first morning of his homecoming to -take a look at her? It would seem that, through the sudden quickening -of his mind towards study just before the break-up of the college, -he should have forgotten her.... His life now seemed to hang in the -balance shudderingly; a breath might direct it anyway. - -He felt that he should have liked to make some suggestions of his own -concerning his future, but there was always that tired look of love in -his mother's eyes to frustrate his intention.... Often he would go into -the sewing-room of a morning and she would say so sadly as she bent -over her machine--"I'm contriving, John; I'm contriving!" He had come -to the years of manhood and yet he must needs leave every initiative in -her hands since she would have it so.... Thus was he driven from the -house at many a time of the day. - -He went to morning Mass as usual, but the day was long and dreary after -that, for the weather was wet and the coldness of winter still lay -heavy over the fields. The evenings were the dreariest as he sat over -his books in his room and listened to the hum of his mother's machine. -Later this would give place to the tumultuous business of his father's -home-coming from Garradrimna. Sometimes things were broken, and the -noise would destroy his power of application. Thus it was that, for the -most part, he avoided the house in the evenings. At the fall of dark he -would go slipping along the wet road on his way to Garradrimna. Where -the way from Scarden joined the way from Tullahanogue he generally met -Ulick Shannon, comfortably top-coated, bound for the same place. - -It seemed as if the surrounding power of the talk their presence in the -valley had created was driving them towards those scenes in which that -talk had pictured them. Through the dusk people would smirk at them as -they were seen going the road.... They would slip into McDermott's by -the same back way that Ned Brennan had often gone to Brannagan's. Many -a time did they pass the place in the woods where John had beheld the -adventure of his father and the porter last summer.... In the bottling -room of McDermott's they would fancy they were unseen, but Shamesy -Golliher or Padna Padna or Thomas James would be always cropping up -most unaccountably to tell the tale when they went out into the bar -again after what would appear the most accidental glance into the -bottling-room.... John would take port wine and Ulick whatever drink he -preferred. But even the entertainment of themselves after this fashion -did not evoke the subtle spell of last summer. There was no laughter, -no stories, even of a questionable kind, when Josie Guinan came to -answer their call. Every evening she would ask the question: - -"Well, how is Rebecca, Ulick?" - -This gross familiarity irritated him greatly, for his decent breeding -made him desire that she should keep her distance. Besides he did not -want any one to remind him of Rebecca just now. He never answered this -question, nor the other by which it was always followed: - -"You don't see her very often now, do ye? But of course the woods bees -wet these times." - -The mere mention of Rebecca's name in this filthy place annoyed John -Brennan, who thought of her continuously as some one far beyond all -aspects of Garradrimna. - -Yet they would be forever coming here to invite this persecution. Ulick -would ever and again retreat into long silences that were painful for -his companion. But John found some solace come to him through the -port wine. So much was this the case that he began to have a certain -hankering after spending the evening in this way. When the night -had fallen thick and dark over Garradrimna they would come out of -McDermott's and spend long hours walking up and down the valley road. -Ulick would occasionally give vent to outbursts of talk upon impersonal -subjects--the war and politics, the tragic trend of modern literature. -John always listened with interest. He never wished to return early to -the house, for he dreaded the afflicted drone of his mother reading the -holy books to his father by the kitchen fire. - -During those brief spells, when the weather brightened for a day or -two, he often took walks down by the school and towards the lake.... -Always he felt, through power of an oppressive realization, that -the eyes of Master Donnellan were upon him as he slipped past the -school.... So he began to go by a lane which did not take him before -the disappointed eyes of the old man. - -Going this way one day he came upon a battered school-reader of an -advanced standard, looking so pathetic in its final desertion by its -owner, for there is nothing so lonely as the things a schoolboy leaves -behind him.... He began to remember the days when he, too, had gone -to the valley school and there instituted the great promise which, so -far, had not come to fulfilment. He was turning over the leaves when -he came on a selection from Carlyle's _French Revolution_--"Thy foot -to light on softness, thy eye on splendor." He pondered it as he stood -by the water's edge and until it connected itself with his thought of -Rebecca. _Thy foot to light on softness, thy eye on splendor._ - -It would be nearing three o'clock now, he thought, and Rebecca must -soon be going from school. He might see her passing along between the -muddy puddles on The Road of the Dead. - -He had fallen down before her again. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -In the high, gusty evening Tommy Williams, the gombeen-man, was -standing proudly at his own door surveying the street of Garradrimna. -It was his custom to appear thus at the close of the day in -contemplation of his great possessions. He owned four houses in the -village, four proud buildings which advertised his worth before the -beggars of the parish--out of whom he had made the price of them. But -he was distrustful of his customers to an enormous degree, and his -purpose in standing thus at his own door was not altogether one of -aimless speculation upon his own spacious importance in Garradrimna. -He was watching to see that some people going down the valley road -upon ass-carts did not attempt to take away any of the miscellaneous -merchandise exhibited outside the door. As he stood against the -background of his shop, from which he might be said to have derived his -personality, one could view the man in his true proportions beneath his -hard, high hat. His short beard was beginning to show tinges of gray, -and the deepening look of preoccupation behind his glasses gave him the -appearance of becoming daily more and more like John Dillon. - -Father O'Keeffe came by and said: "Good-evening, Tommy!" This was a -tribute to his respectability and worth. He was the great man of the -village, the head and front of everything. Events revolved around him. -He would have you know that he was somebody, so he was. A politician -after the fashion in the Ireland of his time, he organized and spoke -at public meetings. He always wanted to be saying things in support -of "The Cause." "The Cause" was to him a kind of poetic ideal. His -patriotic imagination had intensified its glory. But it was not the -future of Ireland he yearned to see made glorious. He looked forward -only to the triumph of "The Cause." - -Upon the death of his father, also a patriot, the little mean huckstery -at the tail end of the village street had descended to him; and -although he had risen to the dignity and proprietorship of four houses, -this establishment had never changed, for, among the many ancient -superstitions which crowded his mind, the hoary one of the existence -of luck where there is muck occupied a place of prominence. And like -his father he was a rebel--in his mind. The more notable political -mountebanks of his time were all men who had fought as upon a field -of battle. Words served them as weapons, and words were the weapons -that he loved; he might have died if he were not fighting, and to him -talk meant battle. He used to collect all the supplemental pictures of -those patriots from _The Weekly Freeman_ and paste them in a scrapbook -for edification of his eldest son, whom he desired to be some day a -unit of their combination. An old-fashioned print of Dan O'Connell -hung side by side with a dauby caricature of Robert Emmet in the old -porter-smelling parlor off the bar. The names of the two men were -linked inseparably with one of his famous phrases--"The undying spirit -of Irish Nationality." - -Occasionally, when he had a drunken and enthusiastic crowd in that -part of his many-sided establishment which was a public bar, he would -read out in a fine loud voice how "The Cause" was progressing, and, -having learned by heart a speech of John Dillon's, he would lash it -out to them as a composition of his own. Whereupon the doubly excited -audience would shake his hand as one man and shout: "More power there, -mister; 'tis yourself is the true Irishman, me sweet fellow!" He could -be very funny too when occasion demanded, and tell stories of Father -Healy of Bray at pleasant little dinners which took place in the upper -story of his house after every political meeting held in Garradrimna. -He never missed the opportunity and the consequent honor of singing "On -an old Irish Hill in the Morning" at every one of those dinners. He was -always warmly applauded by Father O'Keeffe, who invariably occupied -the chair. He was treasurer of the fund, out of which he was paid for -supplying all this entertainment. - -His wife was the daughter of a farmer of the "red-hat" class. He had -been compelled to marry her.... If this had happened to a poor man -the talk would have followed him to the grave. But they were afraid -to talk censoriously of the patriot who had enveloped all of them. -He practically owned them.... The priest could not deliver an attack -upon the one who headed his lists of Offerings and Easter Dues and -the numerous collections which brought in the decent total of Father -O'Keeffe's income. - -To Rebecca Kerr had been given the position of governess to the -Williams household. She had not sought it, but, on the removal of the -two boys, Michael Joseph and Paddy, from the care of Master Donnellan -to this more genteel way of imparting knowledge and giving correction, -which savored somewhat of the splendor of the Moores of Garradrimna -and the Houlihans of Clonabroney, had merely accepted it as part of -the system of the place. She had fully anticipated such possibilities -upon the very evening of her arrival.... Besides old Master Donnellan -had thanked her from his heart for the release she had been the means -of affording him, and she liked the master for a quiet, kind old man -who did not prate or meddle. So far she had made little improvement in -either of the boys. But Mrs. Williams was evidently delighted for "our -governess, Miss Kerr," was the one person she ever spoke a good word of -to Father O'Keeffe. - -This evening Rebecca was in the parlor, seated just beneath the -pictures of Dan O'Connell and Robert Emmet, wrestling hard with the -boys. All at once her pupils commanded her to be silent. "Whist!" they -said in unison. She was momentarily amazed into eavesdropping at their -behest.... - -"Oh, not at all, Mrs. Brennan, sure and I couldn't think of the like at -all at all!" - -"Well, Mr. Williams, as a well-known benefactor of the college at -Ballinamult and a good, religious man to boot, I thought that mebbe you -could give John a recommendation. It would be grand to see him there -and he working himself up to the summit of his ambition. There would be -a great reward to your soul for doing the like of that, Mr. Williams, -as sure as you're there." - -"And now, woman-a-dear, what about my own sons, Michael Joseph and -Paddy?" - -"Oh, indeed, there's no fear of them, Mr. Williams!" - -"But I could not think of jeopardizing them while I'd be doing for the -families or the sons of the stranger." - -"But sure, sir, I'll pay you at any rate of interest you like if -only you could see your way to give me this help. Enough to buy a -bicycle that'll take him over to Ballinamult every day and your grand -recommendation to the priests that'll be worth gold. I'll pay you every -penny I can, and sure the poor boy will repay you everything when he -comes into the position that's due to him." - -"Well, I don't know. I don't think the missus--" - -At this very moment Mrs. Williams came into the parlor where Rebecca -sat with them, and beamed upon her sons. - -"Oh, my poor boys, sure it is killed you are with the terrible strain -of the study. Sure it is what you'd better go out into the fields now -with the pony; but mind, be careful! You poor little fellows!" - -Michael Joseph and Paddy at once snatched up their caps and rushed -for the door. So much for the extent of their training and Rebecca's -control of them, for this was a daily happening. But another part of -her hour of torture at the gombeen-man's house had yet to come. Of -late Mrs. Williams had made of her a kind of _confidante_ in the small -concerns of her household. She was the sort of woman who must needs be -always talking to some one of her affairs. Now she enlarged upon the -immediate story of how Mrs. Brennan had been begging and craving of -Tommy to do something for her son John, who had been sent home from -the place he was in England. "The cheek of her, mind you, that Mrs. -Brennan!" emphasized Mrs. Williams. - -If it had been any other schoolmistress or girl of any kind at all -that Mrs. Williams had ever known, they would have acquiesced in this -statement of denunciation and said: "That's a sure fact for you, -ma'am!" or "Just so!" But this had never been Rebecca's way. She merely -said: "John Brennan is a very nice young fellow!" - -Although Mrs. Williams was surprised, she merely said: "Is that so? -Sure I know very little about him only to see him pass the door. They -say he's taken the fashion of tippling a bit, and it's to McDermott's -he does go, d'ye mind, with Ulick Shannon, and not to this house. But, -of course, it's my bold Ulick that's spending. Easy for him, begad, and -it not his own." - -Rebecca saw the dirty meanness that stirred in this speech. - -"That's what they say and it is surely a great pity to see him wasting -his time about the roads of the valley. I think it would be a grand -piece of charity on the part of any one who would be the means of -taking him away from this place. If only he could be afforded some -little help. 'Tis surely not his fault that the college in England -broke down, and although his mother is, I believe, contriving the best -for his future, sure it is hard for her. She is only a poor woman, and -the people of the valley seem queerly set against her. I don't know -why. They seem to hate the very sight of her." - -"You may say that indeed, and it is the good reasons they have--" - -Mrs. Williams suddenly checked herself, for there flashed across her -mind a chapter of her own story. She had been one of the lucky ones.... -Besides, by slow steps, Rebecca was coming to have some power over her. - - -"Of course it would be no loss to Tommy if he did give this help. He'd -be bound to get the interest of his money, even if he were to sell her -out of house and home. He knows his business, and he's not against it -himself, I may tell you; for he sees a return in many a way. It was -myself that was keeping him from it on account of the boy's mother. -But, of course, if you think it would be a nice, good thing to do--" - -"It would be a good thing, and a very good thing, and one of the best -actions you could put for luck before your own sons." - -"Oh, indeed, there's no fear of them! Is it Michael Joseph or Paddy?" - -"Of course not, indeed, nor did I mean anything of the kind. I only -said it to soften you, Mrs. Williams." - -"Well, I may tell you it's all right, Miss Kerr. Mrs. Brennan is out -there in the shop, and she's craving from me man.... It'll be all -right, Miss Kerr, and that's a fact.... I'll make it all right, never -you fear!" - -In this way was John Brennan again led back into the paths of the -Church. Curious that it should have been given Rebecca to effect the -change in his condition--Rebecca, whose beauty, snatching at his -spirit always, had drawn his mind into other ways of contemplation. -In less than a week, through the powerful ecclesiastical influence of -Tommy Williams, the gombeen-man, he was riding daily to the college at -Ballinamult. By teaching outside the hours allotted for his own study -he was earning part of his fees, and, as a further example of his worth -to the community, Tommy Williams was paying the other portion, although -as a purely financial speculation.... In a year it was expected he -would win one of the Diocesan Scholarships and go up to Maynooth. -Mrs. Brennan knew more joy than had ever before possessed her. Her son -was to be ordained in Ireland after all, and maybe given a curacy in -his own diocese. Who knew but he might yet follow in the footsteps of -Father O'Keeffe and become Parish Priest of Garradrimna while she was -still alive here in this little house in the valley! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -The meetings of Ulick and Rebecca had become less and less frequent. -Sometimes she would not see him for days at a stretch, and such periods -would appear as desert spaces. She would be driven by them into the -life of the valley, where no echo of comfort ever came to her. Even -the little children created an irritation with their bright faces -continually reminding her of all the prayers they had said for her -intentions.... It was curious that she never asked them to say a prayer -for her intentions now. And their looks would seem to be beseeching -her forever. And yet she could not--she could not ask them now.... -Each distinct phase of the day seemed to hold for her its own peculiar -tortures. These seemed to have reached their climax and very moment of -ecstasy on the days succeeding upon one another when Monica McKeon came -in at the recreation hour to take her luncheon in company with Mrs. -Wyse. - -Monica would be certain to say with the most unfailing regularity and, -in fact, with exactly the same intonation upon all occasions: "I wonder -when that Ulick Shannon is going away?" To which Mrs. Wyse would reply -in a tone which would seem to have comprehended all knowledge: "Ah, -sure, he'll never go far!" Presently Monica would begin to let fall -from her slyly her usual string of phrases: "Wouldn't you be inclined -to say, now, that Ulick Shannon is good-looking?" Talking of some -other one, she would describe him as being "Just like Ulick Shannon, -don't you know!" And if they happened to be discussing the passage of -some small event it would invariably circle around the breathless point -of interest--"And who do you think was there only Ulick Shannon?" Then -from where she sat supping her tea out of a saucerless cup Mrs. Wyse -would give out her full opinion of Ulick Shannon. - -"He's the quare sort, just like his father. I don't think I've ever -seen a son to take after his father so closely. And _he_ was what you -might call a quare character in his day. It was said that a girl as -well as lost her good name if she was seen talking twice in succession -to Henry Shannon, he was that bad. Like father, like son is surely the -case between Henry and Ulick Shannon!" - -This seemed at all times the strangest talk for Rebecca to be -hearing.... It often caused her to shiver even though spring was well -on its way. And they would never let it out of their minds; they would -never let it rest. They were always talking at her about Ulick Shannon, -for they seemed to know. - -But no one knew save herself. It was a grand secret. Not even Ulick -knew. She hugged the dear possession of her knowledge to herself. There -was the strangest excitement upon her to escape from school in the -evenings so that she might enjoy her secret in loneliness. - -Even this joy had been dissipated by her certainty of meeting -John Brennan somewhere upon the road in the near vicinity of the -school.... Now, as she thought of it upon an evening a few days after -she had spoken to Mrs. Williams in his favor, she fancied that his -lonely admiration for her must have been growing in strength since -his return.... There had always been a sense of sudden relief in -his presence after the torture of the two women, a feeling of high -emancipation like the rushing in of some clean wind.... Only a few -words had ever passed between them on those occasions, but now they -were to her throbbing brain of blessed and sweet memory. And there had -always been the same look upon his face, making her try to puzzle out -in what possible way he could look upon her. Could it be in the way -she had looked upon him, with a full kindliness working into the most -marvelous ways of sympathy? Yet she missed him ever so much, now that -he was to be no longer seen upon the road. - -It was strange enough, too, as she thought of it, that although the -reason of Mrs. Williams in taking a fancy to her was no more than the -selfish one of showing her dislike for Master Donnellan, it should -have borne good fruit after this fashion. Yet a certain loneliness, a -certain feeling of empty sadness was to be her reward because she had -done a good thing.... No one at all now to take her mind away as she -wandered from torture to torture in the afternoons.... On one of the -first evenings of the changed condition of things Mrs. McGoldrick, -noticing in her keen mind that Rebecca was a minute or so earlier than -usual, said, after the manner of one proud of being able to say it: - -"Is it a fact, Miss Kerr, that John Brennan bees going as a kind of a -charity teacher or something to the college at Ballinamult?" - -"Well, if it's a fact, it is a fact," said Rebecca in a tired, dull -voice and without showing any interest whatsoever. But even this -attitude did not baulk the sergeant's wife, for she hurried on: - -"Ah, God help his innocent wit, but sure he'll never be a priest, he'll -never be a priest! 'Tis a pity of his mother, but sure she could hardly -expect it to be so, for she wasn't a good woman, they tell me, and she -ought to know, you know, that she could hardly expect it to be so!" - -Rebecca saw at once that her landlady was in one of her fits of -garrulousness, so she concluded in consequence that there would not be -much pleasure in her dinner to-day. She passed it untasted and went -upstairs wearily. There was a certain grim comfort in thinking that -she had left Mrs. McGoldrick with her harangue unfinished and a great -longing upon her to be talking.... She flung herself upon the bed in -the still untidied room. She was weary with some great, immeasurable -weariness this blessed evening.... Her corset hurt her, and she sat -up again to take it off. She caught sight of herself reflected in -the mirror opposite.... How worn she looked! Her brows, with their -even curves, did not take from the desolation that had fallen upon -her forehead, where it was grown harder as beneath the blows of some -tyrannic thought. And it seemed as if the same thought had plowed all -the lines which were beginning to appear there now.... It must be that -she had long since entered into a mood of mourning for the things she -had lost in the valley. - -She fell to remembering the first evening she had come to it, and of -how she had begun to play with her beauty on that very first evening. -It had appeared then as the only toy in her possession in this place -of dreary immensity. And now it seemed to have run through many and -sudden vicissitudes. She had allowed Ulick Shannon to play with it -too.... But his language had been so sweet when he had praised her in -the silent woods.... And in the lonely cottage in Donegal, where he -had gone to see her after Christmas, there had been abiding joy, while -outside the night swept wild and dark upon the cold, gray sea.... Here -there came sudden qualms as to whether she had helped to ruin him by -taking him away from preparation for his final exam. But there was such -an urge of dear remembrance upon her that her mind sprang quickly back -again to all the thoughts they had had between them then.... Back into -her mind too were thronging the exact words he had used upon that night -they had spent together in the cottage. - -And by the side of all this, was it not queer that he came so seldom to -see her now although he lived distant from her by only a few fields? -Even when he came their partings were so abrupt, after a little period -of strained conversation, when he always went with a slight excuse in -his mouth to Garradrimna. Yet all the time she longed for his presence -by her side with an even greater longing than that she had experienced -in Donegal.... It was also painfully notable how he gave shifty answers -to her every question. And had she not a good right to be asking him -questions now?... And surely he must guess by this time. - -She threw her head back upon the pillow once more, and once more she -was weeping. She thought, through the mist of her tears, of how she -had so bitterly wept upon the first evening of her coming to this -room. But on that evening also she had prayed, and she could not pray -now. Nor could she sleep. She remained there upon the bed, inert in -every sense save for her empty stare up at the discolored ceiling. It -was broken only by the queer smile she would take to herself ever and -again.... At last she began to count upon her fingers. She was simply -counting the number of times she had seen Ulick since his return to his -uncle's house. - -"Oh, dear, dear, and what have I done to him?" she muttered -incessantly, biting her lips occasionally between her words as if in a -very ecstasy of desire for the pain he was causing her.... There came -moments, winged and clean like shining angels, to bring her comfort, -when she wildly fancied it was the very loveliest thing to endure great -pain for his sake. - -But the powers of her mind for any wild gladness were being gradually -annihilated by dark thoughts coming down to defeat her thoughts of -beauty. She turned from contemplation of the ceiling and began to -glance around the room in search of some distraction. In one corner -she saw an old novelette thrown aside in its gaudy covers. The reading -of rubbish was Mrs. McGoldrick's recreation when she was not sewing or -nursing the baby. - -She had called the girls after heroines of passionate love-stories, -just as her husband, the sergeant, had seen that the boys were called -after famous men in the world of the police. Thus the girls bore names -like Euphemia McGoldrick and Clementina McGoldrick, while the boys bore -names like John Ross McGoldrick and Neville Chamberlain McGoldrick. -The girls, although they were ugly and ill-mannered, had already been -invested with the golden lure of Romance, and the boys were already -policemen although they were still far distant from the age when they -could put on a belt or a baton. - -Rebecca began to snatch at paragraphs here and there through the story, -which was entitled _The Desecration of the Hearth_. There was one -passage which seemed to hold an unaccountable fascination as her eyes -lingered over it: - - - "_Then suddenly, and without a minute's warning, Lord Archibald - Molyneux dashed the poor, ruined girl from him, and soon she was - struggling for life in the swirling stream._ - - "_'Ah-a-ha!' he said once more, hissing out his every word - between his thin, cruel lips. 'That will may be put an end to - your scandalous allegations against a scion of the noble house of - Molyneux.'_ - - "_'Mercy! Pity! Oh, God! The Child!' she wailed piteously as she - felt herself being caught in the maelstrom of the current._ - - "_But Lord Archibald Molyneux merely twirled his dark, handsome - mustache with his white hands, after the fashion that was peculiar - to him, and waited until his unfortunate victim had disappeared - completely beneath the surface of the water._" - - -Rebecca's eyes had closed over the passage, and she was dozing now, -but only fitfully.... To occupy small instants would come the most -terrifying dreams in long waves of horror which would seem to take -great spaces of time for their final passage from her mind. Then there -would flow in a brief space of respite, but only as a prelude to the -dread recurrence of her dreams again. And all jumbled together, bits -of wild reality which were and were not parts of her experience would -cause her to start up ever and anon. - -There fell a knock upon the door, and a little girl came in with some -tea-things on a tray. She called: "Miss Kerr, your tea!" and when -Rebecca woke up with a terrible start it appeared as if she had not -slumbered at all. - -"Oh, is that yourself, Euphemia? I declare to goodness the dusk is -falling outside. I must have been sleeping." - -"Yes, miss!" - -"You are late in coming this evening?" - -"Well, wait till I tell you, miss. I went into the village for some -things for my mother, and what d'ye think but when I was coming home I -thought I saw a strange man just outside the ditch opposite the door, -and I was afraid for to pass, so I was." - -"A strange man! Is that a fact?" - -"Well, sure then I thought, miss, it might be Ulick Shannon, but I may -tell you I got the surprise of my life when I found it was only John -Brennan, and he standing there alone by himself looking up at your -window." - -Long before she had got through it, with many lisps and lapses, Rebecca -was wearied by the triteness of the little one's statement, so well -copied was it from the model of her mother's gossipy communication of -the simplest fact. - -But what could John Brennan be doing there so near her again? This was -the thought that held Rebecca as she went on with an attempt to take -her tea. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -John Brennan came down the valley. The trees by the roadside were -being shaken heavily by soft winds. Yet, for all the kindness of May -that lingered about it, there seemed to be some shadow hanging over -the evening. No look of peace or pity had struggled into the squinting -windows.... Would the valley ever again put on the smile it had worn -last summer? That time it had been so dearly magnified. At leaving it -there had been such a crush of feeling in his breast. - -He seemed to see it more clearly now. There was something that hurt him -in the thought of how he was preparing for a genteel kind of life while -his father remained a common sponger around the seven publichouses of -Garradrimna, asking people to stand him drinks for the love of God like -Anthony Shaughness. He could not forget that the valley had wrought -this destruction upon Ned Brennan, and that Ned Brennan was his father. - -This thought arose out of a definite cause. At the college in -Ballinamult he had made the acquaintance of Father George Considine, -who had already begun to exercise an influence over him. This priest -was a simple, holy man, who had devoted his life usefully, remaining -far away from the ways of pride. Although gombeen-men like Tommy -Williams had some influence with those who controlled the college, they -had no influence over him. He was in curious contrast to the system -which tied him to this place. It was impossible to think that his -ordination had represented a triumph to any one at all, yet he had been -far ahead of his contemporaries and while yet a young man had been made -principal of this college in Ballinamult. His name had gone out into -the world. The satisfaction that had been denied to Master Donnellan -was his. He had had a hand in the education of men whose names were -now notable in many a walk of life. And yet, to see him moving about -the grounds of the college in his faded coat with the frayed sleeves -and shiny collar, no man would think that his name, the name of "poor -Father Considine," was spoken with respect in distant places. - -But Mrs. Brennan did not approve of him. On the evening of John's first -day in Ballinamult, after she had made every other possible inquiry she -said: - -"And did you meet Father Considine?" - -"I did indeed, mother; a nice man!" - -"Ah, a quare ould oddity! Wouldn't you think now that he'd have a -little pride in himself and dress a bit better, and he such a very -learned man?" - -"Maybe that's just the reason why he's not proud. The saints were not -proud, mother; then why should he be?" - -She always gave a deaf ear to any word of this kind from John, for -her ideal was Father O'Keeffe, with his patent leather top-boots, -silver-mounted whip and silk hat, riding to hounds with the Cromwellian -descendants of the district.... Here was where Father Considine stood -out in sharp contrast, for he was in spiritual descent from those -priests who had died with the people in the Penal Days. It was men -like him who had carried down the grandeur of Faith and Idealism from -generation to generation. One felt that life was a small thing to him -beyond the chance it gave to make it beautiful. He had written a little -book of poems in honor of Mary, the Mother of God, and to feel that it -had brought some comfort to many a troubled one and to know that he had -been the means of shaping young men's lives towards useful ends was all -that this world meant to him. - -John Brennan knew very well that if he became a priest it was in the -steps of Father Considine he would follow rather than in those of -Father O'Keeffe. This he felt must mean the frustration of half his -mother's grand desire, but, inevitable, it must be so, for it was the -way his meditative mind would lead him. Thus was he troubled again. - -Father Considine had spoken to him of Father O'Keeffe: - -"A touch of the farmer about that man don't you think? But maybe a -worthy man for all that!" - -Then he had looked long into the young man's eyes and said: - -"Be humble, my son, be humble, so that great things may be done unto -you!" - -John had pondered these words as he cycled home that evening past the -rich fields. He began to think how his friend Ulick would have put all -his thoughts so clearly. How he would have spoken of the rank green -grass now rising high over County Meath as a growth that had sprung -from the graves of men's rotted souls; of all the hate and pride that -had come out of their hunger for the luscious land; of how Faith and -Love and Beauty had gone forever from this golden vale to the wild -places of his country, where there was a letting-in of wind and sun -and sea.... It was easy to connect Father O'Keeffe's pride with the -land. Remembrance of the man's appearance was sufficient. It was not so -easy in the case of his mother. But, of course, John had no knowledge -of how she had set her heart upon Henry Shannon's lovely farm in the -days gone by. - -Hitherto his thoughts of his future condition had been bound up with -consideration of his mother, but now there had come this realization -of his father. It was not without its sadness to think that his father -had been a stranger to him always and that he should now behold him -stumbling down to old age amid the degradation of Garradrimna. He felt -curiously desirous of doing something for him. But the heavy constraint -between them still existed as always. He was unequal to the task of -plucking up courage to speak to him. This evening, too, as he tried, -after his accustomed fashion, in a vacant moment to catch a glimpse of -his own future, he acutely felt the impossibility of seeing himself -as a monument of pride.... Always there would arise before his mind a -broken column in the middle of the valley. - -And he was lonely. He had not seen Ulick Shannon or Rebecca since he -had begun to cycle daily to Ballinamult. Often, in some of the vacant -stretches of thought which came to him as he hurried along, he pictured -the two of them meeting during some of those long, sweet evenings and -being kind to one another. Despite sudden flashes of a different regard -that would come sweeping his thoughts of all kinds, he loved these -two and was glad that they were fond of one another. It now seemed -surprising that he had ever thought so deeply of Rebecca Kerr, and -wished to meet her upon the road and look longingly into her eyes. All -this while going on to be a priest seemed far from him now that he had -begun to be influenced by Father Considine. - -He had to pass the house of Sergeant McGoldrick by the way he was -going, and it seemed an action altogether outside him that he had -gone into an adjacent field and gazed for quite a long time up at -her window.... He was all confusion when he noticed the child of the -McGoldricks observing him.... He drifted away, his cheeks hot and a -little sense of shame dimming his eyes.... He took to the road again -and at once saw Ulick Shannon coming towards him. The old, insinuating -smile which had so often been used upon his weak points, was spread -over the face of his friend. - -"And at last you have succeeded in coming to see her thus far?" - -The words seemed to fall out of Ulick's oblique smile. - -"She?" he said in surprise. - -"Oh, I thought it was that you had intentions of becoming my rival!" - -John laughed now, for this was the old Ulick come back again. He went -on laughing as if at a good joke, and the two students went together -down the road. - -"Don't let me delay you!" John said abruptly. - -"Oh, you're not preventing me in any way at all." - -"But Rebecca?" - -"Even the austerities of Ballinamult have not made you forget Rebecca?" - -"Hardly--I shouldn't like to think that I had been the cause of keeping -you from her even for a short while." - -There came between them now one of those long spells of silence which -seemed essential parts of their friendship. - -"You're in a queer mood this evening?" John said at last. - -"I suppose I am, and that there's no use in trying to hide it.... -D'ye know what it is, Brennan? We two seem to have changed a great -deal since last summer. _I_ simply can't look at things in the same -light-hearted way. I suppose I went too far, and that I must be paying -for it now. But there are just a few things I have done for which I am -sorry--I'm sorry about this affair with Rebecca Kerr." - -John was listening with quiet attention to the remarks which Ulick was -letting fall from him disjointedly. - -"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry that I should ever have come here to meet her, -for somehow it has brought me to this state of mind and not to any -happiness at all. I'm doubtful, too, if it has brought any happiness to -her." - -"That's strange," said John, "and I thought you two were very happy in -your friendship." - -"Happiness!" jerked out the other in a full, strong sneer. "That's -a funny word now, and a funny thing. Do you think that we deserve -happiness any more than those we see working around us in the valley? -Not at all! Rather less do we deserve. Just think of them giving their -blood and sweat so crudely in mortal combat with the fields! And what -does it avail them in the end? What do they get out of it but the -satisfaction of a few unkind thoughts and a few low lies? In the mean -living of their own lives they represent futile expeditions in quest -of joy. Yet what brings the greatest joy it is possible for them to -experience? Why, the fact that another's hope of happiness has been -finally desolated. If any great disaster should suddenly come upon one -or other of the three of us, upon you or me or Rebecca Kerr, they would -see more glory in the fulfilment of their spite than in the harvest -promise of their fields. And yet I here assert that these deserve to -be happy. They labor in the hard way it was ordained that man should -labor at Adam's fall, and they attend to their religion. They pray for -happiness, and this is the happiness that comes to them. Some must be -defeated and driven down from the hills of their dreams so that the -other ones, the deserving and the pious, may be given material for -their reward of joy. That, Brennan, is the only happiness that ever -descends upon the people of the valley. It may be said that they get -their reward in this life." - -Ulick was in one of those moods of eloquence which always came to him -after a visit to Garradrimna, and when a very torrent of words might -be expected to pour forth from him. John Brennan merely lifted his -eyebrows in mild surprise and said nothing as the other went on: - -"Happiness indeed. What have I ever done to deserve happiness? I have -not worked like a horse, I have not prayed?" - -"I was not thinking of any broad generalizations of happiness. I was -only thinking of happiness in your relation to Rebecca Kerr." - -Ulick now gave a sudden turn to the conversation: - -"Where were you wandering to the night?" he inquired of John Brennan. - -"Oh, nowhere in particular--just down the road." - -"Well, it seems strange that you should have come this way, past the -house of Sergeant McGoldrick." - -It appeared as if Ulick had glimpsed the tender spot upon which John -Brennan's thoughts were working and struck it with the sharp point of -his words. John did not reply, but it could be seen that his cheeks -were blushing even in the gloom that had come towards them down the -road. - -"I hope you will be very kind to her, John, when I am gone from here. -She's very nice, and this is the drear, lonely place for her to be. I -expect to be going away pretty soon." - -It seemed extraordinary that this thing should be happening now.... He -began to remember how he had longed for Rebecca last summer, and how -his poor yearning had been reduced to nothing by the favor with which -she looked upon his friend. And later how he had turned away out of the -full goodness of his own heart and returned again through power of a -fateful accident to his early purpose. And now how the good influence -of Father Considine had just come into his life to lead him finally -into the way for which he had been intended by his mother from the -beginning. - -He did not yet fully realize that this quiet and casual meeting which -had been effected because Ulick Shannon had accidentally come around -this way from Garradrimna represented the little moment which stood for -the turning-point of his life. But it had certainly moved into being -along definite lines of dramatic significance. - -Presently Ulick mounted a stile which gave upon a path leading up -through the fields of his uncle Myles and to the lonely house among the -trees. Then it was true that he was not seeing Rebecca to-night.... A -great gladness seemed to have rushed in upon John Brennan because he -had become aware of this thing. And further, Ulick Shannon was going -away from the valley and Rebecca remaining here to be lonely. But he, -who had once so dearly longed for her company, would be coming and -going from the valley daily, and summer was upon them again.... Ulick -must have bade him a "Good-night!" that he had not heard, for already -he could see him disappearing into the sea of white mist which would -seem to have rolled into the valley from the eternity of the silent -places.... He was left here now upon this lonely, quiet shore while his -mind had turned into a tumbling sea. - -When at last he roused himself and went into the kitchen he saw that -his mother had already settled herself to the task of reading a -religious paper to his father.... The elder man was sitting there so -woebegone by the few wet sods that were the fire. He was not very drunk -this evening, and the usual wild glint in his eyes was replaced by -the look of one who is having thoughts of final dissolution.... John -experienced a little shudder with the thought that he did not possess -any desire to speak to his father now. - -But his mother had broken in with a question: - -"Was that Ulick Shannon was with you outside just now?" - -"Yes, mother, it was." - -"He went home very early, didn't he?" - -"I suppose it is rather early for him to go home." - -"I think 'tis very seldom he bees with Rebecca Kerr now, whatever's the -reason, _whatever's the reason_." - -It was her repetition and emphasis of the final words which brought -about the outburst. - -Ned Brennan suddenly flamed up and snarled out: - -"Look ye here, Nan Byrne, that's no kind of talk to be giving out to -your grand, fine, educated young fellow of a son, and he be going on to -be a priest. That's the quare, suggestive kind of talk. But sure 'tis -very like you, Nan Byrne. 'Tis very like you!" - -Mrs. Brennan had just been on the point of beginning to read the -religious paper, and, with the thought of all her reading surging in -upon her in one crushing moment, she felt the cutting rebuff most -keenly and showed her confusion. She made no reply as John went up to -the room where his books were.... Long after, as he tried to recall -forgotten, peaceful thoughts, he could hear his father speaking out of -the heat of anger in the kitchen below. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -After she had failed to take her tea Rebecca walked the valley road -many times, passing and repassing their usual meeting place. But no -sign of Ulick did she find. She peered longingly into the sea of white -fog, but he did not come.... What in the world was happening to him at -all? Never before had he missed this night of the week.... She did not -care to return so early, for she feared that Mrs. McGoldrick might come -with that awful look of scrutiny she detested. Just to pass the time -she wandered down The Road of the Dead towards the lake. To-night it -seemed so lonely set there amid the sea of white. - -It was strange to think that this place could ever have had a fair look -about it or given pleasure to any person at all. Yet it was here that -John Brennan had loved to walk and dream. She wondered how it was with -him now. She began to think of the liking he had shown for her. Maybe -he fancied she did not know why he happened to meet her so often upon -the road. But well did she know--well. And to think that he had come to -look up at her window this evening. - -Yet even now she was fearful of acknowledging these things to herself. -It appeared as a double sacrilege. It was an attack upon her love for -Ulick and it questioned the noble intention of Mrs. Brennan in devoting -her son to God. But all chance that it might ever come to anything -was now over. The ending had been effected by herself in the parlor of -Tommy Williams, the gombeen-man, and Mrs. Brennan might never be able -to guess the hand she had had in it. It was a thing upon which she -might well pride herself if there grew in her the roots of pride. But -she was not of that sort. And now she was in no frame of delight at all -for the thought of him had united her unto the thought of Ulick, and -Ulick had not come to her this evening.... She felt herself growing -cold in the enveloping mist. The fir trees were like tall ghosts in -the surrounding gloom.... But immediately the lake had lost its aspect -of terror when she remembered what she had done might have averted the -possibility of having John Brennan ever again to wander lonely.... And -yes, in spite of any comforting thought, the place would continue to -fill her with a nameless dread. She was shivering and expectant. - -Suddenly a big pike made a splash among the reeds and Rebecca gave a -loud, wild cry. It rang all down the lonely aisle of the fir-trees and -united its sound with that of a lone bird crying on the other side of -the lake. Then it died upon the banks of mist up against the silent -hills. - -For a few moments its source seemed to flutter and bubble within her -breast, and then it ended in a long, sobbing question to herself--Why -had she cried out at all? She might have known it was only a fish or -some such harmless thing. And any one within reasonable distance could -have heard the cry and thought it was the signal of some terrible thing -that had happened here by the lakeside. It was not so far distant from -two roads, and who knew but some one had heard? Yet she could hardly -fancy herself behaving in this way if she had not possessed an idea -that it was a lonely place and seldom that any one went by in the -night-time. - -But she hurried away from the feeling of terror she had caused to -fill the place and back towards the house of Sergeant McGoldrick. As -quickly as possible she got to bed. Here seemed a little comfort. She -remembered how this had been her place of refuge as a child, how she -felt safe from all ghosts and goblins once her head was hidden beneath -the clothes. And the instinct had survived into womanhood. - -Again a series of those fitful, half sleeping and waking conditions -began to pass over her. Side by side with the most dreadful feelings of -impending doom came thronging memories of glad phases of life through -which she had passed.... And to think that this life of hers was now -narrowing towards this end. Were the valley and its people to behold -her final disaster? Was it to be that way with her? - -She had intended to tell Ulick if he had come to her this evening, -but he had not come, and what was she to do now? In the slough of -her torment she could not think of the right thing.... Maybe if she -wrote an angry letter upbraiding him.... But how could she write an -angry letter to him? Yet she must let him know, and immediately--when -the dawn had broken into the room she would write. For there was no -use in thinking of sleeping. She could not sleep. Yes, when the dawn -had broken into the room she would write surely. But not an angry -letter.... Very slowly she began to notice the corners of the room -appearing in the new light before her wide open eyes. And to feel that -this was the place she had so fiercely hated from the first moment -of setting foot in it, and that it was now about to see her write -the acknowledgment of her shame.... The dawn was a great while in -breaking.... If he did not--well then, what could her future life hope -to be? She began to grow strangely dizzy as she fell to thinking of it. -Dizzy and fearful as she drew near in mind to that very great abyss. - -The leaping-up of the day did not fill her with any of its gradual -delight.... She rose with a weariness numbing her limbs. The putting-on -of her few clothes was an immense task.... She went to the table upon -which she had written all those letters to her school-companions which -described that "there was nothing like a girlfriend." She pulled -towards her, with a small, trembling hand, the box of _Ancient Irish -Vellum_, upon which her special letters were always written. Her mind -had focussed itself to such small compass that this letter seemed more -important than any that had ever before been written in this world. - -But for a long time she could not begin. She did not know by what term -of endearment to address him now.... They had been so particularly -intimate.... And then it was so hard to describe her condition to -him in poor words of writing with pen and ink upon paper. If only -he had come to her last night it might have been a task of far less -difficulty. A few sobs, a gathering of her little troubled body unto -him, and a beseeching look up into his face.... But it was so hard to -put any single feeling into any separate sentence. - -After hours, during which the sun had been mounting high and bright, -she had the letter finished at last and was reading it over. Some -sentences like the following leaped out before her eyes here within -this sickly-looking room--Whatever was the matter with him that he -could not come to her? Surely he was not so blind, and he with his -medical knowledge. He must know what was the matter with her, and that -this was scarcely the time to be leaving her alone. His uncle, Myles -Shannon, was a very rich man, and did he not remember how often he had -told her how his uncle looked with favor upon her? Here she included -the very words in which Ulick had many a time described his uncle's -opinion of her--"I like that little schoolmistress, Rebecca Kerr!" "It -was all so grand, Ulick, our love and meetings; but here comes the -paying of the penalty, and surely you will not leave poor little me -to pay it in full. You have enjoyed me, have you not, Ulick?" She was -more immediately personal now, and this was exactly how the sentences -continued: "You know very well what this will mean to me. I'll have -to go away from here, and where, I ask you, can I go? Not back to my -father's house surely, nor to my aunt's little cottage in Donegal.... -I have no money. The poor salary I earn here is barely able to buy me -a little food and clothing and keep a roof over my head. Did I not -often tell you that when you were away from me there were times when -I could hardly afford the price of stamps? If it should happen that -this thing become public while I am yet here I could never get another -day's teaching, for Father O'Keeffe would warn every manager in Ireland -against engaging me. But surely, darling, you will not allow things to -go so far.... You will please come down to see me at 5.30 this evening. -You will find me at the old place upon The Road of the Dead. Don't you -remember that it was there we had our first talk, Ulick?" - -Great as the torture of writing it had been, the torture of reading -it was still greater. Some of the lines seemed to lash out and strike -her and to fill her eyes with tears, and there were some that seemed -so hard upon him that she struck them out, not wishing, as ever, -to hurt her dearest Ulick at all. At one moment she felt a curious -desire to tear it into pieces and let her fate come to her as it had -been ordained from the beginning.... But there was little Euphemia -McGoldrick knocking at the door to be allowed to enter with the -breakfast. Who would ever imagine that it was so late? - -She had written a great deal. Why it filled pages and pages. She -hurriedly thrust it into a large envelope that she had bought for the -purpose of sending a card of greeting to John Brennan at Christmas, -thinking better of it only at the last moment. It was useful now, for -the many sheets were bulky. - -"The breakfast, miss!" announced Euphemia as she left the room. - -This was the third meal in twenty-four hours that Rebecca could make -no attempt to take, but, to avert suspicion, she wrapped up the sliced -and buttered bread in a few leaves from the novelette from which she -had read those desperate passages on the previous evening. The tea she -threw out into the garden. It fell in a shining shower down over the -bright green vegetables.... She put on her dust-coat and, stuffing the -letter to Ulick into one pocket and her uneaten breakfast by way of a -luncheon she would not eat into the other, hurried out of doors and up -the road, for this morning she had important business in the village -before going on to the school. - -Mrs. McGoldrick was set near the foot of the stairs holding Euphemia -and Clementina by the hand, all three in action there to behold the -exit of Rebecca. This was a morning custom and something in the nature -of a rite. It was the last clout of torture always inflicted by Mrs. -McGoldrick. - -Rebecca went on into Garradrimna. The village street was deserted save -by Thomas James, who held solitary occupation. He was posting the -bills for a circus at the market square. She was excited as she went -over to speak to him and did not notice the eyes of the bespectacled -postmistress that were trained upon her from the office window with the -relentlessness of howitzers. She asked Thomas James would he take a -letter from her to Mr. Ulick Shannon. - -"Oh yes, miss; O Lord, yes!" - -She slipped the letter into his hand when she thought that no one was -looking. She had adopted this mode of caution in preference to sending -it through the Post Office. She was evidently anxious that it should be -delivered quickly and unread by any other person. - -"O Lord, yes, miss; just as soon as I have an auction bill posted after -this. You know, miss, that Mickeen Connellan, the auctioneer, is one of -my best patrons. He doesn't pay as well as the circus people, but he -pays oftener." - -That was in the nature of a very broad hint, but Rebecca had -anticipated it and had the shilling already prepared and ready to slip -into his other hand. - -"Thanks, miss!" - -With remarkable alacrity Thomas James had "downed tools" and -disappeared into Brannagan's. Rebecca could hear the swish of his pint -as she went by the door after having remained a few moments looking -at the lurid circus-bills. Inside, Mrs. Brannagan, the publican and -victualler's wife, took notice that he possessed the air of a man bent -upon business. - -"Ah, it's how I'm going to do a little message for the assistant -schoolmistress," he said, taking his matutinal pinch of salt, for this -was his first pint and one could never tell what might happen. - -"Is that so?" - -"Aye, indeed; a letter to young Shannon." - -"Well now? And why for wouldn't it do to send it by the post?" - -"Ah, mebbe that way wouldn't be grand enough for her. Mebbe it is what -it would be too chape--a penny, you know, for the stamp, and this -costs a shilling for the porter. Give us another volume of this, Mrs. -Brannagan, if you please? Ha-ha-ha!" He laughed loudly, but without any -mirth, at his own joke and the peculiar blend of subtlety by which he -had marked it. - -Mrs. Brannagan was all anxiety and excitement about the letter. - -"Well now, just imagine!" she said to herself about forty times as she -filled the second pint for Thomas James. Then she rose up from her bent -posture at the half barrel and, placing the drink before him on the -bar, said: - -"I wonder what would be in that letter. Let me see?" - -"Oh, 'tis only a letter in a big envelope. Aren't you the inquisitive -woman now, Mrs. Brannagan?" - -"What'll you have, Thomas?" - -"Ah, another pint, Mrs. Brannagan, thanks!" - -His second drink had been despatched with his own celebrated speed. - -Mrs. Brannagan was a notably hard woman, and he could not let the -opportunity of having her stand him a drink go by. She was the hardest -woman in Garradrimna. Her childlessness had made her so. She was -beginning to grow stale and withered, and anything in the nature of -love and marriage, with their possible results, was to her a constant -source of affliction and annoyance. - -Her heart was now bounding within her breast in curiosity. - -"Drink that quick, Thomas, and have another before the boss comes -down." But there was no need to command him. It had already -disappeared.... The fourth pint had found its way to his lips. He was -beginning to grow mellow now and to lose his cross-sickness of the -morning. - -"Will ye let me see the letter?" - -"Certainly, Mrs. Brannagan. O Lord, yes!" - -He handed it across the counter. - -"Such a quare letter? Oh, I hear the boss coming in across the yard." -... She had taken the empty glass from before Thomas James, and again -was it filled.... Her husband stood before her. And this was the moment -she had worked up to so well. - -"I'll hand it back to you when he goes out," she whispered. - -"All right, ma'am!" - -Thomas James and Mr. Brannagan fell into a chat while she went towards -the kitchen. She took the letter from her flat bosom, where she had -hastily thrust it and looked at it from every possible angle. It seemed -to possess a compelling attraction. But she could not open it here. -She would run across to her friend the postmistress, who had every -appliance for an operation of the kind. Besides she was the person -who had first right to open it.... Soon the bespectacled maid and the -barren woman were deep in examination of Rebecca Kerr's letter to Ulick -Shannon. Into their minds was beginning to leap a terrible joy as they -read the lines it had cost Rebecca immense torture to write. - -"This is great, this is great!" said the ancient postmistress, clicking -her tongue continually in satisfaction. "The cheek of her, mind you, -not to send it by the public post like another. But I knew well there -was something quare when I saw her calloguing with Thomas James at the -market square." - -"Wasn't she the sly, hateful, little thing. Why you'd never have -thought it of her?" - -"A grand person indeed to have in charge of little, innocent girls!" - -"Indeed I shouldn't like to have a child if I thought it was to a purty -thing like that she'd be sent to school!" - -"Nor me," said the old lady, from whom the promise of motherhood had -departed for many a long year. - -They shook in righteous anger and strong detestation of the sin of -Rebecca Kerr, and together they held council as to what might be the -best thing to do? They closed the letter, and Mrs. Brannagan again -stuck it into her bosom.... What should they do? The children must -be saved from contamination anyhow.... An approach to solution of -the difficulty immediately presented itself, for there was Mrs. Wyse -herself just passing down the street with her ass-load of children. -Mrs. Brannagan rushed out of the office and called: - -"Mrs. Wyse, I want to see you in private for just a minute!" - -The schoolmistress bent over the back of the trap, and they whispered -for several minutes. At last, out of her shocked condition, Mrs. Wyse -was driven to exclaim: - -"Well now, isn't that the limit?" - -It seemed an affront to her authority that another should have first -discovered it, so she was anxious to immediately recover her lost -position of superiority. - -"Sure I was having my suspicions of her since ever she come back from -the Christmas holidays, and even Monica McKeon too, although she's -a single girl and not supposed to know. It's a terrible case, Mrs. -Brannagan." - -"Terrible, Mrs. Wyse. One of the terriblest ever happened in the -valley.... And before the children and all." - -"God bless and save us! But we must only leave it in Father O'Keeffe's -hands. He'll know what is best to do, never fear. I'll send for him as -soon as I get to the school." - -There was a note of mournful resignation in her tones as she moved away -in the ass-trap with her children, like an old hen in the midst of her -brood.... There was a peculiar smirk of satisfaction about the lips -of Mrs. Brannagan as she returned to the shop, bent upon sending the -letter on its way once more. - -"Much good it'll do her now, the dirty little fool!" she said in the -happiness of some dumb feeling of vengeance against one who was merely -a woman like herself. But she was a woman who had never had a child. - -Thomas James was considerably drunk. He had spent the remainder of the -shilling upon porter, and Mr. Brannagan had stood him another pint. - -"Be sure and deliver it safely now, _for maybe it's important_!" said -Mrs. Brannagan, as she returned the letter. - -"It's a great letter anyhow. It's after getting me nine pints. That's -long over half-a-crown's worth of drink," he said, laughing foolishly -as he wandered out to do his errand. - -It was a hard journey across the rising meadows to the house of Myles -Shannon, where dwelt his nephew Ulick. Thomas James fell many times and -wallowed in the tall, green grass, and he fell as he went leaping high -hedges, and cut his hands and tore his red face with briars until it -was streaked with blood. He was, therefore, an altogether deplorable -figure when he at last presented himself at the house of Myles Shannon. -Mr. Shannon came to the door to meet him, and in his fuddled condition -he laughed to himself as he fished the letter out of his pocket. It was -covered red with blood where he had felt it with his torn hand from -time to time to see whether or not he still retained possession of it. - -"From Mr. Brannagan, I suppose," said Mr. Shannon, thinking it had been -written hurriedly by the victualler just fresh from the slaughterhouse -and that it was a request for prime beef or mutton from the rich -fields of Scarden. He opened it, for his nephew's name on the envelope -could not be seen through the blood-stains. He did not notice that it -began "My dearest Ulick" until he read down to the sentences that gave -him pause.... Thomas James was coughing insinuatingly beside him, so -he took half-a-crown from his pocket and handed it to the bedraggled -messenger. It was a tremendous reward, and the man of porter did not -fully perceive it until he had slipped out into the sunlight. - -"Be the Holy Farmer!" he stuttered, "another half-crown's worth of -drink, and I after drinking long more than that already. That was the -best letter I ever got to carry in me life. A few more like it and -I'd either get me death of drink or be a millionaire like John D. -Rockefeller or Andrew Carnegie!" - -Inside the parlor Myles Shannon was reading Rebecca Kerr's letter with -blanched face.... Here was a terrible thing; here had come to him this -great trouble for the second time. Something the like of this had -happened twenty-five or six years ago, when his brother had been in the -same case with Nan Byrne. Curious how it should be repeating itself -now! He pondered it for a few moments in its hereditary aspect. But -there was more in it than that. There was the trace of his own hand -determining it. He had encouraged his nephew with this girl. He had -directed him into many reckless ways just that he might bring sorrow to -the heart of Nan Byrne in the destruction of her son. It was a wicked -thing for him to have done. His own nephew--just to satisfy his desire -for revenge. And at the bottom of things he loved his nephew even as he -had loved his brother Henry. But he would try to save him the results, -the pains and penalties of his infatuation, even as he had tried -to save his brother Henry the results of his. But the girl and her -fate.... He would not be able to forget that until his dying day.... -For it was he who had done this thing entirely, done it in cold blood -too because he had heard that John Brennan had soft eyes for Rebecca -Kerr and that, to encourage his nephew and produce a certain rivalry, -might be the very best means of ruining the fair promise of Nan Byrne's -son. - -Only last night he had heard from Ulick that John Brennan had entered -the college at Ballinamult and that his prospects never looked so good -as at present.... To think of that now was to see how just it was that -his scheme should have so resulted, for it had been constructed upon a -very terrible plan. He had done it to avenge his defeated love for one -girl, and lo! it had brought another to her ruin. - -"Your uncle is a wealthy man." This sentence from the letter burned -before him, and he thought for a moment that here appeared the full -solution of the difficulty. But no. Of what use was that when the -dread thing was about to happen to her?... But for all that he would -send her money to-day or to-morrow, in some quiet way, and tell her -the truth and beseech her to go away before the final disgrace of -discovery fell upon her. His nephew must not know. He was too young -to marry now, least of all, a compulsory marriage after this fashion -to a schoolmistress. It was an ascent in the social standing of the -girl surely, for his brother Henry had disgraced himself with a mere -dressmaker. But any connection beyond the regrettable and painful -mistake of the whole thing was out of the question because, for long -years, the Shannons had been almost gentlemen in the valley. - -Ulick came into the room now. - -"Anything strange, uncle?" - -"Oh, nothing at all, only a letter from Mr. Brannagan about--about the -sheep. I suppose you're not going anywhere to-day. Please don't, for -I want you to give me a hand with the lambs after the shearing. And -to-night I'll want you to help me with some letters and accounts that -I've let slip for ever so long. I want you particularly." - -"All right, uncle!" - -How tractable and obliging his nephew had become ...! Last summer he -would not do a thing like this for any amount of coaxing. He would have -business in the valley at all times. But there was a far Power that -adjusted matters beyond the plans of men. Ulick had drifted out of the -room and Mr. Shannon again took the letter from his pocket. The sight -of the blood upon it still further helped the color of his thoughts -towards terror.... He crossed hurriedly to the bureau and slipped it -beneath the elastic band which held his letters from Helena Cooper, and -Mrs. Brennan's letter to her, and Mrs. Brennan's letter to his dead -brother Henry.... It seemed to belong there by right of the sad quality -which is the distinction of all shattered dreams.... And, just imagine, -he had considered his a wonderful scheme of revenge! But now it seemed -a poor and a mean thing. He could hardly think of it as a part of the -once proud, easy-going Myles Shannon, but rather the bitter and ugly -result of some devilish prompting that had come to him here in the lone -stretches of his life in this quiet house among the trees. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -More than ever on this morning was Rebecca aware that the keen eye -of Mrs. Wyse was upon her as she moved about the schoolroom. One of -the bigger girls was despatched to the other school for Monica McKeon -and Master Donnellan's assistant came in to Mrs. Wyse. She nodded the -customary greeting to Rebecca as she passed in. This interview was -unusual at such an early hour of the day. But it was never the custom -of either of them to tell her of what they were talking. As she busied -herself teaching the very smallest of the children she felt that the -eyes of both women were upon her. - -After what appeared to be a very long time Monica passed out. On this -second occasion she looked loftily across her glasses and gave no nod -of acknowledgment to Rebecca. Rebecca blushed at this open affront. She -felt that Mrs. Wyse must have something against her, something she had -told Monica just now.... And now the principal was exceedingly busy -with her pen as if writing a hurried note.... Rebecca heard the high, -coarse voice raised in command: - -"Euphemia McGoldrick, I want you!" - -Then came the timid "Yes, ma'am!" of Euphemia. - -"Here are two letters, child. Take this one to Father O'Keeffe, your -parish priest, and this to your mother, like a good child." - -"Yes'm!" - -Some fear of unknown things began to stir in the breast of Rebecca. -This connection of Mrs. McGoldrick with Mrs. Wyse's occupation of the -morning seemed to announce some dragging of her into the matter. But as -yet, although her mind moved tremulously in its excitement, she had, -curiously enough, no suspicion of what was about to happen. It could -not be that Mrs. Wyse had suspected. Oh, not at all. There was still -no danger. But it might be a near thing.... Already she had begun to -wonder would Ulick come to-night. But of course he would come. He was -not such a bad fellow. And he might be taken up with his own condition -just now. He had missed his examination in Dublin: missed it, maybe, -through his foolishness in coming to see her.... But already she had -thoroughly blamed herself for this.... To ease the pain of her mind -she went busily about her work. She knew that the eye of Mrs. Wyse was -upon her and that the very best way of defeating it was by putting on -this air of industry. The day, in its half-hour divisions, was passing -rapidly towards noon. - -A little girl came quickly in to say that Father O'Keeffe was coming up -the road. Rebecca glanced out of the window and, sure enough, there he -was upon his big, fat, white horse coming into the yard. She heard his -loud cries calling into the Boys' School "for a chap to come out and -hold his horse." When the boy came to do his bidding he held forth at -great length upon the best way of leading "King Billy" around the yard. - -Then the reverend manager of Tullahanogue Schools moved into the -female portion of the establishment. At the door he twisted his round -face into an aspect of severity which was still humorous in its alien -incongruity. Here also he removed his hat from his head, which was -white and bald like the apex of an egg above the red curve of his -countenance. It was his custom to visit the schools of which he was -manager, thus precociously to make up in some way for what he lacked in -educational knowledge and enthusiasm. As his short, squat figure moved -up the passage by the desks, the massive head bowed low upon the broad -chest and the fat fingers of both hands coiled behind his back, he was -not at all unlike an actor made up as Napoleon Bonaparte. His voice was -disciplined in the accents of militarism and dictatorship. - -Rebecca noticed on the instant that to-day he was as one intensified. -He began to slap his legs continuously with his silver-mounted riding -whip. He did not speak to her as he passed in. But, although it caused -her heart to flutter for a moment, this appeared to her as no unusual -occurrence. He never took notice of her unless when she called at the -vestry after Mass upon occasion to deliver up a slice of her salary in -Dues and Offerings. Then the Napoleonic powerfulness disappeared and -he fell to talking, with laughter in his words, about the richness of -Royal Meath in comparison with the wild barrenness of Donegal. - -He moved up to where Mrs. Wyse was at work. Rebecca could distinctly -hear the loud "Well, what's your best news?" with which he -always prefaced his conversations. In low whispers they began to -communicate.... It was not till now that she began to have immense -doubts as to the purpose of his visit, and already she was trembling in -presence of the little children. - -"An example of her, Father!" - -"Oh yes, an example of her. Nothing less, Mrs. Wyse!" - -The words came down to Rebecca clearly through the deep silence that -had fallen upon the school since the entrance of Father O'Keeffe. The -bigger girls were listening, listening in a great hush of patience for -all that had to be reported when they went home. Each one was preparing -for her respective examination-- - -"Was there any one in the school to-day?" - -"Yes, mother!" - -"Who, the inspector?" - -"No, the Priest!" - -"Father O'Keeffe?" - -"Well, anything else?" - -"He was talking to Mrs. Wyse." - -"And what was he saying?" - -"I couldn't hear, mother, so I couldn't." - -"And why didn't you listen? What am I slaving myself to send you to -school for?" - -And so they were listening with such eagerness now. They were looking -down at Rebecca as if she were the object of the whole discussion. Her -thoughts were beginning to well into a swirling unconsciousness.... -Great sounds, like those of roaring cataracts and the drumming of -mighty armies were rolling up to her ears. - -Father O'Keeffe and Mrs. Wyse now came down the schoolroom together. -As they passed Rebecca, Father O'Keeffe beckoned to her with his -riding-whip in the way one might call to a very inferior hireling. -Shaken by unique and powerful impulses, she went out into the -hall-way to meet her superiors.... Instantaneously she knew what had -happened--they knew. - -"Well, isn't this a nice thing?" began Father O'Keeffe. - -"Ye might say it's a nice thing, Father!" echoed Mrs. Wyse. - -"An enormous thing!" - -"A terrible thing! Father!" - -"You're a nice lady!" he said, addressing Rebecca angrily. "To come -into a parish where there is none save decent people to leave a black -disgrace upon it and you going away!" - -"Was ever the like known, Father? And just imagine her keeping it so -secret. Why we thought there was nothing in this affair with Ulick -Shannon. There was such an amount of cuteness in the way they used to -meet at times and in places we never knew of. In the woods, I suppose!" - -Father O'Keeffe was addressing her directly again. - -"Why, when I think of the disgrace to this school and all that, it -drives me near mad." - -"And, mind you, the shocking insult it is to me and to the little -children." - -"The shocking insult to you and to the little children. True for you, -Mrs. Wyse." - -"And when I think of how you have contrived to besmirch the fair name -of one of the fine, respectable families of the parish, gentlemen, as -you might say, without one blot upon their escutcheon." - -"People as high up as the Houlihans of Clonabroney." - -"People as high up as the Houlihans of Clonabroney, Mrs. Wyse." - -His eye was upon Rebecca with a sudden gleam. - -"When I think of that, I consider it an enormous offense...." She did -not flinch before them. She was thinking only of the way in which they -had come to hear it.... She was concerned now that Ulick should not -suffer, that his grand family name should not be dragged down with -hers.... If he had not come to her she would have slipped away without -a word.... And now to think that it had become public. The previous -burning of her mind had been nothing to this.... But Father O'Keeffe -was still speaking: - -"Listen to me, girl! You are to go from hence, but not, as you may -imagine, to the place from whence you came. For this very evening I -intend to warn your pastor of your lapse from virtue while in our -midst, so that you may not return to your father's house and have no -more hope of teaching in any National school within the four seas of -Ireland." - -"That is only right and proper, Father!" put in Mrs. Wyse. - -Rebecca was not listening or else she might have shuddered within the -shadow of the torture his words held for her. In these moments she -had soared far beyond them.... Through the high mood in which she -was accepting her tragedy she was becoming exalted.... What glorious -moments there would be, what divine compensation in whispering of the -torture surrounding its beginning to the little child when it came? - -"So now, Rebecca Kerr, I command you to go forth from this school and -from the little children that you corrupt towards your own abomination -by further presence among them." - -As he moved angrily out of the school she moved quietly, and without -speaking a word, to take her coat and hat down from the rack. - -"Oh, wait!" commanded Mrs. Wyse, "you must not leave until three, -until you have made an example of yourself here in a way that all the -children may bring home the story. God knows it will be the hard thing -for them to be telling their mothers when they go home. The poor little -things!" - -Rebecca stood there desolately alone in the hall-way through the -remainder of the afternoon. In one aspect she appeared as a bold child -being thus corrected by a harsh superior. On many more occasions than -appeared absolutely necessary Monica McKeon passed and repassed her -there as she stood so lonely. The assistant of the Boys' School was -a model of disdain as, with her lip curled, she looked away out over -her glasses. And ever and anon Mrs. Wyse passed in and out, muttering -mournfully to herself: - -"The cheek of that now, before the children and all!" - -And the elder girls moved about her in a procession of sneering. They -knew, and they were examining her for the purpose of giving full -accounts when they went home. - -But, occasionally, some of the little ones would come and gaze up into -her eyes with wild looks. Although they did not know why, they seemed -to possess for her an immense, mute pity. - -"Poor Miss Kerr!" they would say, stroking her dress, but their big -sisters would come and whisk them away. - -"Don't touch her. She's dirty----" Then Monica would pass again. At -last she heard the merciful stroke of three. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -When John Brennan went to his room after his father's outburst it was -with the intention of doing some preparation for the morrow's work at -the college; but although he opened several books in turn, he could -feel no quickening of knowledge in his mind.... There she was again -continually recurring to his thoughts. And now she was far grander. -This was the fear that had always been hidden in his heart,--that -somehow her friendship with Ulick was not a thing that should have -happened. But he had considered it a reality he could not attempt to -question. Yet he knew that but for Ulick she must be very near to him. -And Ulick had admitted his unworthiness, and so the separation was at -an end. - -It was surprising that this should have happened now. His mind sprang -back to all that tenderness with which his thoughts of her had been -surrounded through these long days of dreaming, when he had contrived -to meet her, as if by accident, on her way from school. - -All through the next day his heart was upon her; the thought of her -would give peace. Into every vacant moment she would come with the full -light of her presence. He had suddenly relapsed into the mood that had -imprisoned him after the summer holidays. He stood aloof from Father -Considine and did not wish to see him through the whole of his long day -in the college at Ballinamult.... All the way home he pictured her. -She was luring him now as she had always lured him--towards a fairer -vision of the valley. - -He noticed how the summer was again flooding over the fields like a -great river spilling wide. It was a glorious coincidence that she -should be returning to him now, a creature of brightness at a time of -beauty. - -The road seemed short this pleasant afternoon, and the customary -feeling of dusty weariness was not upon him as he leapt lightly off -the bicycle at his mother's door. Mrs. Brennan came out to meet him -eagerly. This was no unusual occurrence now that he had again begun to -ascend the ladder of the high condition she had planned for him. She -was even a far prouder woman now, for, somehow, she had always half -remembered the stain of charity hanging over his uprise in England. -Besides this he was nearer to her, moving intimately through the -valley, a living part of her justification.... Her fading eyes now -looked out tenderly at her son. There seemed to be a great light in -them this afternoon, a great light of love for him.... He was moved -beneath their gaze. And still she continued to smile upon him in a -weak way as within the grip of some strong excitement. He saw when he -entered that his dinner was not set out as usual on the white table in -the kitchen.... She brought him into the sewing-room. And still she -had the same smile trembling upon her lips and the same light in her -eyes.... All this was growing mysterious and oppressive. But his mood -was proof against sad influences. It must be some tale of good fortune -come to their house of which his mother had now to tell. - -"D'ye know what, John? The greatest thing ever is after happening!" - -"Is that a fact, mother?" - -"Though mebbe 'tis not right for me to tell you and you all as one as a -priest, I may say. But sure you're bound to hear it, and mebbe a little -knowledge of the kind might not be amiss even to one in your exalted -station. And then to make it better, it concerns two very near friends -of yours, Mr. Ulick Shannon and Miss Rebecca Kerr, I thank you!" - -John Brennan's mind leaped immediately to interest. Were they gone back -to one another, and after what he had thought to-day? This was the -question his lips carried inwardly to himself. - -"I don't know how I can tell you. But Father O'Keeffe was at school -to-day in a great whet. He made a show of her before the children, Mrs. -Wyse and Miss McKeon, of course, giving him good help. He dismissed -her, and told her to go about her business. He'll mebbe speak of her -publicly from the altar on Sunday." - -"And what is it, mother, what--?" - -"Oh, she's going to have a misfortune, me son. She's going to be a -mother, God bless us all! and not married or a ha'porth!" - -"O God!" - -"But sure she put in for nothing else, with her going up and all that -to Dublin to have her dresses made, instead of getting them done nice -and quiet and modest and respectable be me. I may tell you that I was -more than delighted to hear it." - -"Well now, and the--" - -John was biting his lips in passion, but she took another view of it as -she interrupted him. - -"Ah, you may well ask who _he_ is, who but that scoundrel Ulick -Shannon, that I was never done asking you not to speak to. You were -young and innocent, of course, and could not be expected to know what I -know. But mebbe you'll avoid him now, although I think he won't be long -here, for mebbe Father O'Keeffe'll run him out of the parish. Maybe -not though, for his uncle has bags of money. Indeed I wouldn't put it -apast him if _he_ was the lad encouraged him to this, for the Shannons -were always blackguards in their hearts.... But it'll be great to hear -Father O'Keeffe on Sunday. I must be sure and go to his Mass. Oh, it'll -be great to hear him!" - -"Yes, I suppose it will be great to hear him." - -John spoke out of the gathering bitterness of his heart. - -"I wonder what'll become of her now. I wonder where'll she go. Oh, to -Dublin, I suppose. She was always fond of it." - -His mother was in a very ecstasy of conjecture as to the probable -extent of Rebecca's fate. And this was the woman who had always -expressed a melting tenderness in her actions towards him. This was his -mother who had spoken now with all uncharitableness. There was such -an absence of human pity in her words as most truly appalled him.... -Very quickly he saw too that it was upon his own slight connection with -this tragic thing her mind was dwelling. This was to him now a token, -not of love, but rather of enormous selfishness.... Her eyes were upon -him still, watering in admiration with a weak gleam.... The four walls -seemed to be moving in to crush him after the manner of some medieval -torture chamber.... Within them, too, was beginning to rise a horrid -stench as of dead human things.... This ghastliness that had sprung -up between mother and son seemed to have momentarily blotted out the -consciousness of both. They stared at one another now with glassy, -unseeing eyes. - -After three Rebecca took her lonely way from the school. Neither Mrs. -Wyse nor Monica McKeon had a word for her at parting. Neither this -woman, who was many times a mother, nor this girl who might yet be a -mother many times. They were grinning loudly and passing some sneer -between them, as they moved away from one another alone. - -Down the valley road she went, the sunlight dazzling her tired eyes. -A thought of something that had happened upon this day last year came -with her remembrance of the date. It was the first anniversary of some -slight, glad event that had brought her happiness, and yet what a day -it was of dire happening? Just one short year ago she had not known the -valley or Ulick or this fearful thing.... There were friends about her -on this day last year and the sound of laughter, and she had not been -so far distant from her father's house. And, O God! to think that now -she was so much alone. - -Suddenly she became aware that there was some one running by her side -and calling "Miss Kerr! Miss Kerr!" - -"Oh, Janet Comaskey!" she said, turning. "Is it you?" - -"Yes, Miss Kerr. I want to tell you that I was talking to God last -night, and I was telling Him about you. He asked me did I like you, and -I said I did. 'And so do I,' said He. 'I like Miss Kerr very much,' He -said, 'for she's very nice, very, very nice.'" - -Rebecca had never disliked this queer child, but she loved her now, and -bending down, warmly kissed her wild face. - -"Thanks, miss. I only wanted to tell you about God," said Janet, -dropping behind. - -Rebecca was again alone, but now she was within sight of the house of -Sergeant McGoldrick. It seemed to be dozing there in the sunlight. She -began to question herself did those within already know ...? Now that -the full publicity of her condition seemed imminent an extraordinary -feeling of vanity was beginning to take possession of her. She took off -her dust-coat and hung it upon her arm. Thus uncloaked she would face -the eyes of Mrs. McGoldrick and her daughters, Euphemia and Clementina, -and the eyes, very probably, of John Ross McGoldrick and Neville -Chamberlain McGoldrick.... - -But when she entered the house she experienced the painful stillness of -a tomb-like place. There was no one to be seen. She went upstairs with -a kind of faltering in her limbs, but her head was erect and her fine -eyes were flashing.... Even still was she soaring beyond and beyond -them. Her eye was caught by a note pinned upon her door. It seemed very -funny and, despite her present condition of confusion and worry, she -smiled, for this was surely a melodramatic trick that Mrs. McGoldrick -had acquired from the character of her reading.... Still smiling, she -tore it open. It read like a proclamation, and was couched in the very -best handwriting of Sergeant McGoldrick. - - - "Miss Kerr, - - Rev. Louis O'Keeffe, P.P., Garradrimna, has given notice that, - on account of certain deplorable circumstances, we are to refuse - you permission to lodge with us any longer. This we hasten to - do without any regret, considering that, to oblige you at the - instigation of Father O'Keeffe, we broke the Regulation of the - Force, which forbids the keeping of lodgers by any member of that - body. We hereby give you notice to be out of this house by 6 p.m. - on this evening, May --, 19--, having, it is understood, by that - time packed up your belongings and discharged your liabilities to - Mrs. McGoldrick. Father O'Keeffe has, very magnanimously, arranged - that Mr. Charles Clarke is to call for you with his motor and take - you with all possible speed to the station at Kilaconnaghan. - - Sylvester McGoldrick (Sergeant, R.I.C.)." - - -The official look of the pronouncement seemed only to increase -its gloomy finality, but the word "magnanimously," fresh from the -dictionary at the Barrack, made her laugh outright. The offense she had -committed was unnamed, too terrible for words. She was being sentenced -like a doomed Easter rebel.... Yet, even still, she was not without -some thought of the practical aspect of her case. She owed thirty -shillings to Mrs. McGoldrick. This would leave her very little, out of -the few pounds she had saved from her last instalment of salary, with -which to face the world. This, of course, if Ulick did not come.... -And here was her dinner, set untidily in the stuffy room where the -window had not been opened since the time she had left it this morning -in confusion. And the whole house was quiet as the grave. She never -remembered to have heard it so quiet at any other time. It seemed as -if all this silence had been designed with a studied calculation of -the pain it would cause. There was no kindness in this woman either, -although she too was a mother and had young daughters. It appeared so -greatly uncharitable that in these last terrible moments she could -not cast from her the small and pitiful enmity she had begun upon the -evening of Rebecca's arrival in the valley. She would not come even -now and help her pack up her things, and she so weary?... But it was -easily done. The few articles that had augmented her wardrobe since -her coming to the valley would go into the basket she had used to -carry those which were barely necessary for her comfort when she went -to that lonely cottage in Donegal.... The mean room was still bare as -when she had first come to it. She had not attempted to decorate it. In -a pile in one corner stood the full series of _Irish School Weeklies_ -and _Weldon's Ladies' Journals_ she had purchased since her coming -here. She had little use for either of these publications now, little -use for the one that related to education or the other that related to -adornment. - -There came a feverish haste upon her to get done with her preparations -for departure, and soon they were completed. She had her trunk corded -and all ready. She had no doubt that Ulick would meet her upon The -Road of the Dead at 5.30, the hour she had named in the letter of this -morning. It was lucky she had so accurately guessed her possible time -of departure, although somehow she had had no notion this morning of -leaving so soon. But already it was more than 4.30 by her little -wristlet watch. She put on her best dress, which had been left out on -the bed, and redid her hair. It was still the certain salvage from the -wreck she was becoming. Ulick or any other man, for all he had ruined -her, must still love her for that hair of gold. It needed no crown at -all, but a woman's vanity was still hers, and she put on a pretty hat -which Ulick had fancied in Dublin. She had worn it for the first time -last summer in Donegal, and it became her better than any hat she had -ever worn.... What would they say if they saw her moving about in this -guise, so brazenly as it seemed, when she might be spoken of from the -altar on Sunday? - -Now fell upon her a melancholy desire to see the chapel. There was yet -time to go there and pray just as she had thought of praying on her -first evening on coming to Garradrimna. She took a final glance at the -little, mean room. It had not been a room of mirth for her, and she -was not sorry to leave it--there was the corded trunk to tell the tale -of its inhospitality. She took the money for Mrs. McGoldrick from her -purse and put it into an envelope.... Going downstairs she left it upon -the kitchen table. There was no one to be seen, but she could hear the -scurrying of small feet from her as if she were some monstrous and -forbidden thing. - -As she went up the bright road there was a flickering consciousness -in her breast that she was an offense against the sunlight, but this -feeling fled away from her when she went into the chapel and knelt down -to pray. Her mind was full of her purpose, and she did not experience -the distraction of one single, selfish thought. But when she put her -hands up to her face in an attitude of piety she felt that her face was -burning. - -It was a day for confessions, but there were few people in the chapel, -and those not approaching the confessionals. The two young curates, -Father Forde and Father Fagan, were moving about the quiet aisles, -each deeply intent upon the reading of his office. They were nearer -the altar than to her, but for all the air of piety in which they -seemed to be enveloped, they detected her presence immediately and -simultaneously. Soon they began to extend their back and forward pacing -to include her within the range of their sidelong vision.... By the -time she had got half way around her little mother-of-pearl rosary -they were moving past her and towards one another at her back. She was -saying her poor prayers as well as she could, but there they were with -their heads working up and down as they looked alternately at her and -at their holy books.... Just as she got to the end of the last decade -she was conscious that they had come together and were whispering -behind her.... It was not until then that she saw the chapel for what -it stood in regard to her. It was the place where, on Sunday next, mean -people would smirk in satisfaction as they sat listening in all their -lack of charity and fulness of pride.... The realization brought the -pulsing surge of anger to her blood and she rose to come away. But when -she turned around abruptly there were the two curates with their eyes -still fixed upon her.... She did not meet their looks full straight, -for they turned away as if to avoid the contamination of her as she ran -from the House of God. - -When John Brennan reached a point in his disgust where further -endurance was impossible he broke away from the house and from his -mother. He went out wildly through the green fields. - -But he would see her. He would go to her, for surely she had need of -him now.... If Ulick did not come.... And there was much in his manner -and conversation of the previous night to make it doubtful.... If he -did not take her away from this place and make her his own to protect -and cherish, there was only one course left open.... He knew little of -these things, for he knew little of the ways of life, but instinctively -he felt that Rebecca would now cling to Ulick and that Ulick would be a -great scoundrel if he spurned her from him. And what, he asked himself, -would he, John Brennan, do in that case? - -No answer would spring directly to his thoughts, but some ancient, -primeval feeling was stirring in his heart--the answer that men have -held to be the only answer from the beginning of the world. But that -was a dreadful thing which, in its eddying circles of horror, might -compass his own end also. - -But, maybe the whole story was untrue. He had heard his mother speak -many a time after the same fashion, and there was never one case of the -kind but had proved untrue. Yet it was terrible that no answer would -come flashing out from his wild thoughts, and already he had reached -The Road of the Dead. - -His wandering eyes had at last begun to rest upon a wide, green field. -He saw the wind and sun conspiring to ripple the grass into the -loveliest little waves. He had loved this always, and even the present -state of his mind did not refuse the sensation of its beauty. He went -and leaned across the field gate to gaze upon it. - -He turned suddenly, for there was a step approaching him along the -road. Yes, surely it was she. It was Rebecca Kerr herself coming -towards him down The Road of the Dead.... She was smiling, but from the -dark, red shadows about her eyes it was easy to see that she had quite -recently been crying. - -"Good evening, John Brennan!" she said. - -"Good evening, Miss Kerr!" - -There was a deep touch of concern, turning to anxiety, almost a rich -tenderness in his words. She heard them for what they were, and there -came to her clearly their accents of pity.... For the moment neither -seemed capable of finding speech.... Her eyes were searching The Road -of the Dead for the man she expected to meet her here. But he was not -coming. In the silence that had fallen between them John Brennan had -clearly glimpsed the dumb longing that was upon her.... He felt the -final gloom that was moving in around her ... yet he could not find -speech. - -"I'm going away from the valley," said Rebecca. - -He made some noise in his throat, but she could hear no distinct word. - -"It was not _you_ I expected to meet here this evening. It is so -strange how we have met like this." - -"I just came out for a walk," he stammered, at a loss for something -better to say. - -"I'm glad we have met," she said, "for this is the last time." - -It was easy to see that her words held much meaning for herself and -him.... He seemed to be nearer the brink as her eyes turned from him -again to search the road. - -"He will not come," she said, and there was a kind of wretched -recklessness in her tones. "I know he will not come, for that -possibility has never been." She grew more resigned of a sudden. She -saw that John Brennan too was searching the road with his eyes.... Then -he knew the reason why she was going away. - -He was such a nice boy, and between his anxious watching now for her -sake he was gazing with pity into her eyes.... He must know Ulick too -as a man knows his friend, and that Ulick would not come to her in this -her hour of trial.... The knowledge seemed the more terrible since it -was through John Brennan it had come; and yet it was less terrible -since he did not disdain her for what she had done. She saw through his -excuse. He had come this way with the special purpose of seeing her, -and if he had not met her thus accidentally he must inevitably have -called at the house of Sergeant McGoldrick to extend his farewell. She -was glad that she had saved him this indignity by coming out to her -own disappointment.... She was sorry that he had again returned to his -accustomed way of thinking of her, that he had again departed from the -way into which she had attempted to direct him. - -And now there loomed up for her great terror in this thought. Yet she -could read it very clearly in the way he was looking so friendly upon -her.... Why had he always looked upon her in this way? Surely she had -never desired it. She had never desired him. It was Ulick she had -longed for always. It was Ulick she had longed for this evening, and -it was John Brennan who had come.... Yes, how well he had come? It was -very simple and very beautiful, this action of his, but in its simple -goodness there was a fair promise of its high desolation. It appeared -that she stood for his ruin also, and, even now, in the mounting -moments of her fear, this appeared as an ending far more appalling.... -She was coming to look at her own fate as a thing she might be able to -bear, but there was something so vastly filled with torture in this -thought.... Whenever she would look into the eyes of the child and make -plans for its little future she would think of John Brennan and what -had happened to him. - -She felt that they had been a long time standing here at this gate, by -turns gazing anxiously up and down the road, by turns looking vacantly -out over the sea of grass. Time was of more account than ever before, -for was it not upon this very evening that she was being banished from -the valley? - -"I must go now," she said; "_he_ will never come." - -He did not answer, but moved as if to accompany her.... She grew -annoyed as she observed his action. - -"No, no, you must not come with me now. You must not speak with me -again. I have placed myself forever beyond your friendship or your -thought!" - -As she extended her hand to him her heart was moved by a thousand -impulses. - -"Good-by, John Brennan!" she said simply. - -"Good-by, Rebecca!" said he at last, finding speech by a tremendous -effort.... And without another word they parted there on The Road of -the Dead. - -Outside the garden gate of Sergeant McGoldrick Charlie Clarke was -waiting for her with his motor-car. Her trunk had been put in at the -back. This was an unholy job for a saintly chauffeur, but it was Father -O'Keeffe's command and his will must be done. When the news of it had -been communicated to him he had said a memorable thing: - -"Well, now, the quare jobs a religious man has sometimes to do; but -maybe these little punishments are by way of satisfaction for some -forgotten and far-distant sin!" - -Rebecca understood his anxiety to have her off his hands as she saw him -jump in behind the wheel at her approach. She got in beside her poor -trunk, and presently the car would be ready to start. There was not -a trace of any of the McGoldrick family to be seen.... But there was -a sudden breaking through the green hedge upon the other side of the -road, and Janet Comaskey stood beside the car. Rebecca was surprised by -the sudden appearance of the little, mad girl at this moment. - -"Miss Kerr, Miss Kerr!" she called. "I got this from God. God told me -to give you this!" - -The car started away, and Rebecca saw that the superscription on the -letter she had been handed was in the pronounced Vere Foster style of -Master Donnellan. Doubtless it was some long-winded message of farewell -from the kind-hearted master, and she would not open it now. It would -be something to read as she moved away towards Dublin. - -Just now her eyes were being filled by the receding pageant of the -valley, that place of all earth's places which had so powerfully -arrayed its villainy against her.... And to think that he had not -come.... It was the Valley of Hinnom.... Yes, to think that he had not -come after all she had been to him, after all the love of her heart -she had given him. No word could ever, ever pass between them again. -They were upon the very brink of the eternity of separation. She knew -now that for all the glory in which she had once beheld him, he must -shrivel down to the bitter compass of a little, painful memory. Oh, -God! to think he had not replied to her letter, and the writing of it -had given her such pain. - -They were at the station of Kilaconnaghan. Charlie Clarke had not -spoken all through the journey, but now he came up to her indignantly, -as if very vexed for being compelled to speak to her at all, and said: -"The fare is one pound!" - -The words smote her with a little sense of shock. She had been -expecting something by way of climax. She was very certain in her -consciousness that the valley would not let her slip thus quietly -away.--A pound for the journey, although it was Father O'Keeffe who -had engaged the car.--She must pay this religious robber a huge price -for the drive. There rushed through her mind momentarily a mad flash -of rebellion. The valley was carrying its tyranny a little too far.... -She would not pay.... But almost immediately she was searching for a -note in her purse.... There were so very few of them now. Yet she could -not leave the valley with any further little stain upon her. They would -talk of a thing like this for years and years. - - -With a deadly silence hanging over him and fearful thoughts coming into -his mind Myles Shannon had kept himself and his nephew Ulick at work -all through the day. After tea in the lonely dining-room he fetched -in his inky account books, which had been neglected for many a month. -His nephew would here have work to occupy him for the remainder of the -evening and probably far into the night. Ulick was glad of the task, -for his mind was very far from being at ease. - -Then Mr. Shannon took £100 from the old-fashioned bureau in the parlor, -which held, with the other things, all his papers and accounts, -and while the evening was yet high went down towards the house of -Sergeant McGoldrick to see Rebecca Kerr. Around a bend of the road he -encountered Charlie Clarke on his way back from Kilaconnaghan, where he -had been delayed upon bazaar business. - -The saintly chauffeur at once put on the brakes. This was Mr. Myles -Shannon and some one worth speaking to. He bowed a groveling salute. - -"You're out pretty late?" said Mr. Shannon. - -"Oh, yes!" And then he went on to describe his work of the evening. -He felt inclined to offer his condolence to Mr. Shannon in a most -respectful whisper, but thought better of it at the last moment. - -"And no one knows where she has gone?" - -"No one. She has disappeared from the valley." - -"She went away very suddenly." - -"Yes, Father O'Keeffe saw that, in the public interest, she should -disappear after this fashion. The motor was a help, you know." - -Charlie Clarke offered to drive Mr. Shannon to his home. No word passed -between them as they drew up the avenue to the lonely house among the -trees. - -In the train, moving on towards Dublin, Rebecca Kerr had just opened -the letter from Master Donnellan. It contained a £5 note.... This was -like a cry of mercy and pardon for the valley.... The rich fields of -Meath were racing by. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -There was a curious hush about the lake next evening, although the -little cottage of Hughie Murtagh was swept by winds which stirred -mournfully through all the bright abundance of early summer. Even the -orange-blossoms of the furze seemed to put on an aspect of surrender. -There was no challenge in their color now; they looked almost white -against a somber sunset. John Brennan moped about among the fir-trees. -He came to a stand-still by one that had begun to decay and which was -even more mournful in its failure to contribute another plumed head to -the general effect of mourning. But it seemed to shake enraged at this -impotence in its poor foundation over the deserted warren, from which -Shamesy Golliher had long since driven the little rabbits towards that -dark Chicago of slaughter which was represented to them by Garradrimna. - -The same color of desolation was upon the reeds which separated -him from the water. The water itself had, beneath its pretense of -brightness upon the surface, the appearance of ooze, as if it had come -washing over the slime of dead things. - -It was here that John Brennan had come to wait for Ulick Shannon, and, -as he waited, his mood became that of his surroundings.... He fell to -running over what had happened to him. Alternately, in the swirl of his -consciousness, it appeared as the power of the valley and as the Hand -of God. Yet, whatever it might be in truth, this much was certain. It -had reduced his life to ruins. It was a fearful thing, and he shuddered -a little while he endeavored to produce a clear picture of it for the -chastisement as well as the morbid excitement of his imagination. - -But there came instead a far different picture, which seemed to have -the effect of lifting for a moment the surrounding gloom. He saw -Rebecca Kerr again as upon many an afternoon they had met. For one -brave moment he strove to recover the fine feeling that had filled -him at those times. But it would not come. Something had happened, -something terrible which soiled and spoiled her forever. - -For love of her he had dreamed even unto the desire of defeating his -mother's love. And yet there was no triumph in his heart now, nothing -save defeat and a great weariness. Neither his mother nor Rebecca Kerr -were any longer definite hopes upon which his mind might dwell.... -His thoughts were running altogether upon Ulick Shannon. It was for -Ulick he waited now in this lonely, wind-swept place, like any villain -he had ever seen depicted upon the cover of a penny dreadful in -Phillips's window when he was a boy. He now saw himself fixed in his -own imagination after this fashion. Ulick Shannon would soon come. -There was no doubt of this, for a definite appointment had been made -during the day. He had remained at home from the college in Ballinamult -to bring it about. Soon they would be endeavoring to enter what must -be the final and tragic bye-way of their story. And it must be all so -dreadfully interesting, this ending he had planned.... Now the water -came flowing towards him more rapidly as if to hurry the tragedy. It -came more thickly and muddily and with long, billowy strides as if -it yearned to gather some other body still holding life to its wild -breast. Its waters kept flowing as if from some wide wound that ached -and would not be satisfied; that bled and called aloud for blood -forever. - -Now also the evening shadows were beginning to creep down the hills and -with them a deeper hush was coming upon the wild longing of all things. -Yet it was no hush of peace, but rather the concentration of some -horrible purpose upon one place. - -"I am going away on Friday," Ulick had written in one of the two notes -that had been exchanged between them by the messenger during the day, -"and I would like to see you for what must, unfortunately, be the last -time. I am slipping away unknown to my uncle or to any one, and it is -hardly probable that I will be seen in these parts again." - -At length he beheld the approach of Ulick down the long Hill of -Annus.... His spirit thrilled within him and flamed again into a white -flame of love for the girl who was gone.... And coming hither was the -man who had done this thing.... The thickest shadows of the evening -would soon be gathered closely about the scene they were to witness.... -The very reeds were rustling now in dread. - -The lake was deep here at the edge of the water.... And in the -rabbit-warren beneath his feet were the heavy pieces of lead piping -he had transported in the night. He had taken them from his father's -stock of plumber's materials, that moldy, unused stock which had so -long lain in the back yard and which, in a distant way, possessed an -intimate connection with this heaped-up story.... In a little instant -of peculiar consciousness he wondered whether it would be pliable -enough.... There were pieces for the legs and pieces for the arms which -would enfold those members as in a weighty coffin.... And hidden nearer -to his hand was the strangely-shaped, uncouth weapon his father had -used many a time with such lack of improvement upon the school slates -and with which one might kill a man.... The body would rest well down -there beneath the muddy waters.... There would be no possibility of -suspicion falling upon him, for the story of Rebecca Kerr's disgrace -and Ulick Shannon's connection with it had already got about the -valley.... He had been listening to his mother telling it to people all -day.... Ulick's disappearance, in a way self-effacing and unnamed, was -hourly expected. This opportunity appeared the one kind trick of Fate -which had been so unkind to the passionate yearnings of John Brennan. - -But Ulick Shannon was by his side, and they were talking again -as friends of different things in the light way of old.... Their -talk moved not at all within the shadows of things about to happen -presently.... But the shadows were closing in, and very soon they must -fall and lie heavily upon all things here by the lake. - -"Isn't it rather wonderful, Brennan, that I should be going hence -through the power of a woman? It is very strange how they always manage -to have their revenge, how they beat us in the long run no matter how -we may plume ourselves on a triumph that we merely fancy. Although -we may degrade and rob them of their treasure, ours is the final -punishment. Do you remember how I told you on that day we were at the -'North Leinster Arms,' in Ballinamult, there was no trusting any woman? -Not even your own mother! Now this Rebecca Kerr, she--" - -The sentence was never finished. John Brennan had not spoken, but his -hand had moved twice--to lift the uncouth weapon from the foot of -the tree and again to strike the blow.... The mold of unhappy clay -from which the words of Ulick had just come was stilled forever. The -great cry which struggled to break from the lips resulted only in a -long-drawn sigh that was like a queer swoon. The mournful screech of a -wild bird flying low over the lake drowned the little gust of sound.... -Then the last lone silence fell between the two young men who had once -been most dear companions. - -No qualms of any kind came to the breast of John Brennan. He had -hardened his heart between the leaping flames of Love and Hate, and -there was upon him now the feeling of one who has done a fine thing. -He was in the moment of his triumph, yet he was beginning to be amazed -by his sudden power and the result of his decision.... That he, John -Brennan, should have had it in him to murder his friend.... But no, it -was his enemy he had murdered, the man who had desecrated the beauty of -the world.... And there was a rare grandeur in what he had done. It was -a thing of beauty snatched from the red hands of Death. - -Yet as he went about his preparations for submerging the body he felt -something akin to disgust for this the mean business of the murder.... -Here was where the beauty that had been his deed snapped finally from -existence in his consciousness and disappeared from him. - -Henceforth gray thought after gray thought came tumbling into his -mind. Ulick had not been a bad fellow. He had tried to be kind to -him--all the motor-drives and the walks and talks they had had. Even -the bits of days and nights spent together in Garradrimna.... And how -was Ulick to know of his affection for Rebecca Kerr? There had never -been the faintest statement of the fact between them; his whole manner -and conversation and the end for which he was intended forbade any -suspicion of the kind. In fact to have had such a doubt would have -been a sin in the eyes of many a Catholic.... The legs and arms were -well weighted now.... This might not have happened if his mother had -been attended in the right spirit of filial obedience.... But with -the arrogance of youth, which he now realized for the first time, he -had placed himself above her opinion and done what he had desired at -the moment. And why had he done so?... She would seem to have had -foreboding of all this in the way she had looked upon him so tenderly -with her tired eyes many a time since his memorable home-coming last -summer. She had always been so fearfully anxious.... Here must have -been the melancholy end she had seen at the back of all dreaming.... He -could feel that sad look clearly, all dimmed by dark presentiments. - -The body was a great weight. He strove to lift it in his arms in such a -way that his clothes might not be soiled by the blood.... His face was -very near the pale, dead face with the red blood now clotting amongst -the hair.... He was almost overpowered by his burden as he dragged it -to the water's edge.... It was a very fearful thing to look at just as -the water closed over it with a low, gurgling sound, as if of mourning, -like the cry of the bird in the moment the murder had been done. - -As he staggered back from the sighing reeds he noticed that the ground -was blood-drenched beneath the tree.... But he was doing the thing most -thoroughly. In a frenzy of precautionary industry he began to hack away -the earth with the slating implement very much as Shamesy Golliher -might hack it in search of a rabbit. - -Later he seemed to put on the very appearance of Shamesy himself as, -with bent body, he slouched away across the ridge of the world. He too -had just effected a piece of slaughter and Garradrimna seemed to call -him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - -When he came out upon the valley road he was no longer the admirable -young man he had been less than a year since. He was a broken thing, -and he was stained by another's blood. He was marked eternally by what -he had done, and there was upon him a degradation unspeakable. He was -an offense against existence and against the gathering, blessed gloom -of the quiet evening.... He had murdered one who had been his friend, -and it was a thing he might never be able to forget. The body, with -all the lovely life so recently gone from it, he had weighted and sunk -beneath the surface of the lake.... It was down there now, a poor, dead -thing among the ooze of dead things from which the water had taken its -color and quality. The wild spirit that had been Ulick Shannon, so -contradictory in its many aspects, was now soaring lightly aloft upon -the wings of clean winds and he, John Brennan, who had effected this -grand release, felt the weights still heavy about his heart. - -He came on a group of children playing by the roadside. It seemed -as if they had been driven across his path to thwart him with their -innocence. He instantly remembered that other evening when he had been -pained to hear them express the ugly, uncharitable notions of their -parents regarding a child of another religion. Now they were playing -merrily as God had intended them to play, and religion, with its -tyranny of compulsion towards thoughts of death and sin, seemed distant -from them, and distant was it from him too. His mind was empty of any -thought. Would no kindly piece of imagination come down to cool his -spirit with its grace or lift from his heart the oppression of the -leaden weights he had bound about the body of Ulick Shannon?... At last -he had remembrance of his mother. It had been borne in upon him during -some of his lonely cycle-rides to and from Ballinamult that things -should not be, somehow, as they were. He was moving along exalted ways -while his mother labored in lonely silence at her machine.... Where -was the money coming from? Such an unproductive state as his required -money for its upkeep. His father was no toiler, but she was always -working there alone in the lonely room. Her hands were grown gnarled -and hard through her years of labor.... Just presently she was probably -discussing a dismal matter of ways and means with some woman of the -valley, saying as she had said through the long years: - -"Thank God and His Blessed Mother this night, I still have me -hands. Aye, that's what I was just saying to Mrs. So and So this -morning--Thank God I still have me hands!" - -Thus she was going on now, he imagined, as he had always heard her, a -pathetic figure sitting there and looking painfully through the heavy, -permanent mist that was falling down upon her eyes. And yet it was -not thus she really was at this moment. For although it was a woman -who held her company, there was no mood of peace between them. It was -Marse Prendergast who was with her, and she was proceeding busily with -her eternal whine. Mrs. Brennan was now disturbed in her mind and -fearful of the great calamity that might happen. While she had bravely -maintained the money in the little chest upstairs there had lingered, -in spite of every affliction, a sense of quietness and independence. -But now she was without help and as one distraught. Of late this -gibbering old woman had obtained a certain power over her, and a -considerable portion of the once proud Mrs. Brennan had fallen finally -away. Although, at unaccountable moments, her strong pride would spring -up to dazzle the people of the valley, she did not now possess that -remarkable imperviousness which had so distinguished her attitude -towards life. Now she was in a condition of disintegration, unable -to maintain an antagonism or hide a purpose. The old ruined woman, -the broken shuiler of the roads, was beginning to behold the ruins of -another woman, the ruins of Mrs. Brennan, who had once been so "thick" -and proud. - -"So you won't hearken to me request?" - -"I can't, Marse dear. I have no money to give you!" - -This was a true word, for the little store upstairs had gone this way -and that. Tommy Williams had had to be given his interest, and although -people might think that John was getting his education for charity, no -one knew better than she the heavy fees of the college in Ballinamult. -Besides, he must keep up a good appearance in the valley. - -But when Marse Prendergast made a demand she knew no reason and could -make no allowance. - -"Well, Nan, me dear, I must do me duty. I must speak out when you can't -bribe me to be silent. I must do a horrid piece of business this night. -I must turn a son against his mother. Yes, that must be the way of it -now, a son turned for good against his mother. For surely there could -be no pardon in his grand, holy eyes for what you were once upon a -time. But let me tell you this, that I'd have acquainted him anyhow, -for I'd not have gone to me grave with that sin on me no matter what. -They say it isn't right to offer a son to God where there's after being -any big blemish in the family, and that if you do a woful misfortune or -a black curse comes of it. And sure that was the quare, big blemish in -your family, Nan Byrne, the quarest blemish ever was." - -Mrs. Brennan began to cry. She seemed to have come at last to the end -of all her long attempt to brazen things out.... Marse Prendergast was -not slow to observe this acceptance of defeat, and saw that now surely -was her time to be hard and bitter. She was growing so old, a withered -stump upon the brink of years, and there was upon her an enormous -craving for a little money. People were even driven, by her constant -whine for this thing and that, to say how she had a little store of her -own laid by which she gloated over with a wicked and senile delight. -And for what, in God's name, was she hoarding and she an old, lone -woman with the life just cross-wise in her?... And it was always Mrs. -Brennan whom she had visited with her singular and special persecution. - -"I suppose now you think you're the quare, clever one to be going on -with your refusals from day to day. I suppose you think I don't know -that you have a _chesht_ full of money that you robbed from poor Henry -Shannon, God be good to him, when he used to be coming running to see -you, the foolish fellow!" - -"As God's me judge, Marse Prendergast, I haven't e'er a penny in the -house. I'm in debt in Garradrimna this blessed minute, and that's as -sure as you're there!" - -"Go on out of that with your talk of debts, and you to be sending your -son John through his college courses before all our eyes like any fine -lady in the land. And think of all the grand money you'll be getting -bye and bye in rolls and cartloads!" - -"Aye, with the help of God!" - -Even in the moment of her torment Mrs. Brennan could not restrain her -vanity of her son. - -"And to think of all that being before you now and still you keep up -your mean refusals of the little thing I ask," said the old woman with -the pertinacious unreasonableness of age. - -"I haven't got the money, Marse, God knows I haven't." - -"God knows nothing, Nan Byrne, only your shocking villainy. And 'tis -the great sin for you surely. And if God knows this, it is for some one -else to know your sin. It is for your son John to know the kind of a -mother that he loves and honors." - -Mrs. Brennan had heard this threat on many an occasion yet even now -the repetition of it made her grow suddenly pale.... An expression -of sickliness was upon her face seen even through the shadowed -sewing-room. Always this thought had haunted her that some time John -might come to know. - -"Long threatening comes at last!" was a phrase that had always held for -her the darkest meaning. She could never listen to any woman make use -of it without shuddering violently. Marse Prendergast had threatened -so often and often. - -"Ah, no, Nan Byrne, this is something I could never let pass. And all -the long days I saw you contriving here at the machine, and you so -anxious and attentive, sure I used to be grinning to myself at the -thoughts of the bloody fine laugh I'd be having at you some day. I -used, that's God's truth!" - -It seemed terrible to be told the story of this hate that had been -so well hidden, now springing up before her in a withering blast of -ingratitude and being borne to her understanding upon such quiet -words.... She sighed ever so slightly, and her lips moved gently in the -aspiration of a prayer. - -"O Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" was what she said. - -The pious ejaculation seemed to leap at once towards the accomplishment -of a definite purpose, for immediately it had the effect of moving -Marse Prendergast towards the door. - -"I'm going now!" - -The words were spoken with an even more chilling quietness. Mrs. -Brennan made a noise as if to articulate something, but no words would -come from her. - -"And let you not be thinking that 'tis only this little thing I'm going -to tell him, for there's a whole lot more. I'm going to tell him _all_ -I know, _all that I didn't tell you_ through the length of the years, -though, God knows, it has been often burning me to tell.... You think, -I suppose, as clever as you are, that the child was buried in the -garden. Well, that's not a fact, nor the color of a fact, for all I've -made you afraid of it so often.... Grace Gogarty had no child of her -own for Henry Shannon. _Ulick Shannon is your own child that was sold -be your ould mother for a few pound!_" - -"That's a lie for you, Marse Prendergast!" - -"'Tis no lie at all I'm telling you, but the naked truth. I suppose -neither of them lads, Ulick nor John, ever guessed the reason why they -were so fond of one another, but that was the reason; and 'tis I used -to enjoy seeing them together and I knowing it well. Isn't it curious -now to say that you're the mother of a blackguard and the mother of the -makings of a priest?... Mebbe you'd give me the little bit of money -now? Mebbe?" - -Mrs. Brennan did not answer. Big tears were rolling down her cheeks -one after the other.... Her heart had been rent by this sudden flash -of information. Even the last remaining stronghold of her vanity had -been swept away. That she, who had claim in her own estimation to be -considered the wise woman of the valley, could not have long since -guessed at the existence of a fact so intimate.... Her heart was -wounded, not unto death, but immortally.... Her son! Ulick Shannon her -son! O Mother of God! - - -John Brennan was still in his agony as he saw the long-tongued shuiler -coming towards him down the road. She was making little journeys into -the ditches as she came along. She was gathering material for a fire -although every bush was green.... She was always shivering at the -fall of night. The appearance of the children had filled him with -speculations as to where he might look for some comfort.... Could it be -derived from the precepts of religion translated into acts of human -kindness? Momentarily he was confused as he attempted to realize some -act of goodness to be done here and now. He was unable to see. - -Old Marse Prendergast, coming towards him slowly, was the solitary -link connecting his mind with any thought. To him she appeared the -poor old woman in need of pity who was gathering green sticks from the -hedge-rows to make her a fire which would not kindle. He remembered -that morning, now some time distant, when he had helped her carry home -a bundle of her sticks on his way from Mass. It had appeared to him -then, as it did now, a Christ-like action, but his mother had rebuked -him for it. Yet he had always wished his mother to take the place of -Mary when he tried to snatch some comfort from the Gospel story. Soon -he was by her side speaking as kindly as he could.... Great fear was -already upon him. - -"God bless you, me little Johneen, me little son; sure 'tis yourself -has the decent, kind heart to be taking pity upon the old. Arrah now! -You're alone and lonely this evening, I notice, for your friend is gone -from you. It bees lonely when one loses one's comrade. Ah, 'tis many a -year and more since I lost me comrade through the valley of life. Since -Marks Prendergast, the good husband of me heart and the father of me -children, was lost on me. Sure he was murdered on me one St. Patrick's -Day fair in Garradrimna. He was ripped open with a knife and left there -upon the street in his blood for me to see.... That's the way, that's -the way, me sweet gosoon; some die clean and quiet, and some go away in -their blood like the way they came." - -Had she devoted much time and skill to it she could not have produced -a more dire effect upon John than by this accidental turn of her -talk.... The scene by the lakeside swam clearly into his eyes again. - -"I suppose _your_ good comrade is gone away?" - -"Whom, what?" - -"Ulick Shannon, to be sure. I suppose he's after slipping away be this -time anyway." - -"Aye, he's gone away." - -"That was what you might call the nice lad. And it was no wonder at all -that you were so much attached to one another. Never a bit of wonder at -all.... Sure you were like brothers." - -John was so solicitous in maintaining his silence that he did not -notice the old woman's terrible sententiousness.... He went on pulling -green sticks from the hedge and placing them very carefully by the side -of those she had already gathered. - -"Just like brothers. That's what ye were, just like brothers. He, he, -he!" - -Although he did not detect the note of laughter in it that was hollow -and a mockery, he was nevertheless appalled by what should appear as -a commendation of him who was gone.... He felt himself shaking even -as the leaves in the hedgerows were being shaken by the light wind of -evening. - -"Like brothers, _avic machree_." - -Even still he did not reply. - -"Like brothers, I say, and that's the whole story. For ye were -brothers. At least you were of the one blood, because ye had the same -woman for the mother of ye both." - -Certainly she was raving, but her words were having an unusual effect -upon him. He was keeping closer to the hedge as if trying to hide his -face. - -"To-night, me fine gosoon, I'm going to do a terrible thing. I'm going -to tell you who your mother is, and then you'll know a quare story. -You'll know that Ulick Shannon, good luck to him wherever he's gone, -was nothing less than your own brother.... It is she that is after -forcing me on to it be her penurious and miserly ways. I didn't want to -tell ye, John! I say, I didn't want to tell ye!" - -Her old, cracked voice trailed away into a high screech. John Brennan -was like a man stunned by a blow as he waited for her to speak the rest -of the story. - -"Ulick Shannon's father, Henry Shannon, was the one your mother loved. -She never cared for your father, nor he for her. So you might say you -are no love child. But there was a love child in it to be sure, and -that child was Ulick Shannon. Your mother was his mother. He was born -out of wedlock surely, but he happened handy, and was put in the place -of Grace Gogarty's child that died and it a weeshy, young thing.... It -was your grandmother that sold him, God forgive her, if you want to -know, for I was watching the deed being done.... Your mother always -thought the bastard was murdered in the house and buried in the garden. -I used to be forever tormenting her by making her think that only it -was me could tell. There was no one knew it for certain in the whole -world, only me and them that were dead and gone. So your mother could -not have found out from any one but me, and she might never have found -out only for the way she used to be refusing me of me little dues.... -But I can tell you that she found out this evening how she was the -mother of Ulick Shannon, and that you, the beloved son she cherished -in her heart and put on in all her pride to be a priest of God, was a -near blood relation of the boy she was never done but running down. The -boy that she, above all others, with her prate and gab made a drunkard -of in the first place, and then rushed on, be always talking of the -like about him, to do great harm to this girl. But sure it was myself -that could not blame him at all, for it was in him both ways, the poor, -unfortunate gosoon!" - -There was no reason to doubt the old shuiler's story, with such -passionate vehemence did it fall from her. And its coherence was very -convincing. It struck him as a greater blow which almost obliterated -his understanding. In the first moment he could stand apart from it -and look even blindly it appeared as the swift descent of Divine -vengeance upon him for what he had just done.... He moved away, his -mind a bursting tumult, and without a sight in his eyes.... The mocking -laughter of Marse Prendergast rang in his ears. Now why was she -laughing at him when it was his mother who was her enemy? - -He was walking, but the action was almost unnoticed by him. He was -moving aimlessly within the dark, encircling shadow of his doom.... Yet -he saw that he was not far distant from Garradrimna.... The last time -he had been there at the period of the day he had been in company with -Ulick Shannon. It was what had sprung out of those comings together -that was now responsible for this red ending.... He remembered also -how the port wine had lifted him out of himself and helped him to see -Rebecca Kerr.... The windows were squinting through the gloom as he -went the road. - -There was stronger drink in Garradrimna and pubs. of greater intensity -than McDermott's. There was "The World's End," for instance, that -tavern so fantastically named by the Hon. Reginald Moore in memory of -an inn of the same name that had struck his fancy in England.... The -title now seemed particularly appropriate. - -It was towards this place his feet were moving. In another spell -of thought which surprised him by the precaution it exhibited, he -remembered that his father would not be there; for, although it had -been Ned Brennan's famous haunt aforetime, he had been long ago -forbidden its doors. It was in this, one of the seven places of -degradation in Garradrimna, he was now due to appear. - -He went very timidly up to the back-door, which opened upon a little, -secluded passage. He ordered a glass of whiskey from the greasy barmaid -who came to attend him.... He felt for the money so carefully wrapped -in tissue-paper in his waistcoat pocket. It was a bright gold sovereign -that his mother had given him on the first day of his course at -Ballinamult College to keep against any time he might be called upon to -show off the fact that he was a gentleman. As he unfolded it now, from -the careful covering in which she had wrapped it, it seemed to put on a -tragic significance.... He was fearfully anxious to be in the condition -that had brought him his vision on the night he had slept by the lake. - -He drank the whiskey at one gulp, and it seemed a long time until -the barmaid returned with the change. Sovereigns were marvels of -rare appearance at "The World's End." He thanked her and called for -another, paying her as she went. She was remarkably mannerly, for, in -the narrow gloom of the place, she took him to be some rich stranger. -She had seen the color of his money and liked it well. - -The whiskey seemed to possess magical powers. It rapidly restored him -to a mood wherein the distress that was his might soon appear a small -thing. Yet he grew restless with the urgency that was upon him and -glanced around in search of a distraction for his galloping brain.... -He bent down and peered through the little aperture which opened upon -the public bar of "The World's End." In there he saw a man in a heated -atmosphere and enveloped by dense clouds of tobacco-smoke. They were -those who had come in the roads to forget their sweat and labor in the -black joy of porter. Theirs was a part of the tragedy of the fields, -but it was a meaner tragedy. Yet were they suddenly akin to him.... -Through the lugubrious expression on their dark faces a sudden light -was shining. It was the light as if of some ecstasy. A desire fell upon -him to enter into their dream, whatever it might be.... In the wild -whirl that the whiskey had whipped up in his brain there now came a -sudden lull. It was a lull after a great crescendo, as in Beethoven's -music.... He was hearing, with extraordinary clearness, what they were -saying. They were speaking of the case of Ulick Shannon and Rebecca -Kerr. These names were linked inseparably and were going hand in hand -down all the byeways of their talk.... They were sure and certain that -he had gone away. There was not a sign of him in Garradrimna this -evening. That put the cap on his guilt surely. Wasn't she the grand -whipster, and she supposed to be showing a good example and teaching -religion to the childer? A nice one to have in the parish indeed! It -was easy knowing from the beginning what she was and the fellow she -struck up with--Henry Shannon's son. Wasn't that enough for you? Henry -Shannon, who was the best blackguard of his time!... Just inside, and -very near to John, a knot of men were discussing the more striking -aspects of the powerful scandal.... They were recounting, with minute -detail, the story of Nan Byrne.... Wasn't it the strangest thing now -how she had managed more or less to live it down? But people would -remember it all again in the light of this thing. What Ulick Shannon -had done now would make people think of what his father had done, and -then they must needs remember her.... And to think that no one ever -knew rightly what had become of the child. Some there were who would -tell you that her sister, Bridget Mulvey, and her mother, Abigail -Byrne, buried it in the garden, and there were those who would tell you -that it was living somewhere at the present time.... Her son John was -not a bad sort, but wasn't it the greatest crime for her to put him on -to be a priest after what had happened to her, and surely no good could -come of it?... And why wouldn't Ned Brennan know of it, and wasn't it -that and nothing else that had made him the ruined wreck of a man he -was? Sure he'd never done a day's good since the night Larry Cully -had lashed out the whole story for his benefit. And wasn't it quite -possible that some one would be bad enough to tell John himself some -time, or the ecclesiastical authorities? What about the mee-aw that had -happened to him in the grand college in England that so much had been -heard of? And there was sure to be something else happening before he -was through the college at Ballinamult. A priest, how are ye? - -The whiskey had gone to his head, but, as he listened, John Brennan -felt himself grow more sober than he had ever before been.... So this -was the supplement to the story he had heard a while ago. And now that -he knew the whole story he began to tremble. Continually flashing -across his mind were the words of the man who was dead and silent at -the bottom of the lake--"You could never know a woman, you could never -trust her; you could not even trust your own mother." This was a hard -thing for any man at all to have said in his lifetime, and yet how -full of grim, sad truth did it now appear?... The kind forgetfulness -of his choking bitterness that he had so passionately longed for -would not come to him.... The dregs of his heart were beginning to -turn again towards thoughts of magnanimity as they had already done -in the first, clear spell of thought after his deed. He had then gone -to gather sticks for the old woman, a kind thing, as Jesus might have -done in Nazareth.... The change of the sovereign was in his hand and -his impulse was strong upon him. He could not resist. It seemed as if -a strong magnet was pulling a light piece of steel.... He had walked -into the public bar of "The World's End." Around him was a sea of -faces, laughing, sneering, drinking, sweating, swearing, spitting. He -was calling for a drink for himself and a round for the shop.... Now -the sea of faces was becoming as one face. And there was a look upon it -which seemed made up of incredulity and contempt.... This was replaced -by a different look when the pints were in their hands.... They were -saying: "Good health, Mr. Brennan!" with a sneer in their tones and a -smile of flattery upon those lips which had just now been vomiting out -the slime of their minds. - -There was another and yet another round. As long as he could remain on -his feet he remained standing drinks to them. There was a longing upon -him to be doing this thing. And beyond it was the guiding desire to be -rid of every penny of the sovereign his mother had given him to help -him appear as a gentleman if he met company.... Now it seemed to soil -him, coming as it did from her. Curious that feeling after all she had -done for him, and she his mother. But it would not leave him. - -The drink he had bought was fast trickling down the many throats that -were burning to receive it. The rumor of his prodigality was spreading -abroad through Garradrimna, and men had gone into the highways and the -byeways to call their friends to the banquet. Two tramps on their way -to the Workhouse had heard of it and were already deep in their pints. -Upon John's right hand, arrived as if by magic, stood Shamesy Golliher, -and upon his left the famous figure of Padna Padna, who was looking up -into his face with admiration and brightness striving hard to replace -the stare of vacancy in the dimming eyes. As he drank feverishly, -fearful of losing any, Shamesy Golliher continuously ejaculated: "Me -sweet fellow, John! Me sweet fellow!" And Padna Padna kept speaking to -himself of the grand thing it was that there was one decent fellow left -in the world, even if he was only Nan Byrne's son. Around John Brennan -was a hum of flattery essentially in the same vein.... And it seemed to -him that, in his own mind, he had soared far beyond them.... Outwardly -he was drunk, but inwardly he knew himself to be very near that rapture -which would bring thoughts of Rebecca as he staggered home alone along -the dark road. - -The companions of his Bacchic night had begun to drift away from -him. Ten o'clock was on the point of striking, and he was in such a -condition that he might be upon their hands at any moment. They did not -want Walter Clinton, the proprietor of "The World's End," to be giving -any of them the job of taking him home. The hour struck and the remnant -went charging through the doorways like sheep through a gap. Shamesy -Golliher limped out, leading Padna Padna by the hand, as if the ancient -man had suddenly become metamorphosed into his second childishness.... -"The bloody-looking idiot!" they were all sniggering to one another. -"Wasn't it a hell of a pity that Ned Brennan, his father, and he always -bowseying for drink in McDermott's and Brannagan's, wasn't in 'The -World's End' to-night?" - -John was alone amidst the dregs of the feast. Where the spilt drink -was shining on the counter there was such a sight of glasses as he had -never before seen. There were empty glasses and glasses still standing -with half their drink in them, and glasses in which the porter had not -been touched so drunk had everybody been. - -Walter Clinton came in indignantly and said that it was a shame for -him to be in such a state, and to go home out of that at once before -the peelers got a hold of him.... And he went out with difficulty and -down the old road of the elms towards his mother's house in the valley. -He could hear the hurrying, heavy feet of those he had entertained so -lavishly far down before him on the road.... For the moment he was -happy. Before his burning eyes was the form of Rebecca Kerr. Her face -had a look of quiet loveliness. He thought it was like the faces of -the Madonnas in Father O'Keeffe's parlor.... "Rebecca! Rebecca!" he -called to her ever in the agony of his love. "Thy hands, dear Rebecca!" -... She was not soiled now by any earthly sin, for he had purified her -through the miracle of blood. And she was clean like the night wind. - -He was a pitiable sight as he went staggering on, crying out this -ruined girl's name to the night silence of the lonely places.... At -last he fell somewhere in the soft, dewy grass. For a long while he -remained here--until he began to realize that his vision was passing -with the decline within him of the flame by which it had been created. -The winds upon his face and hair were cold, and it seemed that he was -lying in a damp place. His eyes sprang open.... He was lying by the -lakeside and at the place where he had murdered Ulick Shannon. - -He jumped up of a sudden, for his fear had come back to him. With his -mouth wide open and a clammy sweat upon his brow, he started to run -across what seemed a never-ending grassy space.... He broke madly -through fences of thorn and barbed wire, which tore his clothes and his -hands. He stumbled across fields of tillage.... At last, with every -limb shivering, he came near his mother's door.... Presently he grew -coldly conscious.... He could hear his father muttering drunkenly -within. He came nearer, striving hard to steady himself and walk erect. -He quickened his step to further maintain his pretense of sobriety. His -foot tripped against something, and he lurched forward. He was caught -in his mother's arms, for, at the sound of his approach, she had opened -the door in resigned and mournful expectation. - -"O Jesus!" she said. - -There were two of them now. - - -THE END - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Valley of Squinting Windows, by -Brinsley MacNamara - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VALLEY OF SQUINTING WINDOWS *** - -***** This file should be named 61102-8.txt or 61102-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/1/0/61102/ - -Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/61102-8.zip b/old/61102-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 8011f01..0000000 --- a/old/61102-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/61102-h.zip b/old/61102-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e498389..0000000 --- a/old/61102-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/61102-h/61102-h.htm b/old/61102-h/61102-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index c735995..0000000 --- a/old/61102-h/61102-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9191 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Valley of the Squinting Windows, by Brinsley MacNamara. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - - p { margin-top: .75em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .75em; - } - - p.bold {text-align: center; font-weight: bold;} - p.bold2 {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; - } - h1 span, h2 span { display: block; text-align: center; } - #id1 { font-size: smaller } - - - hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; - } - - body{margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - } - - table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 5px; border-collapse: collapse; border: none; text-align: right;} - - .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - text-indent: 0px; - } /* page numbers */ - - .center {text-align: center;} - .smaller {font-size: smaller;} - .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - .mynote { background-color: #DDE; color: black; padding: .5em; margin-left: 20%; - margin-right: 20%; } /* colored box for notes at beginning of file */ - .box {max-width: 22em; margin: 1.5em auto;} - .space-above {margin-top: 3em;} - .right {text-align: right;} - .left {text-align: left;} - - .poem {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} - .poem br {display: none;} - .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} - .poem div {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's The Valley of Squinting Windows, by Brinsley MacNamara - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Valley of Squinting Windows - -Author: Brinsley MacNamara - -Release Date: January 4, 2020 [EBook #61102] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VALLEY OF SQUINTING WINDOWS *** - - - - -Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="mynote"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:<br /><br /> -A Table of Contents has been added.<br /><br /><br /> -Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.<br /></p></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg" id="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> - -<h1>THE VALLEY OF THE <br />SQUINTING WINDOWS</h1> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">THE VALLEY OF THE<br /> SQUINTING WINDOWS</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">BY</p> -<p class="bold2"><span class="smcap">BRINSLEY MacNAMARA</span></p> - -<div class="center space-above"><img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" /></div> - -<p class="bold space-above">NEW YORK<br />BRENTANO'S<br />1920</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">Copyright, 1919, by<br />BRENTANO'S<br /> -——<br /><i>All rights reserved</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">To<br />ONE WHO WAITED<br />FOR THIS STORY</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="box"> -<p><i>And the Lord spake unto Moses saying</i>:<br /> -<i>Speak unto Aaron saying whosoever he be of thy seed in their -generations that hath any blemish let him not approach to offer the -bread of his God.</i></p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Leviticus</span> xxi. 16-17.</p></div> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CONTENTS</span></h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">PREFATORY NOTE</td> - <td><a href="#Page_ix">ix</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER I</td> - <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER II</td> - <td><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER III</td> - <td><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER IV</td> - <td><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER V</td> - <td><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER VI</td> - <td><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER VII</td> - <td><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER VIII</td> - <td><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER IX</td> - <td><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER X</td> - <td><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XI</td> - <td><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XII</td> - <td><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XIII</td> - <td><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XIV</td> - <td><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XV</td> - <td><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XVI</td> - <td><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XVII</td> - <td><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XVIII</td> - <td><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XIX</td> - <td><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XX</td> - <td><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XXI</td> - <td><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XXII</td> - <td><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XXIII</td> - <td><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XXIV</td> - <td><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XXV</td> - <td><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XXVI</td> - <td><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XXVII</td> - <td><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XXVIII</td> - <td><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XXIX</td> - <td><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XXX</td> - <td><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XXXI</td> - <td><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">CHAPTER XXXII</td> - <td><a href="#Page_278">278</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PREFATORY NOTE</h2> - -<p>In the parlor, as they call it, or best room of every Irish farmhouse, -one may come upon a certain number of books that are never read, laid -there in lonely repose upon the big square table on the middle of the -floor. A novel entitled "Knocknagow" is almost always certain to be -amongst them, yet scarcely as the result of selection, although its -constant occurrence cannot be considered purely accidental. There must -lurk an explanation somewhere about these quiet Irish houses connecting -the very atmosphere with "Knocknagow". A stranger, thinking of some of -the great books of the world, would almost feel inclined to believe -that this story of the quiet homesteads of Ireland must be one of them, -a book full of inspiration and truth and beauty, a story sprung from -the bleeding realities which were before the present comfort of these -homes. Yet for all the expectations which might be raised up in one -by this most popular, this typical Irish novel, it is most certainly -the book with which the new Irish novelist would endeavor to contrast -his own. For he would be writing of life, as the modern novelist's art -is essentially a realistic one, and not of the queer, distant, half -pleasing, half saddening thing which could make one Irish farmer's -daughter say to another at any time within the past forty years:</p> - -<p>"And you'd often see things happening nearly in real life like in -'Knocknagow.' Now wouldn't you?"</p> - -<p>Nearer by a long way than Charles Joseph Kickham<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> to what the Irish -novelist should have been was William Carleton in his great, gloomy, -melodramatic stories of the land. He was prevented by the agrarian -obsession of his time from having the clear vision and wide pity, in -keeping with his vehemence, which might have made him the Irish Balzac.</p> - -<p>Even in Ireland Lever and Lover have become unpopular. They are read -only by Englishmen who still try to perpetuate their comic convention -when they write newspaper articles about Ireland.</p> - -<p>As with Kickham, largely in his treatment of the Irish peasant, Gerald -Griffin in "The Collegians" did not succeed in giving his Irish middle -or "strong farmer" class characters the spiritual energy so necessary -to the literary subject.</p> - -<p>Here are five writers then, who included in their work such exact -opposites as saints and sinners, heroes and <i>omadhanns</i>, earnest -passionate men and <i>broths of bhoys</i>. And somehow between them, between -those who wrote to degrade us and those who have idealized us, the real -Irishman did not come to be set down. From its fiction, reality was -absent, as from most other aspects of Irish life.</p> - -<p>To a certain extent the realistic method has been employed by the -dramatists of the Irish Literary Movement, but necessarily limited by -the scope and conventions of the stage and by the narrower appeal of -the spoken word in the mouth of an actor. The stage, too, has a way of -developing cults and conventions and of its very nature must display -a certain amount of artificiality, even in the handling of realistic -material. Thus comes a sudden stagnation, a sudden completion always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> -of a literary movement developed mostly upon the dramatic side, as has -come upon the work of the Abbey Theater.</p> - -<p>It appears rather accidental, but perhaps on the whole to its benefit, -that the dramatic form should have been adopted by J. M. Synge and not -the epical form of the novel. Synge fell with a lash of surprise upon -the Ireland of his time, for the Irish play had been as fully degraded -as the Irish novel. Furthermore the shock of his genius created an -opportunity which made possible the realistic Irish novelist. At the -Abbey Theater they performed plays dealing with subjects which no Irish -novelist, thinking of a public, would have dreamt of handling. Somehow -their plays have come to be known and accepted throughout Ireland. Thus -a reading public for this realistic Irish novel has been slowly created -and the urge to write like this has come to many storytellers.</p> - -<p>Of necessity, as part of the reaction from the work of the feeble -masters we have known, the first examples of the new Irish novel -were bound to be a little savage and pitiless. In former pictures of -Irish life there was heavy labor always to give us the shade at the -expense of the light, in fact at the expense of the truth which is -life itself. In Ireland the protest of the realist is not so much -against Romanticism as against an attempt made to place before us a -pseudo-realism. According as the Irish people resign themselves to the -fact that this is not a thing which should not be done, the work of -the Irish realist will approximate more nearly to the quality of the -Russian novelists, in which there are neither exaggerations of Light -nor of Shade, but a picture of life all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span> gray and quiet, and brightened -only by the beauty of tragic reality.</p> - -<p>It leaves room for interesting speculation, that at a time of political -chaos, at a time when in Ireland there is a great coming and going of -politicians of all brands, dreamers, sages and mystics, the decline -of the Irish Literary Movement on its dramatic side should have given -the realistic Irish novelist his opportunity to appear. The urgent -necessity of reality in Irish life at the moment fills one with the -thought that a school of Irish realists might have brought finer things -to the heart of Ireland than the Hy Brazil of the politicians.</p> - -<p>The function of the Irish novelist to evoke reality has been proved in -the case of "The Valley of the Squinting Windows." Upon its appearance -the people of that part of Ireland with whom I deal in my writings -became highly incensed. They burned my book after the best medieval -fashion and resorted to acts of healthy violence. The romantic period -seemed to have been cut out of their lives and they were full of -life again. The story of my story became widely exaggerated through -gradually increasing venom and my book, which had been well received -by the official Irish Press,—whose reviewers generally read the books -they write about—was supposed by some of my own people to contain the -most frightful things. To the peasant mind, fed so long upon unreal -tales of itself, the thing I had done became identified after the most -incongruous fashion and very curiously with an aspect of the very -literary association from which I had sprung. Language out of Synge's -"Playboy of the Western World" came to my ears from every side during -the days in which I was made to suffer for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span> having written "The Valley -of the Squinting Windows."</p> - -<p>"And saving your presence, sir, are you the man that killed your -father?"</p> - -<p>"I am, God help me!"</p> - -<p>"Well then, my thousand blessings to you!"</p> - -<p>The country as a whole did not dislike my picture of Irish life or say -it was untrue. It was only the particular section of life which was -pictured that still asserted its right to the consolation of romantic -treatment, but in its very attempt to retain romance in theory it -became realistic in practise. It did exactly what it should have done -a great many years ago with the kind of books from which it drew a -certain poisonous comfort towards its own intellectual and political -enslavement. The rest of Ireland was amused by the performance of those -who did not think, with Mr. Yeats, that romantic Ireland was dead and -gone. The realist had begun to evoke reality and no longer did a great -screech sound through the land that this kind of thing should not be -done. A change had come, by miraculous coincidence, upon the soul -of Ireland. It was not afraid of realism now,—for it had faced the -tragic reality of the travail which comes before a healthy national -consciousness can be born. No longer would the realist be described -in his own country as merely a morbid scoundrel or an enemy of the -Irish people. They would not need again the solace of the sentimental -novelist for all the offenses of the caricaturists in Irish fiction, -because, with the wider and clearer vision of their own souls fully -realized, had they already begun to look out upon the world.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Brinsley MacNamara.</span></p> - -<p>Dublin, March 1st, 1919.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">THE VALLEY OF THE<br /> SQUINTING WINDOWS</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">THE VALLEY OF THE SQUINTING<br /> WINDOWS</p> - -<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan took her seat again at the sewing-machine by the window. -She sighed as she turned her tired eyes in search of some inducement -to solace down the white road through the valley of Tullahanogue. The -day was already bright above the fields and groups of children were -beginning to pass through the morning on their way to school. Mrs. -Brennan beheld their passage, yet now as always she seemed to miss the -small beauty of the little pageant.</p> - -<p>"God help them, the poor little things!" she condoled to herself, "and -may He enlighten the unfortunate parents who send them to that quare, -ould, ignorant pair, Master Donnellan and Mrs. Wyse, the mistress. -Musha, sure they're no teachers!"</p> - -<p>From this it might seem that Mrs. Brennan, the dressmaker of the valley -and one well entitled to be giving out an opinion, did not think very -highly of National Education. Yet it was not true that she failed -to regard the lofty fact of education with all a peasant's stupid -reverence, for was she not the mother of John Brennan, who was now -preparing for the priesthood at a grand college in England? A priest, -mind you! That was what you might call something for a woman to be!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> - -<p>The pride of her motherhood struck a high and resounding note in the -life of the valley. Furthermore, it gave her authority to assert -herself as a woman of remarkable standing amongst the people. She -devoted her prerogative to the advancement of the Catholic Church. She -manifested herself as one intensely interested in its welfare. There -was no cheap religious periodical, from <i>The Catholic Times</i> to <i>The -Messenger</i>, that she did not regularly purchase. All these she read to -her husband, Ned Brennan, in the long quiet evenings after the manner -of one discharging a religious duty.</p> - -<p>This was a curious side of her. She kept him in comfort and in ease, -and yet when his body had been contented she must needs apply herself -to the welfare of his soul. For, although he spent many a penny of -her money in the village of Garradrimna, was he not the father of -John Brennan, who was going to be a priest of God? She forgave him -everything on this account, even the coarse and blasphemous expressions -he continually let fly from his mouth the while she read for him the -most holy stories by Jesuit Fathers.</p> - -<p>Just now she had given him two shillings with which to entertain -himself. He had threatened to strike her in the event of her -refusal.... That was why she had been sighing and why the tears were -now creeping into her great tired eyes as she began to set her machine -in motion for the tasks of the day. Dear, dear, wasn't he the cruel, -hard man?... Yet beyond all this thought of him was her bright dream of -the day when, with the few pounds she had saved so secretly from the -wide grasp of his thirst, she must fit him out in a rich suit of black -and go by his side proudly to attend the ordination of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> their son John. -It was because she so dearly loved her dream that she bore him with -immense patience.</p> - -<p>Also it was because she had been thinking of that grand day and of the -descending splendor of her son that she now commented so strongly upon -the passage of the children to school. She had spoken bitterly to her -own heart, but in that heart of hers she was a bitter woman.</p> - -<p>This was such a sunny, lovely morning. It was the day of the June Races -in the town of Mullaghowen, and most of the valley-dwellers had gone -there. The winding, dusty road through Tullahanogue was a long lane of -silence amid the sunlight. It appeared as an avenue to the Palace of -Dreams. So it was not at all strange that Mrs. Brennan was dreaming -forward into the future and filling her mind with fancies of the past. -She was remembering herself as Nan Byrne, the prettiest girl in the -valley. This was no illusion of idle vanity, for was there not an old -daguerreotype in an album on the table behind her at this very moment -to prove that beauty had been hers? And she had been ruined because -of that proud beauty. It was curious to think how her sister and she -had both gone the same way.... The period of a generation had passed -since the calamity had fallen upon them almost simultaneously. It was -the greatest scandal that had ever happened in these parts. The holy -priest, whose bones were now moldering beneath the sanctuary of the -chapel, had said hard words of her. From the altar of God he had spoken -his pity of her father, and said that she was a bad woman.</p> - -<p>"May God strengthen him, for this is the bitter <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>burden to bear. Philip -Byrne is a decent man for all his daughter Nan is a woman of shame. I -pray you avoid her every one who has the trace of God's purity in his -heart. Let you go not into that house which she has made an abode of -lust, nor allow the fair name of your own house to be blemished by the -contamination of her presence within its walls."</p> - -<p>Yes, it was true that all this had been said of her by the holy father, -and in the very spot beneath which his bones were now at rest. They -were the hard words surely to have issued from the lips of God's -anointed. Even in the fugitive remembrance of them now they seemed to -have left red marks like whip-lash weals across her soul. The burning -hurt of them drove her deeper into remembrance. She had already come to -the full development of her charms when her ambition had also appeared. -It was, in short, to effect the "catch" of one of the strong farmers of -the valley. She entered into conspiracy with her sister and, together, -they laid their plans. Henry Shannon was the one upon whom she had set -her eye and Loughlin Mulvey the one her sister Bridget had begun to -desire. They were both men of family and substance, and hard drinkers -after the fashion of the fields. They often called at the house to -see the sisters. Philip Byrne, whose occupation as head-groom at the -stables of the Moores of Garradrimna often took him away from Ireland, -would always be absent during those visitations. But their mother would -be there, Mrs. Abigail Byrne, ambitious for her daughters, in great -style. It was never known to happen that either of the strong farmers -called to the house without a bottle of whiskey. Mrs. Byrne always -looked <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>favorably upon them for their high decency, and the whiskey was -good whiskey.</p> - -<p>Here in this very room where she now sat remembering it all there -had been such scenes! Her hair had been so thick and brown and there -had been a rare bloom upon her skin as she had sat here alone with -Henry Shannon, talking with him of queer things and kissing his dark, -handsome face. And all through those far, bygone times she used to be -thinking of his grand house and of his broad fields and the way she -would one day assert herself in the joy of such possessions over her -less fortunate sisters of the valley. Yet, ever mixed with her bright -pieces of imagination, there had been such torturing doubts.... Her -sister Bridget had always been so certain of her prey.</p> - -<p>There had been times when Henry Shannon spent the night in the house. -In those nights had been laid the foundations of her shame.... Very, -very clearly did she remember the sickening, dreadful morning she had -come to her mother with the story that she was going to have a child. -How angry the elder woman had been, so lit within her all the wild -instincts of the female against the betrayer of her sex? Why had she -gone so far? Why had she not played her cards like her sister? There -was no fear of her yet although she had got a proper hold of Loughlin -Mulvey.... What was she to do at all? She who had had great ambitions -was to become lower than the lowest in the valley.</p> - -<p>Yet the three of them had conferred together, for all the others were -so angry with her because of her disastrous condition into which she -had allowed herself to slip without having first made certain of Henry -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>Shannon. The only course left now was to "make a show" of him if he -could not see his way to marry her.</p> - -<p>She could now remember every line of the angry, misspelled letter she -had sent to her whilom lover, and how it had brought him to the house -in a mood of drunken repentance. He presented her with material for a -new dress on the very same night, and, as she laughed and cried over -it in turn, she thought how very curious it was that he should wish to -see her figure richly adorned when already it had begun to put on those -signs of disfigurement which announce the coming of a child. But he was -very, very kind, and all suspicion fell away from her. Before he went -he whispered an invitation to spend a few days with him in Dublin.... -What did it matter now, and it was so kind of him to ask her? It showed -what was in his mind, and therefore no talk of marriage passed between -them. It did not seem necessary.</p> - -<p>Then had followed quickly those lovely days in Dublin, she stopping -with him as "Mrs. Henry Shannon" at a grand hotel. He had given her a -wedding-ring, but while it remained upon her finger it was ever the -little accusing symbol, filling her with an intense conviction of her -sin.</p> - -<p>This great adventure had marked the beginning of her acquaintance with -the world beyond the valley, and, even now, through the gloom of her -mood, she could remember it with a certain amount of gladness coming -back to her mind. But it was queer that the brightest moment of her -life should also have been the moment of darkest disaster.... She -re-created the slight incidents of their quarrel. It was so strange -of him after all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> grand kindness he had just been showing her.... -She had returned to the valley alone and with her disgrace already -beginning to be heavy upon her.... She never saw Henry Shannon or spoke -with him again. When she wrote referring distantly to their approaching -marriage and making mention of the wedding-ring, the reply came back -from Mr. Robinson, the solicitor in Garradrimna, who was his cousin and -sporting companion. She knew how they had already begun to talk of her -in the valley for having gone off to Dublin with Henry Shannon, and -now, when an ugly word to describe her appeared there black and plain -in the solicitor's letter, she felt, in blind shame, that the visit -to Dublin had been planned to ruin her. The air of the valley seemed -full of whispers to tell her that she had done a monstrous thing. Maybe -they could give her jail for having done a thing like that, and she -knew well that Henry Shannon's people would stop at nothing to destroy -her, for they were a dark, spiteful crew. They were rich and powerful, -with lawyers in the family, and what chance would she have in law now -that every one was turned against her. So that night she went out when -it was very dark and threw away the wedding-ring. The small, sad act -appeared as the renunciation of her great ambition.</p> - -<p>She remembered with a surpassing clearness the wide desolation of -the time that followed. Loughlin Mulvey had been compelled to marry -her sister Bridget because he had not been clever enough to effect a -loophole of escape like Henry Shannon. Already three months after the -marriage (bit by bit was she now living the past again) the child had -been born to Bridget, and now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> she herself was waiting for the birth of -her child.... Indeed Bridget need not have been so angry.</p> - -<p>She had been delirious and upon the brink of death, and when, at last, -she had recovered sufficiently to realize the sharpness of her mother's -tongue once more the child had disappeared. She had escaped to England -with all that was left of her beauty. There she had met Ned Brennan, -and there had her son John Brennan been born. For a short while she had -known happiness. Ned was rough, but in his very strength there was a -sense of security and protection which made him bearable. And there was -little John. He was not a bit like her short, wild impression of the -other little child. Her disgrace had been the means of bringing Philip -Byrne to his grave; and, after six or seven years, her mother had died, -and she had returned to the valley of Tullahanogue. It was queer that, -with all her early knowledge of the people of the valley, she had never -thought it possible that some of them would one day impart to him the -terrible secret she had concealed so well while acting the ingenuous -maiden before his eyes.</p> - -<p>Yet they were not settled a month at the cottage in the valley when Ned -came from Garradrimna one night a changed man. Larry Cully, a loafer -of the village, had attacked him with the whole story.... Was this the -kind of people among whom she had brought him to live, and was this -a fact about her? She confessed her share, but, illtreat her how he -would, she could not tell him what had been done with the child.</p> - -<p>Henceforth he was so different, settling gradually into his present -condition. He could not go about making inquiries as to the past of his -wife, and the people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> of the valley, gloating over his condition, took -no pains to ease his mind. It was more interesting to see him torture -himself with suspicion. They hardly fancied she had told him all. It -was grand to see him drinking in his endeavors to forget the things he -must needs be thinking of.</p> - -<p>Thus had Mrs. Brennan lived with her husband for eighteen years, and no -other child had been born to them. His original occupation of plumber's -laborer found no opportunity for its exercise in the valley, but he -sometimes lime-washed stables and mended roofs and gutters. For the -most part, however, she kept him through her labor at the machine.</p> - -<p>Her story was not without its turn of pathos, for it was strange to -think of her reading the holy books to him in the long, quiet evenings -all the while he despised her for what she had been with a hatred that -all the magnanimous examples of religion could not remove.</p> - -<p>She was thinking over it all now, and so keenly, for he had just -threatened to strike her again. Eighteen years had not removed from -his mind the full and bitter realization of her sin.... They were both -beginning to grow gray, and her living atonement for what she had been, -her son John who was going on for the Church, was in his twentieth -year. Would her husband forgive her when he saw John in the garb of a -priest? She wondered and wondered.</p> - -<p>So deep was she in this thought that she did not notice the entrance -of old Marse Prendergast, who lived in a cabin just across the road. -Marse was a superannuated shuiler and a terror in the valley. The tears -had been summoned to her eyes by the still <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>unchanging quality of Ned's -tone. They were at once detected by the old woman.</p> - -<p>"Still crying, are ye, Nan Byrne, for Henry Shannon that's dead and -gone?"</p> - -<p>This was a sore cut, but it was because of its severity that it had -been given. Marse Prendergast's method was to attack the person from -whom she desired an alms instead of making an approach in fear and -trembling.</p> - -<p>"Well, what's the use in regretting now that he didn't marry ye after -all?... Maybe you could give me a bit of Ned's tobacco for me little -pipe, or a few coppers to buy some."</p> - -<p>"I will in troth," she said, searching her apron pocket, only to -discover that Ned had taken all her spare coppers. She communicated her -regrets to the old woman, but her words fell upon ears that doubted.</p> - -<p>"Ah-ha, the lie is on your lip yet, Nan Byrne, just as it was there -for your poor husband the day he married you, God save us all from -harm—you who were what you were before you went away to England. -And now the cheek you have to go refuse me the few coppers. Ye think -ye're a great one, don't you, with your son at college, and he going -on to be a priest. Well, let me tell you that a priest he'll never be, -your grand son, John. Ye have the quare nerve to imagine it indeed if -you ever think of what happened to your other little son.... Maybe -'tis what ye don't remember that, Nan Bryne.... The poor little thing -screeching in the night-time, and some one carrying a box out into the -garden in the moonlight, and them digging the hole.... Ah, 'tis well I -know all that, Nan Byrne, although you may think yourself very clever -and mysterious. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> 'tis maybe I'll see you swing for it yet with -your refusals and the great annoyance you put me to for the means of -a smoke, and I a real ould woman and all. But listen here to me, Nan -Byrne! 'Tis maybe to your grand son, John Brennan, I'll be telling the -whole story some day!"</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> - -<p>Her tongue still clacking in soliloquy, Marse Prendergast hobbled out -of the house, and Mrs. Brennan went to the small back window of the -sewing-room. She gazed wistfully down the long, sloping fields towards -the little lake which nestled in the bosom of the valley. Within the -periods of acute consciousness which came between her sobs she began -to examine the curious edifice of life which housed her soul. An -unaccountable, swift power to do this came to her as she saw the place -around which she had played as a child, long ago, when she had a brow -snow-white and smooth, with nice hair and laughing eyes. Her soul, -too, at that time was clean—clean like the water. And she was wont to -have glad thoughts of the coming years when she had sprung to girlhood -and could wear pretty frocks and bind up her hair. Across her mind had -never fallen the faintest shadow of the thing that was to happen to her.</p> - -<p>Yet now, as she ran over everything in her mind, she marveled not a -little that, although she could not possibly have returned to the -perfect innocence of her childhood state, she had triumphed over -the blight of certain circumstances to an extraordinary extent. She -was surprised to realize that there must have been some strength of -character in her not possessed by the other women of the valley. It had -been her mother's mark of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>distinction, but the dead woman had used it -towards the achievement of different ends. Ends, too, which had left -their mark upon the lives of both her daughters.</p> - -<p>It struck her now, with another lash of surprise, that it had been -an amazingly cheeky thing to have returned to the valley; but, as -the shining waters of the lake led her mind into the quiet ways of -contemplation, she could not help thinking that she had triumphed well.</p> - -<p>To be living here at all with such a husband, and her son away in -England preparing for the priesthood, seemed the very queerest, -queerest thing. It was true that she held herself up well and had a -fine conceit of herself, if you please. The mothers of the neighborhood -had, for the most part, chosen to forget the contamination that might -have arisen from sending their daughters to a woman like her for their -dresses, and, in consequence, she had been enabled to build up this -little business. She asserted herself in the ways of assertion which -were open to the dwellers in the valley. She attended to her religious -duties with admirable regularity. It was not alone that she fulfilled -the obligation of hearing Mass on Sundays and Holydays, but also on -many an ordinary morning when there was really no need to be so very -pious. She went just to show them that she was passionately devoted to -religion. Yet her neighbors never once regarded her in the light of -a second Mary Magdalene. They entered into competition with her, it -was true, for they could not let it be said that Nan Byrne was more -religious than they, and so, between them, they succeeded in degrading -the Mysteries. But it was the only way that was open to them of showing -off their souls.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> - -<p>On a Sunday morning the procession they formed was like a flock of -human crows. And the noise they made was a continual caw of calumny. -The one presently absent was set down as the sinner. They were -eternally the Pharisees and she the Publican. Mrs. Brennan was great -among these crows of calumny. It was her place of power. She could give -out an opinion coming home from Mass upon any person at all that would -almost take the hearing out of your ears. She effectively beat down -the voice of criticism against herself by her sweeping denunciations -of all others. It was an unusual method, and resembled that of -Marse Prendergast, the shuiler, from whom it may probably have been -copied. It led many to form curious estimates as to the exact type of -mind possessed by the woman who made use of it. There were some who -described it as "thickness," a rather remarkable designation given to -a certain quality of temper by the people of the valley. But there was -no denying that it had won for her a cumulative series of results which -had built up about her something definite and original and placed her -resolutely in the life of the valley.</p> - -<p>She would often say a thing like this, and it might be taken as a -good example of her talk and as throwing a light as well upon the -conversation of those with whom she walked home the road from the House -of God. A young couple would have done the best thing by marrying at -the right age, and these long-married women with the queer minds would -be putting before them the very worst prospects. Mrs. Brennan would -distinguish herself by saying a characteristic thing:</p> - -<p>"Well, if there's quarreling between them, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> musha! the same is sure -to be, the names they'll call one another won't be very nice for the -<i>pedigree</i> is not too <i>clean</i> on either side of the house."</p> - -<p>No word of contradiction or comment would come from the others, for -this was a morsel too choice to be disdained, seeing that it so -perfectly expressed their own thoughts and the most intimate wishes -of their hearts. It was when they got home, however, and, during the -remaining portion of the Sunday, their happy carnival of destructive -gossip, that they would think of asking themselves the question—"What -right had Nan Byrne of all people to be thinking of little slips -that had happened in the days gone by?" But the unreasonableness -of her words never appeared in this light to her own mind. She was -self-righteous to an enormous degree, and it was her particular fancy -to consider all women as retaining strongly their primal degradation. -And yet it was at such a time she remembered, not penitently however, -or in terms of abasement, but with a heavy sadness numbing her every -faculty. It was her connection with a great sin and her love for her -son John which would not become reconciled.</p> - -<p>When she returned to the valley with her husband and her young child -she had inaugurated her life's dream. Her son John was to be her -final justification before the world and, in a most wondrous way, had -her dream begun to come true. She had reared him well, and he was so -different from Ned Brennan. He was of a kindly disposition and, in the -opinion of Master Donnellan, who was well hated by his mother, gave -promise of great things. He had passed through the National School in -some way that was known only to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> Mrs. Brennan, to "a grand College in -England." He appeared as an extraordinary exception to the breed of -the valley, especially when one considered the characters of both his parents.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan dearly loved her son, but even here, as in every phase of -her life, the curious twist of her nature revealed itself. Hers was a -selfish love, for it had mostly to do with the triumph he represented -for her before the people of the valley. But this was her dream, and a -dream may often become dearer than a child. It was her one sustaining -joy, and she could not bear to think of any shadow falling down to -darken its grandeur. The least suspicion of a calamity of this kind -always had the effect of reducing to ruins the brazen front of the Mrs. -Brennan who presented herself to the valley and of giving her a kind of -fainting in her very heart.</p> - -<p>Her lovely son! She wiped her tear-stained cheeks now with the corner -of her black apron, for Farrell McGuinness, the postman, was at the -door. He said, "Good-morra, Mrs. Brennan!" and handed her a letter. -It was from John, telling her that his summer holidays were almost at -hand. It seemed strange that, just now, when she had been thinking of -him, this letter should have come.... Well, well, how quickly the time -passed, now that the snow had settled upon her hair.</p> - -<p>Farrell McGuinness was loitering by the door waiting to have a word -with her when she had read her letter.</p> - -<p>"I hear Mary Cooney over in Cruckenerega is home from Belfast again. -Aye, and that she's shut herself up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> in a room and not one can see a -sight of her. Isn't that quare now? Isn't it, Mrs. Brennan?"</p> - -<p>"It's great, isn't it, Farrell? You may be sure there's something the -matter with her."</p> - -<p>"God bless us now, but wouldn't that be the hard blow to her father and -mother and to her little sisters?"</p> - -<p>"Arrah musha, between you and me and the wall, the divil a loss. What -could she be, anyhow?"</p> - -<p>"That's true for you, Mrs. Brennan!"</p> - -<p>"Aye, and to think that it was in Belfast, of all places, that it -happened. Now, d'ye know what I'm going to tell ye, Farrell? 'Tis the -bad, Orange, immoral hole of a place is the same Belfast!"</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> - -<p>Farrell McGuinness, grinning to himself, had moved away on his red -bicycle, and a motor now came towards her in its envelope of dust down -the long road of Tullahanogue. This was the first hire motor that -had appeared in the village of Garradrimna and was the property of -Charlie Clarke, an excellent, religious man, who had interested himself -so successfully in bazaars and the charities that he had been thus -enabled to purchase it. Its coming amongst them had been a sensational -occurrence. If a neighbor wished to flout a neighbor it was done by -hiring Clarke's car; and Mrs. Brennan immediately thought what a grand -thing it would be to take it on the coming Thursday and make a brave -show with her son John sitting up beside her and he dressed in black. -The dignity of her son, now moving so near the priesthood, demanded -such a demonstration. She hailed Charlie Clarke, and the car came -suddenly to a standstill. The petrol fumes mingling with the rising -dust of the summer road, floated to her nostrils like some incense of -pride.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Mrs. Brennan!"</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Mr. Clarke!"</p> - -<p>"You're not at the races of Mullaghowen?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet, Mrs. Brennan, but I'm going—and with the Houlihans of -Clonabroney."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> - -<p>"The Houlihans of Clonabroney, well, well; that's what you might call a -<i>quality</i> drive."</p> - -<p>"Oh, indeed, 'tis almost exclusively to the quality and to the priests -my drives are confined, Mrs. Brennan. I'm not patronized by the beggars -of the valley."</p> - -<p>"That's right, Mr. Clarke, that's right. Keep your car <i>clean</i> at all -costs.... It's what I just stopped you to see if you could drive me -over to Kilaconnaghan to meet my son John on Thursday. He's coming -home."</p> - -<p>"Is that so? Well you may say that's grand, Mrs. Brennan. Oh, indeed, -John is the rare credit to you, so he is. You should be proud of him, -for 'tis the fine beautiful thing to be going on for the Church. In -fact, do ye know what it is, Mrs. Brennan? Only I'm married, I'd be -thinking this very minute of giving up motor, shop, land and everything -and going into a monastery. I would so."</p> - -<p>"Now aren't you the fine, noble-minded man to be thinking of the like?"</p> - -<p>"I am so.... Well, I'll drive you, Mrs. Brennan. On Thursday, you say, -to Kilaconnaghan. The round trip will cost you fifteen shillings."</p> - -<p>"Fifteen shillings?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Clarke had already re-started the car which was again humming -dustily down the road. Mrs. Brennan turned wearily into the sewing-room -and seated herself once more by the machine. She was crushed a little -by the thought of the fifteen shillings. She saw clearly before her the -long procession of the hours of torture for her eyes that the amount -represented. It appeared well that she had not given the few coppers to -old Marse Prendergast, for, even as things stood,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> she must approach -some of her customers towards the settlement of small accounts to -enable her to spend fifteen shillings in the display of her pride.... -For eighteen years it had been thus with her, this continual scraping -and worrying about money. She wondered and wondered now was she ever -destined to find release from mean tortures. Maybe when her son had -become a priest he would be good to his mother? She had known of -priests and the relatives of priests, who had grown amazingly rich.</p> - -<p>She was recalled from her long reverie by the return of Ned Brennan -from Garradrimna. The signs of drink were upon him.</p> - -<p>"Where's me dinner?" he said, in a flat, heavy voice.</p> - -<p>"Your dinner, is it? Oh dear, dear, 'tis how I never thought of putting -it on yet. I had a letter from John, and sure it set me thinking. God -knows I'll have it ready for you as soon as I can."</p> - -<p>"Aye, John. A letter from John.... Begad.... Begad.... And I wanting me -dinner!"</p> - -<p>"So you'll have it, so you'll have it. Now aren't you the wild, -impatient man? Can't you wait a minute?"</p> - -<p>"I never did see such a woman as you, and I in a complete hurry. Three -slates slipped down off the school roof in the bit of wind the other -night, and I'm after getting instructions from Father O'Keeffe to put -them on."</p> - -<p>"Ah, sure, 'tis well I know how good and industrious you are, Ned. -That's the sixth time this year you've put on the very same slates. -You're a good man, indeed, and a fine tradesman."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> - -<p>For the moment his anger was appeased by this ironical compliment, -which she did not intend as irony; but at heart he was deeply vexed -because he was going to do this little job. She knew he must be talking -of it for months to come. When the few shillings it brought him were -spent she must give him others and others as a continuous reward for -his vast effort. This she must do as a part of her tragic existence, -while beholding at the same time how he despised her in his heart.</p> - -<p>But, just now, the bitterness of this realization did not assail -her with the full power of the outer darkness, for her mind was lit -brilliantly to-day by the thought of John. And during the hours that -passed after she had fitted out Ned for his adventurous expedition to -the roof she could just barely summon up courage to turn the machine, -so consumed was she by a great yearning for her son.</p> - -<p>The days, until Thursday, seemed to stretch themselves into an age. -But at three o'clock, when Charlie Clarke's white motor drew up at the -door, she was still preparing for the journey. In the room which had -known another aspect of her life she had been adorning herself for long -hours. The very best clothes and all the personal ornaments in her -possession must needs be brought into use. For it had suddenly appeared -to her that she was about to enter into an unique ceremony comparable -only to the ordination of John.</p> - -<p>Searching in an unfrequented drawer of the dressing-table for -hair-pins, she had come upon an old cameo-brooch, one of Henry -Shannon's costly presents to her during the period of their -strange "honeymoon." It was a pretty thing, so massive and so -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>respectable-looking. It was of that heavy Victorian period to which -her story also belonged. With trembling hands she fastened it upon her -bosom. In a deeper recess of the drawer she came upon a powder puff in -a small round box, which still held some of the aid to beauty remaining -dry and useful through all the years. She had once used it to heighten -her graces in the eyes of Henry Shannon. And now, for all the blanching -trouble through which she had passed, she could not resist the impulses -of the light woman in her and use it to assert her pride in her son. It -must be a part of her decking-out as she passed through the valley in a -motor for the first time, going forth to meet her son.</p> - -<p>She took her seat at last by the side of Charlie Clarke, and passed -proudly down the valley road. Things might have gone as agreeably -as she had planned but for the peculiar religious warp there was -in Charlie. He might have talked about the mechanism of his car or -remarked at length upon the beauty of the summer day, but he must -inevitably twist the conversation in the direction of religion.</p> - -<p>"I suppose," said he, "that it's a fine thing to be the mother of a -young fellow going on for the Church. It must make you very contented -in yourself when you think of all the Masses he will say for you during -your lifetime and all the Masses he will say for the repose of your -soul when you are dead and gone."</p> - -<p>"Aye, indeed, that's a grand and a true saying for you, Mr. Clarke. But -sure what else could one expect from you, and yourself the good man -that goes to Mass every day?"</p> - -<p>"And, Mrs. Brennan, woman dear, to see him saying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> the Holy Mass, and -he having his face shining with the Light of Heaven!"</p> - -<p>"A beautiful sight, Mr. Clarke, as sure as you're there."</p> - -<p>The car was speeding along merrily, and now it had just passed, with -a slight bump, over the culvert of a stream, which here and there was -playing musically about little stones, and here and there was like bits -of molten silver spitting in the sun. It was a grand day.</p> - -<p>Whether or not the unusual sensation of the throbbing car was too much -for Mrs. Brennan, she was speaking little although listening eagerly to -the words of Charlie Clarke, asking him once or twice to repeat some -sentences she had been kept from hearing by the noise of the engine. -Now she was growing more and more silent, for they had not yet passed -out of the barony of Tullahanogue. She saw many a head suddenly fill -many a squinting window, and men and women they met on the road turn -round with a sneer to gaze back at her sitting up there beside Charlie -Clarke, the saintly chauffeur who went to Mass every day.</p> - -<p>Her ears were burning, and into her mind, in powerful battalions, were -coming all the thoughts that had just been born in the minds of the -others. The powder she had applied to her cheeks was now like a burning -sweat upon her skin. The cameo-brooch felt like a great weight where -it lay upon her bosom heavily. It caught her breath and so prevented -her maintaining conversation with Charlie Clarke. It reminded her -insistently of the dear baby head of John reposing, as in a bower of -tenderness, upon the same place.</p> - -<p>"It must be the grand and blessed thing for a mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> to go to -confession to her son. Now wouldn't it be wonderful to think of -telling him, as the minister of God's mercy, the little faults she had -committed before he was born or before she married his father. Now -isn't that the queer thought, Mrs. Brennan?"</p> - -<p>She did not reply, and it took all she could marshal of self-possession -to protect her from tears as the motor hummed into the village of -Kilaconnaghan, where the railway station was. They had arrived well in -advance of the train's time. She passed through the little waiting-room -and looked into the advertisement for Jameson's Whiskey, which was -also a mirror. She remembered that it was in this very room she had -waited before going away for that disastrous "honeymoon" with Henry -Shannon.... This was a better mirror than the one at home, and she -saw that the blaze upon her cheeks had already subdued the power of -the powder, making it unnecessary and as the merest dirt upon her -face.... The cameo-brooch looked so large and gaudy.... She momentarily -considered herself not at all unlike some faded women of the pavement -she had seen move, like malignant specters, beneath the lamplight in -Dublin city.... She plucked away the brooch from her bosom and thrust -it into her pocket. Then she wiped her face clean with her handkerchief.</p> - -<p>Far off, and as a glad sound coming tentatively to her ears, she could -hear the train that was bearing her beloved son home to the valley and -to her. It was nearly a year since she last saw him, and she fancied he -must have changed so within that space of time. Who knew how he might -change towards her some day? This was her constant dread. And now as -the increasing noise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> of the train told that it was drawing nearer she -felt immensely lonely.</p> - -<p>The few stray passengers who ever came to Kilaconnaghan by the -afternoon train had got out, and John Brennan was amongst them. On the -journey from Dublin he had occupied a carriage with Myles Shannon, -who was the surviving brother of Henry Shannon and the magnate of the -valley. The time had passed pleasantly enough, for Mr. Shannon was -a well-read, interesting man. He had spoken in an illuminating way -of the Great War. He viewed it in the light of a scourge and a just -reckoning of calamity that the nations must pay for bad deeds they -had done. "It is strange," said he, "that even a nation, just like an -individual, must pay its just toll for its sins. It cannot escape, for -the punishment is written down with the sin. There is not one of us who -may not be made to feel the wide sweep of God's justice in this Great -War, even you, my boy, who may think yourself far removed from such a -possibility."</p> - -<p>These were memorable words, and John Brennan allowed himself to fall -into a spell of silence that he might the better ponder them. Looking -up suddenly, he caught the other gazing intently at him with a harsh -smile upon his face.</p> - -<p>So now that they were to part they turned to shake hands.</p> - -<p>"Good-by, Mr. Brennan!" said Myles Shannon to the student. "I wish -you an enjoyable holiday-time. Maybe you could call over some evening -to see my nephew Ulick, my brother Henry's son. He's here on holidays -this year for the first time, and he finds the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> valley uncommonly dull -after the delights of Dublin. He's a gay young spark, I can tell you, -but students of physic are generally more inclined to be lively than -students of divinity."</p> - -<p>This he said with a flicker of his harsh smile as they shook hands, and -John Brennan thanked him for his kind invitation. Catching sight of -Mrs. Brennan, Mr. Shannon said, "Good-day!" coolly and moved out of the -station.</p> - -<p>To Mrs. Brennan this short conversation on the platform had seemed -protracted to a dreadful length. As she beheld it from a little -distance a kind of desolation had leaped up to destroy the lovely day. -It compelled her to feel a kind of hurt that her son should have chosen -to expend the few first seconds of his home-coming in talking, of all -people, to one of the Shannon family. But he was a young gentleman and -must, of course, show off his courtesy and nice manners. And he did not -know.... But Myles Shannon knew.... His cool "Good-day!" to her as he -moved out of the station appeared to her delicate sensitiveness of the -moment as an exhibition of his knowledge. Immediately she felt that she -must warn John against the Shannons.</p> - -<p>He came towards her at last, a thin young man in black, wearing cheap -spectacles. He looked tenderly upon the woman who had borne him. She -embraced him and entered into a state of rapt admiration. Within the -wonder of his presence she was as one translated, her sad thoughts -began to fall from her one by one. On the platform of this dusty -wayside station in Ireland she became a part of the glory of motherhood -as she stood there looking with pride upon her son.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> - -<p>The motor had surprised him. He would have been better pleased if -this expense had been avoided, for he was not without knowledge -and appreciation of the condition of his parents' affairs. Besides -the little donkey and trap had always appeared so welcome in -their simplicity, and it was by means of them that all his former -home-comings had been effected. Those easy voyages had afforded -opportunity for contemplation upon the splendor of the fields, but now -the fields seemed to slip past as if annoyed by their faithlessness. -Yet he knew that his mother had done this thing to please him, and how -could he find it in his heart to be displeased with her?</p> - -<p>She was speaking kind words to him, which were being rudely destroyed, -in their tender intonation, by the noise of the engine. She was setting -forth the reasons why she had taken the car. It was the right thing now -around Garradrimna.—The Houlihans of Clonabroney.—Again the changing -of the gears cut short her explanation.</p> - -<p>"That man who was down with you in the train, Mr. Shannon, what was he -saying to you?"</p> - -<p>"Indeed he was kindly inviting me over to see his nephew. I never knew -he had a nephew, but it seems he has lived up in Dublin. He said that -his brother, Henry Shannon, was the father of this young man."</p> - -<p>The feelings which her son's words brought rushing into her mind seemed -to cloud out all the brightness which, for her, had again returned -to the day. Yes, this young man, this Ulick Shannon, was the son of -Henry Shannon and Henry Shannon was the one who had brought the great -darkness into her life.... It would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> be queer, she thought, beyond -all the queerness of the world, to see the son of that man and her -son walking together through the valley. The things that must be said -of them, the terrible sneer by which they would be surrounded—Henry -Shannon's son and the son of Nan Byrne.... She grew so silent beneath -the sorrow of her vision that, even in the less noisy spaces of the -humming car, the amount of time during which she did not speak seemed a -great while.</p> - -<p>"What is the matter, mother?" said John Brennan.</p> - -<p>"It was how I was thinking that maybe it would be better now if you had -nothing to do with the Shannons."</p> - -<p>"But it was very kind of Mr. Shannon to invite me."</p> - -<p>"I know, I know; but I'd rather than the world it was any other family -at all only the Shannons. They're a curious clan."</p> - -<p>In the painful silence that had come upon them she too was thinking -of the reasons from which her words had sprung. Of how Henry Shannon -had failed to marry her after he had ruined her; of how the disgrace -had done no harm at all to him with his money and his fine farm. Then -there was the burning thought of how he had married Grace Gogarty, the -proudest and grandest girl in the whole parish, and of how this young -man had been born prematurely and, by a curious chance, about the same -time as her own little child. The one thing that she always dreaded -more than any other, in the pain of its remembrance, was the fact that -Henry Shannon had married Grace Gogarty directly after the "honeymoon" -with her in Dublin. Yes, it was hardest of all to think of that, and of -how Grace Gogarty had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> so held up her head all through the short period -of her wedded life with Henry Shannon. And after his death she had gone -about with such conceited sorrowfulness in her widow's weeds.</p> - -<p>These thoughts had passed through her mind with swift definition, each -one cutting deeper the gap which separated her from the long-dreamt-of -joy of John's home-coming. And her lovely son sitting up beside her had -grown so silent.</p> - -<p>As the car stopped by the house and Ned Brennan came out to meet them, -unshaven and walking doggedly, she felt very certain that a shadow -had settled down upon this particular return of John. The remembrance -of her sin, from which it seemed impossible to escape, made the great -thing she had planned so little and desolate.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> - -<p>There arose a continual coming and going of John Brennan to and from -the house of his mother through the valley. He was an object of -curiosity and conjecture. The windows would squint at him as he went -past through power of the leering faces behind; men working in the -fields would run to the hedges and gaze after him as he went far down -the road.</p> - -<p>In the evenings black prophets would foregather and say: "Now isn't he -the fine-looking young fellow indeed, with the grand black clothes upon -him; but he'll never be a priest, and that's as sure as you're there, -for his mother is Nan Byrne, and she was a bad woman, God help us all! -'Tis a pity of him, when you come to think of it, for it isn't his -fault, happening as it did before he was born."</p> - -<p>John Brennan was innocent of guile, and so he did not become aware of -the attitude of those among whom he passed. He did not realize that in -his own person he stood as an affront to them, that he was the Levite -standing nearer God than they in their crude condition as clods of the -earth. It was his mother who had created this position for him, for she -had directed his studies towards divinity. If his natural abilities -had won him the promise of any other elevation, it might not have -annoyed them so deeply. But this was something they could not have -been expected to bear, for not one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> amongst them had a son a priest, -although they believed as implicitly as Mrs. Brennan in the virtue of -religion, and there was always a feeling of intense righteousness upon -them when they remembered her story.</p> - -<p>Yet, although this was the way they looked upon him, they were not -without a certain cringing respect for the realization he represented. -Thus it was that when they spoke to him there was a touch of deference -in their voices although there was a sneer in their hearts. It could -not be expected that he should see them as they really were. Yet -there were odd, great moments when his larger vision enabled him to -behold them moving infinitesimally, in affright, beneath the shadow -of the Divine Hand. He possessed a certain gift of observation, but -it was superficial and of little consequence to his character for it -flourished side by side with the large charity of his heart.</p> - -<p>One morning he encountered old Marse Prendergast upon the road. She -was gathering a few green sticks from the hedge-rows. She seemed to be -always looking for the means of a fire, and, to John Brennan, there -appeared something that touched him greatly in the spectacle of this -whining old woman, from whom the spark of life was so quickly fading, -having no comfort, even on a summer day, but just to be sitting over -a few smoldering sticks, sucking at an old black pipe and breaking -out into occasional converse with herself. She who had given birth -to strong sons and lovely daughters sitting here in her little cabin -alone. Her clutch was gone from her to America, to the streets, and to -the grave.</p> - -<p>John Brennan felt the pity of her, although he did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> notice that the -curtsey she gave him from the ditch was an essential portion of her -contempt for the son of Nan Byrne (the cheek of him going on for to be -a priest!), or that when she addressed him as <i>Mr.</i> Brennan it was in -derision.</p> - -<p>"And glory be to God, sure we'll soon have to be calling you <i>Father</i> -Brennan!" she repeated, as if silently marveling at the impossibility -of the combination of words.</p> - -<p>He saw her move to accompany him down the road, her old back bent -cruelly beneath the load of the weighty, green branches. He was -touched, for he was not blind to the symbolism for which she stood, and -offered to carry the branches for her, and she, accepting his offer, -called down upon his head the blessing of God.</p> - -<p>As they moved slowly along the road she recounted, in snatches between -her questions regarding his life at college, all the intimate woes -of her life. Her lamentations, as they drew near the cottage of Mrs. -Brennan, attracted the attention of his mother, who saw a sight -filling her eyes which cut her to the bone. She saw her son John, her -hope and pride, conversing with Marse Prendergast, the long-tongued -shuiler who tramped the country with her stories and in quest of more -stories—Marse Prendergast who knew her secret as no other knew it, and -who had so recently reminded her of that knowledge. And he was carrying -her sticks along the public road in the full light of day.... So -powerful was the hurt of her maternal feelings that she almost fainted -sitting there by her machine.</p> - -<p>When John came into the room she looked so pale that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> he fancied she -must be ill. He inquired as to the causes of her condition, but she -only replied that she would try to tell him when he had taken his -breakfast.</p> - -<p>As he was eating in silence she wondered what at all she could say to -him or how she would attempt to place her view of things before him. -This incident of the morning might be taken as a direct foreshadowing -of what might happen if his foolish charity extended further down -the valley. She did not dare to imagine what things he might be told -or what stories might be suggested to his mind by the talk of the -neighbors. But it was clearly her duty doubly to protect him from such -a possibility. She saw that he had finished his breakfast.</p> - -<p>"That was the quare thing you were doing just now, John? It was the -quarest thing at all, so it was."</p> - -<p>"Queer, mother; what was?"</p> - -<p>"Talking to old Marse Prendergast, son, and she only a woman of the -roads with a bad tongue on her."</p> - -<p>"I only stopped talking with her, mother, so that I might carry her -sticks. She was not able."</p> - -<p>"And she used the fine opportunity, I'll warrant, to drag information -out of you and carry it all through the valley. That's what she was at! -That's what she was at!"</p> - -<p>There was a kind of mournful wail in Mrs. Brennan's tones as if she -saw in John's action of the morning some irretrievable distance placed -between herself and him. The people of the valley loomed ever great as -an army between her and the desire of her heart, and John had just now, -as it were, afforded an opening to the enemy.</p> - -<p>He received a certain amount of hurt from her words,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> for although -he knew her only as his mother and a good woman who was well nigh -faultless in her practise of the Christian religion, why was it that -this simple action of his, with its slight touch of charity, was -resented by her? Yet he allowed her to proceed without question, -listening always with that high and fine attention which must have been -the attitude of Christ as He listened to His Mother in Galilee.</p> - -<p>She painted a picture of the valley for his consideration. She -proceeded to do this with a great concern moving her, for she was quick -to perceive the change in him since his last holidays. He was a man -now, and it was to his manhood condition she appealed. She began to -tell him, with such a rush of words, the life-histories of those around -him. There was not a slight detail she did not go to great pains to -enlarge, no skeleton she did not cause to jump from its cupboard and -run alive once more through the valley. She painted a new portrait of -every inhabitant in a way that amazed John, who had not known of such -things.</p> - -<p>But over his first feelings of surprise came a great realization of -sadness. For this was his mother who was speaking. Hitherto he had -looked upon her as one untouched by the clayey villainies of earth, a -patient and very noble woman, with tired eyes and busy hands rather -fashioned to confer benedictions than waste themselves in labor. Now -he was listening to one most subtly different, to a woman who had been -suddenly metamorphosed into the likeness of something primeval and -startling. And she was oh! so bitter.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan had no notion of the change that had come upon her. To -herself there still appeared no <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>difference in herself. She was doing -all this for love of her son John, as she had done much for love of him.</p> - -<p>There fell a thick silence between them when she had finished. The -mother and the son were both exhausted, he from listening to her and -she from reading the pedigrees of every one to whom her mind could -possibly extend, including Marse Prendergast, the shuiler, and the -Shannons, who were almost gentlemen like the Houlihans of Clonabroney.</p> - -<p>John Brennan sighed as he said out of the innocence of his heart:</p> - -<p>"It is good, mother, that we are not as the rest of these."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan did not reply.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> - -<p>In rural Ireland the "bona-fide," or rather <i>mala-fide</i>, traveler -constitutes a certain blasphemous aspect in the celebration of -the Sabbath. There are different types of "bona-fide," whose -characteristics may be said to vary in direct proportion to their love -and enthusiasm for porter. The worship of porter, when it has attained -the proportions of a perfect passion, is best described as "the pursuit -of porter in a can." It is the cause of many drunken skirmishes with -the law, and it is interesting to observe such mistaken heroes in the -execution of their plans.</p> - -<p>At a given signal a sudden descent is made upon a pub. A series of -whistles from sentries in various parts of the village has announced -the arrival of the propitious moment. A big tin'can is the only visible -evidence of their dark intention. One almost forgets its betraying -presence in the whirling moment of the brave deed. Then the deed is -done. By some extraordinary process the can that was empty is found to -be filled. It is the miracle of the porter.... When the sergeant and -his colleagues come on the scene some hours later, an empty can with -slight traces of froth upon the sides, "like beaded bubbles winking at -the brim," constitutes the remaining flimsy evidence of the great thing -that has happened.</p> - -<p>The mind of John Brennan was more or less foreign<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> to this aspect of -life amongst the fields. He would be the very last to realize that -such were essential happenings in the life of his native village of -Garradrimna. On his first Sunday at home he went walking, after second -Mass, through the green woods which were the western boundary of the -village. His thoughts were dwelling upon Father O'Keeffe's material -interpretation of the Gospel story. At last they eddied into rest as he -moved there along the bright path between the tall trees, so quiet as -with adoration.</p> - -<p>When he came by that portion of the demesne wall, which lay at the back -of Brannagan's public-house, he heard a scurrying of rabbits among the -undergrowth. In the sudden hush which followed he heard a familiar -voice raised in a tense whisper.</p> - -<p>"Hurry, quick! quick! There's some one in black coming up the path. It -must be Sergeant McGoldrick. The can! the can!"</p> - -<p>His cheeks were suddenly flushed by a feeling of shame, for it was -his father who had spoken. He stood behind a wide beech tree in mere -confusion and not that he desired to see what was going forward.</p> - -<p>His father, Ned Brennan, bent down like an acrobat across the demesne -wall and took the can from some one beneath. Then he ran down through -the undergrowth, the brown froth of the porter dashing out upon his -trousers, his quick eyes darting hither and thither like those of a -frightened animal. But he did not catch sight of John, who saw him -raise the can to his lips.</p> - -<p>It was a new experience for John Brennan to see his father thus -spending the Sabbath in this dark place in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> the woods, while out in the -young summer day spilled and surged all the wonder of the world.... A -sort of pity claimed possession of him as he took a different way among -the cathedral trees.... His father was the queer man, queer surely, -and moving lonely in his life. He was not the intimate of his son nor -of the woman who was his son's mother. He had never seemed greatly -concerned to do things towards the respect and honor of that woman. And -yet John Brennan could not forget that he was his father.</p> - -<p>Just now another incident came to divert his mood. He encountered an -ancient dryad flitting through the woods. This was Padna Padna, a -famous character in Garradrimna. For all his name was that of the great -apostle of his country, his affinities were pagan. Although he was -eighty, he got drunk every day and never went to Mass. In his early -days he had been the proprietor of a little place and the owner of a -hackney car. When the posting business fell into decline, he had had -to sell the little place and the horse and car, and the purchase money -had been left for his support with a distant relative in the village. -He was a striking figure as he moved abroad in the disguise of a cleric -not altogether devoted to the service of God. He always dressed in -solemn black, and his coat was longer than that of a civilian. His -great hat gave him a downcast look, as of one who has peered into the -Mysteries. His face was wasted and small, and this, with his partially -blinded eyes behind the sixpenny spectacles, gave him a certain -asceticism of look. Yet it was the way he carried himself rather than -his general aspect which created this impression of him. He was very -small,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> and shrinking daily. His eyes were always dwelling upon his -little boots in meditation. Were you unaware of his real, character, -you might foolishly imagine that he was thinking of high, immortal -things, but he was in reality thinking of drink.</p> - -<p>This was his daily program. He got up early and, on most mornings, -crossed the street to Bartle Donohoe, the village barber, for a shave. -Bartle would be waiting for him, his dark eye hanging critically as -he tested the razor edge against the skin of his thumb. The little -blade would be glinting in the sunlight.... Sometimes Bartle would -become possessed of the thought that the morning might come when, -after an unusually hard carouse on the previous night, he would not be -responsible for all his razor might do, that it might suddenly leap out -of his shivering hand and make a shocking end of Padna Padna and all -his tyranny.... But his reputation as the drunkard with the steadiest -hand in Garradrimna had to be maintained. If he did not shave Padna -Padna the fact would be published in every house.</p> - -<p>"Bartle Donohoe was too shaky to shave me this morning; too shaky, I -say. Ah, he's going wrong, going wrong! And will ye tell me this now? -How is it that if ye buy a clock, a little ordinary clock for a couple -of shillings, and give it an odd wind, it'll go right; but a man, a -great, clever man'll go wrong no matter what way ye strive for to -manage him?"</p> - -<p>If Bartle shaved him, Padna Padna would take his barber over to Tommy -Williams's to give him a drink, which was the only payment he ever -expected. After this, his first one, Padna Padna would say, "Not -going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> to drink any more to-day," to which Bartle Donohoe would reply -sententiously: "D'ye tell me so? Well, well! Is that a fact?"</p> - -<p>Then, directly, he would proceed to take a little walk before his -breakfast, calling at every house of entertainment and referring -distantly to the fact that Bartle Donohoe had a shake in his hand this -morning. "A shame for him, and he an only son and all!"</p> - -<p>And thus did he spend the days of his latter end, pacing the sidewalks -of Garradrimna, entering blindly into pubs and discussing the habits of -every one save himself.</p> - -<p>He was great in the field of reminiscence.</p> - -<p>"Be the Holy Farmer!" he would say, "but there's no drinking nowadays -tost what used to be longo. There's no decent fellows, and that's a -fact. Ah, they were the decent fellows longo. You couldn't go driving -them a place but they'd all come home mad. And sure I often didn't -know where I'd be driving them, I'd be that bloody drunk. Aye, decent -fellows! Sure they're all dead now through the power and the passion of -drink."</p> - -<p>So this was the one whom John Brennan now encountered amid the green -beauty of the woodland places. To him Padna Padna was one of the -immortals. Succeeding holiday after succeeding holiday had he met the -ancient man, fading surely but never wholly declining or disappearing. -The impulse which had prompted him to speak to Marse Prendergast a few -days previously now made him say: "How are you, old man?" to Padna -Padna.</p> - -<p>The venerable drunkard, by way of immediate reply, tapped upon his -lips with his fingers and then blew upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> his fingers and whistled -in cogitation. It was with his ears that he saw, and he possessed an -amazing faculty for distinguishing between the different voices of -different people.</p> - -<p>"John Brennan!" he at length exclaimed, in his high, thin voice. "Is -that John Brennan?"</p> - -<p>"It is, the very one."</p> - -<p>"And how are ye, John?"</p> - -<p>"Very well, indeed, Padna. How are you?"</p> - -<p>"Poorly only. Ah, John, this is the hard day on me always, the Sunday. -I declare to me God I detest Sunday. Here am I marching through the -woods since seven and I having no drink whatever. That cursed Sergeant -McGoldrick! May he have a tongue upon him some day the color of an ould -brick and he in the seventh cavern of Hell! Did ye see Ned?"</p> - -<p>The sudden and tense question was not immediately intelligible to John -Brennan. There were so many of the name about Garradrimna. Padna Padna -pranced impatiently as he waited for an answer.</p> - -<p>"Ah, is it letting on you are that you don't know who I mean, and you -with your grand ecclesiastical learning and all to that. 'Tis your own -father, Ned Brennan, that I mean. I was in a 'join' with him to get a -can out of Brannigan's. Mebbe you didn't see him anywhere down through -the wood, for I have an idea that he's going to swindle me. Did ye see -him, I'm asking you?"</p> - -<p>Even still John did not reply, for something seemed to have caught him -by the throat and was robbing him of the power of speech. The valley, -with its vast malevolence of which his mother had so recently warned -him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> was now driving him to say something which was not true.</p> - -<p>"No, Padna, I did not see him!" he at last managed to jerk out.</p> - -<p>"Mebbe he didn't manage to get me drink for me yet, and mebbe he did -get it and is after drinking it somewhere in the shadows of the trees -where he couldn't be seen. But what am I saying at all? Sure if he was -drinking it there before me, where you're standing, I couldn't see him, -me eyes is that bad. Isn't it the poor and the hard case to be blinded -to such an extent?"</p> - -<p>John Brennan felt no pity, so horrible was the expression that now -struggled into those dimming eyes. He thought of a puzzling fact of his -parentage. Why was it that his mother had never been able to save his -father from the ways of degradation into which he had fallen, the low -companions, the destruction of the valley; from all of which to even -the smallest extent she was now so anxious to save her son?</p> - -<p>Padna Padna was still blowing upon his fingers and regretting:</p> - -<p>"Now isn't it the poor and the hard case that there's no decent fellows -left in the world at all. To think that I can meet never a one now, me -that spent so much of me life driving decent fellows, driving, driving. -John, do ye know what it is now? You're after putting me in mind of -Henry Shannon. He was the decentest fellow! Many's the time I drove him -down to your grandmother's place when he wouldn't have a foot under him -to leave Garradrimna. That was when your mother was a young girl, John. -Hee, hee, hee!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> - -<p>John could not divine the reasons for the old man's glee, nor did he -perceive that the mind of Padna Padna, even in the darkening stages of -its end, was being lit by a horrible sneer at him and the very fact of -his existence. Instead he grew to feel rather a stir of compassion for -this old man, with his shattered conception of happiness such as it -was, burning his mind with memories while he rode down so queerly to -the grave.</p> - -<p>As he moved away through the long, peaceful aisles of the trees, his -soul was filled with gray questioning because of what he had just seen -of his father and because of the distant connection of his mother with -the incident. Why was it at all that his mother had never been able to -save his father?</p> - -<p>As he emerged from the last circle of the woods there seemed to be a -shadow falling low over the fields. He went with no eagerness towards -the house of his mother. This was Sunday, and it was her custom to -spend a large portion of the Sabbath in speaking of her neighbors. But -she would never say anything about his father, even though Ned Brennan -would not be in the house.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> - -<p>Just now there happened something of such unusual importance in the -valley that Mrs. Brennan became excited about it. The assistant teacher -of Tullahanogue Girls' School, Miss Mary Jane O'Donovan, had left, and -a new assistant was coming in her stead. Miss O'Donovan had always -given the making of her things to Mrs. Brennan, so she spoke of her, -now that she was gone, as having been "a <i>very</i> nice girl." Just yet, -of course, she was not in a position to say as much about the girl who -was coming. But the entry of a new person into the life of the valley -was a great event! Such new things could be said!</p> - -<p>On Monday morning Mrs. Brennan called her son into the sewing-room to -describe the imminent nature of the event. The sense of depression that -had come upon him during the previous day did not become averted as he -listened.</p> - -<p>What an extraordinary mixture this woman who was his mother now -appeared before his eyes! And yet he could not question her in any -action or in any speech; she was his mother, and so everything -that fell from her must be taken in a mood of noble and respectful -acceptance. But she was without charity, and as he saw her in this -guise he was compelled to think of his father and the incident of -yesterday, and he could not help <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>wondering. He suddenly realized that -what was happening presently in this room was happening in every house -down the valley. Even before her coming she was being condemned. It was -beneath the shadow of this already created cloud she would have to live -and move and earn her little living in the schoolhouse of Tullahanogue. -John Brennan began to have some pity for the girl.</p> - -<p>Ned Brennan now appeared at the door leading to the kitchen and -beckoned to his wife. She went at his calling, and John noticed that at -her return some part of her had fallen away. His father went from the -house whistling at a pitch that was touched with delight.</p> - -<p>"Where is my father bound for?"</p> - -<p>"He's gone to Garradrimna, John, to order lead for the roof of the -school. The valley behind the chimney is leaking again and he has to -cobble it. 'Tis the great bother he gets with that roof, whatever sort -it is. Isn't it a wonder now that Father O'Keeffe wouldn't put a new -one on it, and all the money he gets so handy ...?"</p> - -<p>"My father seems to be always at that roof. He used to be at it when I -was going to school there."</p> - -<p>The words of her son came to Mrs. Brennan's ears with a sound of sad -complaint. It caused her to glimpse momentarily all the villainy of Ned -Brennan towards her through all the years, and of how she had borne -it for the sake of John. And here was John before her now becoming -reverently magnified in that part of her mind which was a melting -tenderness. It was him she must now save from the valley which had -ruined her man. Thus was she fearful again and the heart within her -caused to become troubled and to rush to and fro in her breast like -rushing water. Then, as if her whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> will was sped by some fearful -ecstasy, she went on to talk in her accustomed way of every one around -her, including the stranger who had not yet come to the valley.</p> - -<p>It was on the evening of this day that Rebecca Kerr, the new assistant -teacher, came through the village of Garradrimna to the valley of -Tullahanogue. Paddy McCann drove McDermott's hackney car down past -the old castle of the De Lacys. It carried her as passenger from -Mullaghowen, with her battered trunk strapped over the well. The group -of spitting idlers crowding around Brannagan's loudly asserted so much -as Paddy McCann and his cargo loomed out of the shadows beneath the -old castle and swung into the amazing realities of the village. It was -just past ten o'clock and the mean place now lay amid the enclosing -twilight. The conjunctive thirsts for drink and gossip which come at -this hour had attacked the ejected topers, and their tongues began to -water about the morsel now placed before them.</p> - -<p>A new schoolmistress, well, well! Didn't they change them shocking -often in Tullahanogue? And quare-looking things they were too, every -one of them. And here was another one, not much to look at either. They -said this as she came past. And what was her name? "Kerr is her name!" -said some one who had heard it from the very lips of Father O'Keeffe -himself.</p> - -<p>"Rebecca Kerr is her name," affirmed Farrell McGuinness, who had just -left a letter for her at the Presbytery.</p> - -<p>"Rebecca what? Kerr—Kerr—Kerr, is it?" sputtered Padna Padna; "what -for wouldn't it be <i>Carr</i> now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> just common and simple? But of course -<i>Kerr</i> has a ring of the quality about it. <i>Kerr</i>, be God!"</p> - -<p>These were the oracles of Garradrimna who were now speaking of her -thus. But she had no thought of them at all as she glanced hurriedly -at the shops and puzzled her brains to guess where the best draper's -shop might be. She had a vague, wondering notion as to where she might -get all those little things so necessary for a girl. She had a fleeting -glimpse of herself standing outside one of those worn counters she was -very certain existed somewhere in the village, talking ever so much -talk with the faded girl who dispensed the vanities of other days, or -else exchanging mild confidences with the vulgar and ample mistress of -the shop, who was sure to be always floating about the place immensely. -Yes, just there was the very shop with its brave selection from the -fashions of yester-year in the fly-blown windows.</p> - -<p>And there was the Post Office through which her letters to link her -with the outer world would come and go. She quickly figured the old -bespectacled postmistress, already blinded partially, and bent from -constant, anxious scrutiny, poring exultantly over the first letters -that might be sent to "Miss Rebecca Kerr," and examining the postmark. -Then the quality and gender of the writing, and being finally troubled -exceedingly as to the person it could have come from—sister, mother, -brother, father, friend, or "boy." Even although the tall candles of -Romance had long since guttered and gone out amid the ashes of her -mind the assaulting suspicion that it was from "a boy" would drive -her to turn the letter in her hand and take a look at the flap. Then -the temptation that was a part of her life would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> prove too strong -for her and a look of longing would come into the dull eyes as she -went hobbling into the kitchen to place it over the boiling kettle and -so embark it upon its steamy voyage to discovery. In a few minutes -she would be reading it, her hands trembling as she chuckled in -her obscene glee at all the noble sentiments it might contain. The -subsequent return of the letter to the envelope after the addition of -some gum from a penny bottle if the old sticking did not suffice. Her -interludiary sigh of satisfaction when she remembered that one could -re-stick so many opened envelopes with a penny bottle of gum by using -it economically. The inevitable result of this examination, a superior -look of wisdom upon the withered face when the new schoolmistress, -Rebecca Kerr, came for the first time into the office to ask for a -letter from her love.... But so far in her life she had formed no deep -attachment.</p> - -<p>It was thus and thus that Rebecca Kerr ran through her mind a few -immediate sketchy realizations of this village in Ireland. She had -lived in others, and this one could not be so very different.... -There now was the butcher's stall, kept filthily, where she might -buy her bit of beef or mutton occasionally. She caught a glimpse of -the victualler standing with his dirty wife amid the strong-smelling -meat. The name above the door was that of the publichouse immediately -beside it. A little further on, upon the same side, was the newsagent's -and stationer's, where they sold sweets and everything. It was here -she might buy her notepaper to write to her own people in Donegal, -or else to some of her college friends with whom she still kept up -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> correspondence. And here also she might treat herself, on rare -occasions, to a box of cheap chocolates, or to some of the injurious, -colored sweets which always gave her the toothache, presenting the most -of them, perhaps, to some child to whom she had taken a fancy.</p> - -<p>By little bits like these, which formed a series of flashes, she saw -some aspects of the life she might lead here. Each separate flash left -something of an impression before it went out of her mind.</p> - -<p>The jingling car swung on past the various groups upon the street, -each group twisting its head as one man to observe the spectacle of -her passing. "That's the new schoolmistress!" "There she is, begad!" -"I heard Paddy McCann saying she was coming this evening!" She was -now in line with the famous house of Tommy Williams, the gombeen-man. -She knew from the look of it that it was here she must buy her few -groceries, for this was the principal house in Garradrimna and, even so -far as she, the octopus of Gombeenism was sure to extend itself. To be -sure, the gombeen-man would be the father of a family, for it is the -clear duty of such pillars of the community to rear up a long string -of patriots. If those children happened to be of school-going age, it -was certain they would not be sent to even the most convenient school -unless the teachers dealt in the shop. This is how gombeenism is made -to exercise control over National Education. Anyhow Rebecca Kerr was -very certain that she must enter the various-smelling shop to discuss -the children with the gombeen-man's wife.</p> - -<p>It was indeed a dreary kind of life that she would be compelled to lead -in this place, and, as she passed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> pretty chapel, which seemed to -stand up in the sight of Heaven as excuse for the affront that was -Garradrimna, she had a strange notion how she must go there sometimes -to find respite from the relentless crush of it all. On bitter -evenings, when her mind should ring with the mean tumults of the life -around her, it was there only she might go and, slipping in through the -dim vestibule where there were many mortuary cards to remind her of -all the dead, she would walk quickly to the last pew and, bending her -throbbing head, pour out her soul in prayer with the aid of her little -mother-of-pearl rosary.... They had gone a short distance past the -chapel and along the white road towards the valley.</p> - -<p>"This is the place," said Paddy McCann.</p> - -<p>She got down from the car wearily, and McCann carried her battered -trunk into the house of Sergeant McGoldrick which had been assigned as -her lodging by Father O'Keeffe. He emerged with a leer of expectation -upon his countenance, and she gave him a shilling from her little -possessions. At the door she was compelled to introduce herself.</p> - -<p>"So you are the new teacher. Well, begad! The missus is up in the -village. Come in. Begad!"</p> - -<p>He stood there, a big, ungainly man, at his own door as he gave the -invitation, a squalling baby in his arms, and in went Rebecca Kerr, -into the sitting-room where Mrs. McGoldrick made clothes for the -children. The sergeant proceeded to do his best to be entertaining. She -knew the tribe. He remained smoking his great black pipe and punctuated -the squalls of the baby by spitting huge volumes of saliva which hit -the fender with dull thuds.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> - -<p>"It's a grand evening in the country," said Sergeant McGoldrick.</p> - -<p>"Yes, a nice evening surely," said Rebecca Kerr.</p> - -<p>"Oh, it was a grand, lovely day in the country, the day. I was out in -the country all through the day. I was collecting the census of the -crops, so I was; a difficult and a critical job, I can tell you!"</p> - -<p>With an air of pride he took down the books of lists and showed her -the columns of names and particulars.... It was stupidly simple. Yet -here was this hulk of a man expanding his chest because of his childish -achievement. He had even stopped smoking and spitting to give space -to his own amazement, and the baby had ceased mewling to marvel in -infantile wonder at the spacious cleverness of her da.</p> - -<p>After nearly half an hour of this performance Mrs. McGoldrick bustled -into the room. She was a coarse-looking woman, whose manner had -evidently been made even more harsh by the severe segregation to -which the wives of policemen are subjected. Her voice was loud and -unmusical, and it appeared to Rebecca from the very first that not even -the appalling cleverness of her husband was a barrier to her strong -government of her own house. The sergeant disappeared immediately, -taking the baby with him, and left the women to their own company. Mrs. -McGoldrick had seen the battered, many-corded trunk in the hall-way, -and she now made a remark which was, perhaps, natural enough for a -woman:</p> - -<p>"You haven't much luggage anyway!" was what she said.</p> - -<p>"No!" replied Rebecca dully.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then she allowed her head to droop for what seemed a long while, during -all of which she was acutely conscious that the woman by her side was -staring at her, forming impressions of her, summing her up.</p> - -<p>"I don't think you're as tall as Miss O'Donovan was, and you haven't as -nice hair!"</p> - -<p>Rebecca made no comment of any kind upon this candor, but now that the -way had been opened Mrs. McGoldrick poured out a flood of information -regarding the late assistant of the valley school. She was reduced to -little pieces and, as it were, cremated in the furnace of this woman's -mind until tiny specks of the ashes of her floated about and danced and -scintillated before the tired eyes of Rebecca Kerr.</p> - -<p>As the heavier dusk of the short, warm night began to creep into -the little room her soul sank slowly lower. She was hungry now and -lonely. In the mildest way she distantly suggested a cup of tea, but -Mrs. McGoldrick at once resented this uncalled-for disturbance of her -harangue by bringing out what was probably meant to be taken as the one -admirable point in the other girl's character.</p> - -<p>"Miss O'Donovan used always get her own tea."</p> - -<p>But the desolating silence of Rebecca at length drove her towards the -kitchen, and she returned, after what seemed an endless period, with -some greasy-looking bread, a cup without a handle, and a teapot from -which the tea dribbled in agony on to the tablecloth through a wound in -its side.</p> - -<p>The sickening taste of the stuff that came out of the teapot only added -to Rebecca's sinking feeling. Her thoughts crept ever downward.... At -last there came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> a blessed desire for sleep-sleep and forgetfulness of -this day and the morrow. Her head was already beginning to spin as she -inquired for her room.</p> - -<p>"Your room?" exclaimed Mrs. McGoldrick in harsh surprise. "Why, 'tis -upstairs. There's only two rooms there, myself and the sergeant's and -the lodger's room—that's yours. I hadn't time this week back to make -the bed since Miss O'Donovan left, but of course you'll do that for -yourself. The sergeant is gone up to the barracks, so I'll have to help -you carry up your box, as I suppose you'll be wanting to get out some -of your things."</p> - -<p>It was a cruelly hard job getting the trunk up the steep staircase, but -between them they managed it. Rebecca was not disappointed by the bare, -ugly room. Mrs. McGoldrick closed the door behind them and stood in an -attitude of expectation. Even in the present dull state of her mind -Rebecca saw that her landlady was, with tense curiosity, awaiting the -opening of the box which held her poor belongings.... Then something of -the combative, selfish attitude of the woman to her kind stirred within -her, and she bravely resolved to fight, for a short space, this prying -woman who was trying to torment her soul.</p> - -<p>She looked at the untidied bed with the well-used sheets.... What -matter? It was only the place whereon the body of another poor tortured -creature like herself had lain. She would bear with this outrage -against her natural delicacy.</p> - -<p>In perfect silence she took off her skirt and blouse and corset. She -let fall her long, heavy hair and, before the broken looking-glass, -began to dally wearily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> with its luxuriance. This hair was very fair -and priceless, and it was hers who had not great possessions. Her -shining neck and blossomy breasts showed as a pattern in ivory against -the background that it made.... Some man, she thought, would like to -see her now and love her maybe. Beyond this vision of herself she could -see the ugly, anxious face of the woman behind her. She could feel -the discord of that woman's thoughts with the wandering strands of -withering hair.</p> - -<p>No word had passed between them since they came together into the room, -and Mrs. McGoldrick, retreating from the situation which had been -created, left with abruptness, closing the door loudly behind her.</p> - -<p>With as much haste as she could summon, Rebecca took off her shoes and -got her night-gown out of the trunk. Then she threw herself into the -bed. She put out the light and fumbled in her faded vanity bag for her -little mother-of-pearl rosary. There was a strange excitement upon her, -even in the final moments of her escape, and soon a portion of her -pillow was wet with tears. Between loud sobs arose the sound of her -prayers ascending:</p> - -<p>"Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou -amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.... Hail, -Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou.... Hail, -Mary, full of grace...."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> - -<p>At tea-time Mrs. Brennan was still talking to John of the girl who was -coming to the valley. Outside the day was still full of the calm glory -of summer. He went to the window and looked down upon the clean, blue -stretch of the little lake.... He had grown weary of his mother's talk. -What possible interest could he have in this unknown girl? He took -a book from a parcel on the table. With this volume in his hand and -reading it, as he might his breviary at some future time, he went out -and down towards the lake. On his way, he met a few men moving to and -from their tasks in the fields. He bade them the time of day and spoke -about the beauty of the afternoon. As they replied, a curious kind of -smile played around their lips, and there was not one who failed to -notice his enviable condition of idleness.</p> - -<p>"Indeed 'tis you that has the fine times!" "Indeed you might say 'tis -you that has the fine times!" "Now isn't the learning the grand thing, -to say that when you have it in your head you need never do a turn with -your hands?"</p> - -<p>Their petty comments had the effect of filling him with a distracting -sense of irritation, and it was some time before he could pick up any -continued interest in the book. It was the story of a young priest, -such as he might expect to be in a few years. Suddenly it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>appeared -remarkable that he should be reading this foreshadowing of his future. -That he should be seeing himself with all his ideas translated into -reality and his training changed into the work for which he had been -trained. Strange that this thought should have come into his mind with -smashing force here now and at this very time. Hitherto his future had -appeared as a thing apart from him, but now it seemed intimately bound -up with everything he could possibly do.</p> - -<p>He began to see very clearly for the first time the reason for his -mother's anxiety to keep him apart from the life of the valley. Did it -spring directly from her love for him, or was it merely selfish and -contributory to her pride? The whole burden of her talk showed clearly -that she was a proud woman. He could never come to have her way of -looking at things, and so he now felt that if he became a priest it was -she and not himself who would have triumphed.... He was still reading -the book, but it was in a confused way and with little attention. The -threads of the story had become entangled somehow with the threads -of his own story.... Occasionally his own personality would cease to -dominate it, and the lonely woman in the cottage, his mother sitting in -silence at her machine, would become the principal character.... The -hours went past him as he pondered.</p> - -<p>The evening shadows had begun to steal down from the hills. The western -sky was like the color of a golden chalice. Men were coming home weary -from the labor of the fields; cows were moving towards field gates with -wise looks in their eyes to await the milking; the young calves were -lowing for their evening meal. The quiet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> fir trees, which had slept -all through the day, now seemed to think of some forgotten trust and -were like vigilant sentries all down through the valley of Tullahanogue.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the eyes of John Brennan were held by a splendid picture. The -sweep of the Hill of Annus lay outlined in all the wonder of its curve, -and, on the ridge of it, moving with humped body, was Shamesy Golliher, -the most famous drunkard of the valley. He passed like a figure of -destruction above the valley against the sunset. John smiled, for he -remembered him and his habits, as both were known far and wide. He was -now going towards a certain wood where the rabbits were plentiful. -His snares were set there. The thin, pitiful cry of the entrapped -creature now split the stillness, and the man upon the sweep of the -world began to move with a more determined stride.... John Brennan, his -mind quickening towards remembrance of incidents of his boyhood, knew -that the cunning of Shamesy Golliher had triumphed over the cunning -of the rabbits. Their hot little eager bodies must soon be sold for -eightpence apiece and the money spent on porter in Garradrimna. It was -strange to think of this being the ultimate fate of the rabbits that -had once frisked so innocently over the green spaces of the woods.... -He listened, with a slight turn of regret stirring him, until the last -squeal had been absorbed by the stillness. Then he arose and prepared -to move away from the lake. He was being filled by a deadly feeling of -sadness. Hitherto the continuous adventure of adolescence had sustained -him, but now he was a man and thinking of his future.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> - -<p>On his way across the sweep of the hill he encountered Shamesy -Golliher. The famous drunkard was laden with the rabbits he had just -taken from the snares. The strength of his thirst had also begun to -attack him, so that by reason of both defects his legs now bent under -him weakly as he walked. Yet his attitude did not suggest defeat, for -he had never failed to maintain his reputation in the valley. He was -the local bard, the satiric poet of the neighborhood. He was the only -inhabitant of the valley who continually did what he pleased, for he -throve within the traditional Gaelic dread of satire. No matter how he -debased himself no man or woman dared talk of it for fear they might be -made the subject of a song to be ranted in the taprooms of Garradrimna. -And he was not one to respect the feelings of those whom he put into -his rimes, for all of them were conceived in a mood of ribald and -malignant glee.</p> - -<p>"Me sound man John, how are ye?" he said, extending a white, nervous -hand.</p> - -<p>"I'm very well, thanks; and how are you, Shamesy?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, just only middling. I don't look the very best. You'll excuse me -not being shaved. But that's on account of the neuralgia. God blast it! -it has me near killed. It has the nerves destroyed on me. Look at me -hand." ... It was the idiosyncrasy of Shamesy Golliher to assert that -drink was no part of his life.</p> - -<p>Immediately he dropped into his accustomed vein. He gazed down the Hill -of Annus and found material for his tongue. There were the daughters of -Hughie Murtagh. They had no brother, and were helping their father in -the fields.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Them's the men, them's the men!" said Shamesy, "though glory be to -God! 'twill be the hard case with them when they come to be married, -for sure you wouldn't like to marry a man, now would you? And for -pity's sake will you look at Oweneen Kiernan, the glutton! I hear he -ate five loaves at the ball in Ballinamult; and as sure as you're there -that powerful repast'll have to be made the material for a song."</p> - -<p>A loud laugh sprang from the lips of Shamesy Golliher and floated far -across the lake, and John Brennan was immediately surprised to find -himself laughing in the same way.</p> - -<p>The rimer was still pursuing Oweneen down the field of his mind.</p> - -<p>"Aye, and I thank ye, ye'll see him doing his best after the new -schoolmistress that's coming to us this evening. There's a great -look-out, I can tell you, to see what kind she'll be. Indeed the last -one wasn't much. Grand-looking whipsters, moryah! to be teaching the -young idea. Indeed I wouldn't be at all surprised to see one of them -going away from here sometime and she in the family way, although may -God pardon me for alluding to the like and I standing in the presence -of the makings of a priest!"</p> - -<p>John Brennan felt himself blushing ever so slightly.</p> - -<p>"And who d'ye think was in Garradrimna this evening? Why Ulick Shannon, -and he a big man. Down to stop with his uncle Myles he is for a -holiday. He wasn't here since he was a weeshy gosoon; for, what d'ye -think, didn't his mother and father send him away to Dublin to be -nursed soon after he was born and never seemed to care much about him -afterwards; but they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> were the quare pair, and it was no good end that -happened to themselves, for Henry Shannon and the girl he married, -Grace Gogarty, both died within the one year. He in the full pride of -his red life, and she while she was gallivanting about the country -wearing mourning for him and looking for another husband that she never -got before she went into the clay. Well, to make a long story short, -Myles Shannon looked after the orphan, paying for his rearing and his -education, and having him live as a gentleman in Dublin—until now -he's a great-looking fellow entirely, and going on, I suppose, for -Doctoring, or the Law, or some other profitable devilment like that. -The Shannons were always an unlucky family, but maybe Ulick'll break -the black curse, although I don't know, for he's the very spit and -image of his father and able to take his drink like a good one, I can -tell ye. This evening he came into McDermott's. There was no one there -but meself, it being the high evening, so says he to me:</p> - -<p>"'What'll ye have?'</p> - -<p>"'Begad, Mr. Shannon,' says I, 'I'll have a pint. And more power to -ye, sir!' says I, although I was grinning to meself all the time, for -I couldn't help thinking that he was only the son of Henry Shannon, -one of the commonest blackguards that ever disgraced this part of the -country. You didn't know him, but your mother could tell you about him. -You might swear your mother could tell you about him!"</p> - -<p>John Brennan did not notice the light of merriment which overspread the -face of Shamesy Golliher, for he was looking down towards the hush of -the lake, and experiencing a certain feeling of annoyance that this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> -young man should be becoming gradually introduced to him in this way. -But Shamesy was still speaking:</p> - -<p>"He stood me four pints and two glasses, and nothing would do him when -he was going away but he should buy me a whole glass of whiskey. He's -what you might call a gay fellow, I can tell you. And God save us! -isn't it grand to be that way, even though you never earned it, and -not have to be getting your drink like me be nice contriving among the -small game of the fields?"</p> - -<p>They parted in silence, Shamesy Golliher going eastward towards -Garradrimna and John Brennan in the opposite direction and towards -his mother's house. His mind had begun to slip into a condition of -vacancy when an accident happened to turn it again in the direction of -religion. As he came out upon the road he passed a group of children -playing between two neighboring houses. The group was made up of the -children of two families, the O'Briens and the Vaughans. It was said of -Mrs. Vaughan that although she had been married by Father O'Keeffe, and -went to Mass every second Sunday, she still clung to the religion into -which she had been born. Now her eldest child, a pretty, fair-haired -boy, was in the midst of the O'Briens' children. Their mother was what -you might call a good woman, for, although she had the most slovenly -house along the valley road, she went to Mass as often as Mrs. Brennan. -They were making the innocent child repeat phrases out of their prayers -and then laughing and mocking him because he could not properly -pronounce the long words. They were trying to make him bless himself, -but the hands of little Edward could not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>master the gestures of the -formula, and they were jeering at him for his ill-success. When he -seemed just upon the verge of tears they began to ask him questions in -the answers to which he would seem to have been well trained aforetime, -for he repeated them with glibness and enjoyment.</p> - -<p>"What religion are ye?"</p> - -<p>"I'm a little black Protestant."</p> - -<p>"And where will ye go when ye die?"</p> - -<p>"I'll go to hell."</p> - -<p>"What's hell?"</p> - -<p>"A big place bigger than the chapel or the church, with a terrible, -grand fire in it."</p> - -<p>"And what is it full of?"</p> - -<p>"It's full of little fellows like me!"</p> - -<p>This was the melancholy piece of catechism John Brennan was constrained -to hear as he went past.</p> - -<p>It added the last wave of sadness to the gray mood which had been -descending upon him by degrees since the beginning of the day.... He -stood upon the road and listened for anything in the nature of a sound -which might connect his mind with a thought that had some brightness. -Although only a few days had elapsed since his return his ears were -already beginning to redevelop that delicate perception of slight -sounds which comes to one in the quiet places. He now heard a car come -through Garradrimna and move a short distance down the valley road. -That, he thought, should be Paddy McCann driving the new mistress to -her lodging in the house of Sergeant McGoldrick.</p> - -<p>The small realization held occupation of his mind as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> he went into the -house of his mother. He was surprised to find that it was past ten. -Still lonely as he went to his room, he thought once more of the kind -invitation of Mr. Myles Shannon.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> - -<p>Myles Shannon had ever borne a passionate grudge against Mrs. Brennan. -He had loved his brother Henry, and he felt that she, of all people, -had had the most powerful hand in instituting the remorse which had -hurried him to his doom. Mrs. Brennan, on the other hand, believed -firmly that Henry Shannon would have married her, and made of her -a decent woman, but for the intervention of his brother Myles. -Furthermore, she believed darkly in her heart that the subtle plan -of the disastrous "honeymoon" had originated in the brain of Myles, -although in this she was wrong. She thought of Henry as being never of -that sort. He was wild and mad, with nothing too hot or too heavy for -him, but he was not one to concoct schemes. So, when Henry died, Mrs. -Brennan had thought well to transmit her hatred of the Shannon family -to his brother Myles.</p> - -<p>Myles Shannon lived a quiet life there in his big house among the trees -upon the side of Scarden, one of the hills which overlooked the valley. -In lonely, silent moments he often thought of his brother Henry and of -the strange manner in which he had burned out his life. With the end -of his brother before him always as a deterrent example, he did not -interest himself in women. He interested himself in the business of -his cattle and sheep all through each and every day of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> year. He -did not feel the years slipping past him as he went about his easy, -contented life, watching, with great interest, his beef and mutton grow -up in the fields.</p> - -<p>The cattle in particular stood for the absorbing interest and the one -excitement of his life. He looked upon his goings and comings to and -from the markets at Dublin and at Wakefield in England as holiday -excursions of great enjoyment.</p> - -<p>It was during one of his trips to England that he had met Helena Cooper -at some hotel in Manchester. He was one to whom the powers of Romance -had remained strangers, yet now, when they at last came into his life, -it was with a force that carried away all the protection of his mind. -He wanted some one to fill the loneliness of the big house on Scarden -Hill, and so he set his heart upon Helena Cooper.</p> - -<p>He returned to the valley a different man. Quite suddenly he began to -have a greater interest in his appearance, and it was noticed that -he grew sentimental and became easy in his dealings. It began to be -whispered around that, even so late in life, almost at the close of -the middle period which surely marks the end of a man's prime, Myles -Shannon had fallen in love and was about to be married.</p> - -<p>It was a notable rumor, and although it was fifteen years since the -death of Henry Shannon, Mrs. Brennan, as one having a good reason to be -interested in the affairs of the Shannon family, became excited.</p> - -<p>"Indeed it was high time for him to think of it," she said to a -neighbor one Sunday morning, "before he turned into a real ould -blackguard of a bachelor—and who d'ye say the girl is?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Why, then, they say she's an English lady, and that she's grand and -young."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan was a great one for "ferreting-out" things. Once she -had set her mind upon knowing a thing, there was little possibility -of preventing her. And now she was most anxious to know whom Myles -Shannon was about to marry. So when she saw the old bent postmistress -taking the air upon the valley road later on in the day she brought her -into the sewing-room and, over a cup of tea, proceeded to satisfy her -curiosity.</p> - -<p>"There must be letters?" she said after they had come round to a -discussion of the rumored marriage.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, indeed. There's letters coming and going, coming and going," -the old lady wheezed. "A nice-looking ould codger, isn't he, to be -writing letters to a young girl?"</p> - -<p>"And how d'ye know she's young?"</p> - -<p>"How do I know, is it, how do I know? Well, well, isn't that my -business? To know and to mind."</p> - -<p>"You're a great woman."</p> - -<p>"I do my duty, that's all, Mrs. Brennan, as sure as you're there. And -d'ye imagine for a moment I was going to let Myles Shannon pass, for -all he's such a great swank of a farmer? She <i>is</i> a young girl."</p> - -<p>"Well, well?"</p> - -<p>"There's no reason to misdoubt me in the least, for I saw her photo and -it coming through the post."</p> - -<p>"A big, enlarged photo, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Aye, the photo of a young girl in her bloom."</p> - -<p>"I suppose she's very nice?"</p> - -<p>"She's lovely, and 'tis what I said to myself as I looked upon her -face, that it would be the pity of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> world to see her married to a -middling ould fellow like Myles Shannon."</p> - -<p>"And I suppose, now, that she has a nice name?"</p> - -<p>"Aye. It is that. And what you might call a grand name."</p> - -<p>A long pause now fell between the two women, as if both were -endeavoring to form in their minds some great resolve to which their -hearts were prompting them. The old postmistress delivered her next -speech in a whisper:</p> - -<p>"Her name is Helena Cooper, and her address is 15 Medway Avenue, -Manchester!"</p> - -<p>The two women now nudged one another in simultaneous delight. Mrs. -Brennan ran the direction over and over in her mind as if suddenly -fearful that some dreadful stroke of forgetfulness might come to -overthrow her chance of revenge upon her false, dead lover through the -great injury she now contemplated doing to his brother.... She made -an excuse of going to the kitchen to put more water upon the teapot -and, when she went there, scribbled the name and address upon the wall -beside the fireplace.</p> - -<p>When she returned to the sewing-room the old postmistress was using -her handkerchief to hide the smile of satisfaction which was dancing -around her mouth. She knew what was just presently running through -Mrs. Brennan's mind, and she was glad and thankful that she herself -was about to be saved the trouble of writing to Miss Cooper.... Her -hand was beginning to be quavery and incapable of writing a hard, -vindictive letter. Besides that Mr. Shannon was an influential man in -the district, and the Post Office was not above<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> suspicion. She was -thankful to Mrs. Brennan now, and said the tea was nice, very nice.</p> - -<p>Yet, immediately that the information, for which she had hungered since -the rumor of Myles Shannon's marriage began to go the rounds, was in -her keeping, Mrs. Brennan ceased to display any unusual interest in -the old, bespectacled maid. Nor did the postmistress continue to be -excited by the friendly presence of Mrs. Brennan, for she, on her part, -was immensely pleased and considered that the afternoon had attained -to a remarkable degree of success.... From what she had read of her -productions passing through the post, she knew that Mrs. Brennan was -the woman who could write the strong, poisonous letter. Besides, who -had a better right to be writing it—about one of the Shannon family?</p> - -<p>Soon she was going out the door and down the white road towards -Garradrimna.... Now wasn't Mrs. Brennan the anxious and the prompt -woman; she would be writing to Miss Cooper this very evening?... As -she went she met young couples on bicycles passing to distant places -through the fragrant evening. The glamor of Romance seemed to hang -around them.</p> - -<p>"Now isn't that the quare way for them to be spending the Sabbath?" she -said to herself as she hobbled along.</p> - -<p>The Angelus was just beginning to ring out across the waving fields -with its sweet, clear sound as Mrs. Brennan regained the sewing-room -after having seen her visitor to the door, but, good woman though she -was, she did not stop to answer its holy summons. Her mind was driving -her relentlessly towards the achievement of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> her intention. The pen -was already in her hand, and she was beginning to scratch out "a full -account," as she termed it, of Mr. Myles Shannon for the benefit of -Miss Helena Cooper, whoever she might be. Through page after page she -continued her attack while the fire of her hate was still burning -brightly through her will.</p> - -<p>It had been her immemorial custom to send full accounts abroad whenever -one of the valley dwellers made attempts at assertion, but not one of -the Shannons had so far offered her such a golden opportunity. For the -moment she was in her glory.</p> - -<p>She announced herself as a good friend of this girl, whose name she -had only heard just now. She wrote that she would not like to see Miss -Cooper deceived by a man she had no opportunity of knowing in his real -character, such as Mr. Shannon.</p> - -<p>Now it was a fact that Myles, unlike his brother Henry, had not been -a notable antagonist of the Commandments. It was true, of course, -that he was not distinguished for the purity of his ways when he went -adventuring about the bye-ways of Dublin after a day at the cattle -market, and people from the valley, cropping up most unexpectedly, had -witnessed some of his exploits and had sent magnified stories winging -afar. But he had ruined no girl, and was even admirable in his habits -when at home in his lonely house among the trees.</p> - -<p>This, however, was not the Mr. Shannon that Mrs. Brennan set down in -her letter to Helena Cooper. It was rather the portrait of his brother -Henry, the wild libertine, that she painted, for, in the high moments -of her hate, she was as one blinded by the ecstasy that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> had come upon -her. The name of Shannon held for her only one significance, and, for -the moment, it was an abysmal vision which dazzled her eyes.</p> - -<p>Soon there came a communication from Miss Cooper to Mr. Shannon -which had the effect of nipping his green romance while it was still -young.... It asked him was this true and was that true?... The easy, -sentimental way he had looked upon the matter was suddenly kindled -into a deeper feeling, and he thought of having the girl now at all -costs.... He wrote a fine reply in justification. It was a clear, -straight piece of writing, and, although it pained him greatly, he was -compelled to admit that the statements about which Miss Cooper wished -to be satisfied were no more than the truth in relation to a certain -member of the Shannon family. But they related to his dead brother -Henry and not to him.... He prayed the forgiveness of forgetfulness -for the dead.... He volunteered the production of convincing proof for -every statement here made in regard to himself.</p> - -<p>But the old lady at the Post Office had something to say in the matter. -She had read Miss Cooper's letter, and as she now read the letter of -Mr. Shannon she knew that should it reach her this girl must be fully -satisfied as to his character, for his was a fine piece of pleading.... -But she could not let Mrs. Brennan have all the secret satisfaction for -the destruction of his love-affair. The bitter woman in the valley had -done the ugly, obvious part of the work, but she was in a position to -hurry it to secret, deadly completion.... So that evening the letter, -which it had given Myles Shannon such torture to write, was burned at -the fire in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> kitchen behind the Post Office.... He wrote to Helena -Cooper again and yet again, but the same thing happened.... His third -letter had turned purely pathetic in its tone. The old lady said to -herself that it made her laugh like anything.</p> - -<p>At last he fell to considering that her affection for him could not -have been very deep seeing that she had allowed it to be so strongly -influenced by some poisonous letter from an anonymous enemy.... Yet -there were moments when he knew that he could never forget her nor -escape, through all the years he might live, from the grand dream her -first tenderness had raised up in his heart. In its immediate aspect -he was a little angry that the rumor of a contemplated marriage on his -part should have gone abroad. But he had almost triumphed over this -slight feeling of annoyance when there came to him, some month later, -the "account" that had been written about him to Miss Cooper without -a word of comment enclosed.... The old lady at the office had seen to -that, for the letter accompanying it as far as Garradrimna had gone the -way of Mr. Shannon's letters.... This had made her laugh also with its -note of wonder as to why he had made no attempt to explain.... If only -he would say that the statements made against him were all mere lies. -Of course she did not believe a word of them, but she wished him to say -so in a letter to her.... The Post Office was saved from suspicion by -this second bit of destruction, although it had done its work well.</p> - -<p>The bare, scurrilous note caused a blaze of indignation turning to -hatred to take possession of his soul which had hitherto been largely -distinguished by kindly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> influences. He had his suspicions at once that -it was the work of Mrs. Brennan.</p> - -<p>There was a letter of hers locked in a bureau in the parlor with other -things which had been the property of his dead brother Henry. They were -all sad things which related intimately to the queer life he had led. -This old faded letter from Nan Byrne was the one she had written asking -him for Christ's sake to marry her, now that she felt her misfortune -coming upon her.... A hard look came into his eyes as he began to -compare the weak handwriting. Yes, it was hers surely, beyond a shadow -of doubt.... He locked this thing which had so changed the course of -his life with the things of his brother.</p> - -<p>It was queer, he thought, that she, of all people, who should be prone -to silence, had thought fit, after the passage of so many years, to -meddle with dead things in the hope of ending other dreams which, -until now, had lived brightly. He continued to brood himself into -bitter determinations. He resolved that, as no other girl had come -greatly into his life before the coming of Helena Cooper, no other one -must enter now that she was gone. She was gone, and must the final -disaster of his affections narrow down to a mere piece of sentimental -renunciation? Strange, contradictory attitudes built themselves up in -his mind.</p> - -<p>Out of his brooding there grew before him the structure of a plan. This -woman had besmirched his brother, helping him towards the destruction -of his life, for it was in this light, as a brother, he had viewed the -matter always; and now, in her attempt to besmirch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> himself, she had -spoiled his dream. He had grown angry after the slow fashion which was -the way of his thought, but his resolve was now sure and deliberate.</p> - -<p>There was her son! He had just gone to some kind of college in England -to prepare for the priesthood, and the antecedents of a priest must be -without blemish. It was not the youth's fault, but his mother was Nan -Byrne, and some one must pay.... And why should she desire to bring -punishment of any kind upon him for his brother's sin with her? He had -loved his brother, and it was only natural to think that she loved her -son. And through that love might come the desolation of her heart. To -allow the blossom to brighten in her eye and then, suddenly, to wither -it at a blast. To permit this John Brennan to approach the sacred -portals of the priesthood and then to cause him to be cast adrift.</p> - -<p>The thought of how he might put a more delicate turn to the execution -of his plan had come to him as he journeyed down from Dublin with John -Brennan. He knew that his nephew, Ulick, had lived the rather reckless -student life of Dublin. Just recently he had been drawing him out. But -he was no weakling, and it was not possible that any of those ways -might yet submerge him. However, his influence acting upon a weaker -mind might have effect and produce again the degenerate that had not -fully leaped to life in him. If he were brought into contact with John -Brennan it might be the means of effecting, in a less direct way, the -result which must be obtained.</p> - -<p>It was with this thought simmering in his brain that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> Myles Shannon had -invited John Brennan to the friendship and company of his nephew. When -he had spoken of the Great War it was the condition of his own mind -that had prompted the thought, for it was filled with the impulse of destruction.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> - -<p>It is on his passage through the village of Garradrimna that we may -most truly observe John Brennan, in sharp contrast with his dingy -environment, as he goes to hear morning Mass at the instigation of -his mother, whose pathetic fancy fails to picture him in any other -connection. It is a beautiful morning, and the sun is already high. -There is a clean freshness upon all things. The tall trees which form -a redeeming background for the uneven line of the ugly houses on the -western side of the street are flinging their rich raiment wildly -upon the light breeze where it floats like the decorative garments of -a ballet dancer. The light winds are whipping the lightness of the -morning.</p> - -<p>The men of drink are already stirring about in anticipation. -Hubert Manning is striking upon the door of Flynn's, the grocery -establishment, which, in the heavy blindness of his thirst, he takes to -be one of the seven publichouses of Garradrimna. He is running about -like some purged sinner, losing patience at last hard by the Gate of -Heaven. In the course of her inclusive chronicles his mother had told -John Brennan the life history of Hubert Manning. For sixty odd years -he had bent his body in hard battle with the clay, until the doubtful -benefit of a legacy had come to change the current of his life. The -fortune, with its sudden diversion towards idleness and enjoyment, had -caused<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> all the latent villainy of the man, which the soil had subdued, -to burst forth with violence. He was now a drunken old cur whom -Sergeant McGoldrick caused to spend a fortune in fines.</p> - -<p>"Just imagine the people who do be left the money!" said Mrs. Brennan, -as she told the story.</p> - -<p>John Brennan passes on. He meets the bill-poster, Thomas James. His -dark, red face displays an immense anxiety. He is going for his first -pint with a pinch of salt held most carefully in his hand. His present -condition is a fact to be deplored, for he was famous in his time and -held the record in Garradrimna for fast drinking of a pint. He could -drink twenty pints in a day. Hence his decline and the pinch of salt -now held so carefully in his hand. This is to keep down the first pint, -and if the operation be safely effected it is quite possible that the -other nineteen will give him no trouble.</p> - -<p>Coming in the valley road are Shamesy Golliher and Martin Connell. -In the distance they appear as small, shrinking figures, moving in -abasement beneath the Gothic arches of the elms. They represent the -advance guard of those who leave the sunlit fields on a summer morning -to come into the dark, cavernous pubs of Garradrimna.</p> - -<p>On the side of the street, distant from that upon which John Brennan -is walking, moves the famous figure of Padna Padna, slipping along -like some spirit of discontent and immortal longing, doomed forever to -wander. He mistakes the student for one of the priests and salutes him -by tipping his great hat lightly with his little fore-finger.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> - -<p>And here comes yet another, this one with speed and determination in -his stride, for it is Anthony Shaughness, who has spent three-fourths -of his life running away from Death.</p> - -<p>"Will you save a life; will you save a life?" he whispers wildly, -clutching John by the arm. "I have a penny, but sure a penny is no -good, sir; and I want tuppence-ha'penny to add to it for the price of a -pint; but sure you won't mind when it's to save my life! I know you'll -give it to me for the love of God!"</p> - -<p>This is a very well-known request in the mouth of Anthony Shaughness, -and John Brennan has attended it so very often during the past few -years as to deserve a medal for life-saving. Yet he now takes the -coppers from his small store of pocket-money and gives them to the -dipsomaniac, who moves rapidly in the direction of "The World's End."</p> - -<p>There is presently an exciting interlude. They are just opening up at -Brannagan's as he goes past. The sleepy-looking barmaid has come to the -newly-opened door, and makes an ungraceful gesture in gathering up her -ugly dishevelled hair. A lout of a lad with a dirty cigarette in his -mouth appears suddenly. They begin to grin at one another in foolish -rapture, for it is a lovers' meeting. Through the doorway at which they -stand the smell of stale porter is already assaulting the freshness -of the morning. They enter the bar surreptitiously and John Brennan -can hear the swish of a pint in the glass in which it is being filled. -The usual morning gift, he thinks, with which this maiden favors this -gallant lover of a new Romance.... There comes to him suddenly the idea -that his name has been <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>mentioned in this dark place just now.... He -goes on walking quickly towards the chapel.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The plan which Myles Shannon had originated was not lacking in -subtlety. He foresaw a certain clash of character, between his nephew -and the son of Nan Byrne, which must become most interesting as he -watched it out of his malevolence. He could never, never, forget what -she had done.... And always, beyond the desolation which appeared from -concentration of his revengeful intentions, he beheld the ruins of her -son.</p> - -<p>He often thought it puzzling how she should never have imagined that -some one like him might be tempted to do at some time what he was -now about to do. It seemed remarkable beyond all else that her mind -should possess such an opaque oneness of purpose, such an extraordinary -"thickness," to use the term of the valley.</p> - -<p>Yet this was a quality peculiar to the gentle hush of the grassy -places. It seemed to arise from the removal of an intelligent feeling -of humanity from the conduct of life and the replacement of it by a -spitefulness that killed and blinded. It was the explanation of many -of the tragedies of the valley. Like a malignant wind, it warped the -human growth within the valley's confines. It was what had happened to -Mrs. Brennan and, because of the action he was taking in regard to her, -what was now about to happen to Myles Shannon. He seemed to forget, as -he went about his vengeance, that subtlety is akin to humor, and that -humor, in its application to the satiric perception of things, is the -quality which constantly heals the cut it has made. He might <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>certainly -leave the mark of his vengeance upon Mrs. Brennan, but there was the -danger of the weapon recoiling upon himself and his kinsman. It was a -horrible plan indeed, this, of setting one young man to ruin another. -It was such a conflict, with such an anticipated ending, as had shaped -itself inevitably out of the life of the valley. Where life was an -endless battle of conflicting characters and antagonized dispositions -it seemed particularly meet that a monumental conflict should at last -have been instituted.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Ulick Shannon was finding the valley very little to his mind. But for -the intervention of his uncle he was several times upon the point of -returning to Dublin. Although it was for a rest he had come the place -was too damnably dull. Garradrimna was an infernal hole! Yet he went -there often, and it was remarkable that his uncle said never a word -when he arrived home from the village, several nights, in a condition -that was not one of absolute sobriety. On the contrary, he seemed to -take a certain joyful interest in such happenings. His uncle often -spoke of the young man, John Brennan, whom he desired him to meet, and -it was surprising that this young man had not made the visit he had -promised to the house among the trees.</p> - -<p>Myles Shannon was beginning to be annoyed by the appearance of this -slight obstruction in the path of his plan. Had Mrs. Brennan forbidden -the friendship he had proposed? It was very like her indeed, and of -course she had her reasons.... But it would never do to let her triumph -over him now, and he having such a lovely plan. He would go so far as -to send his nephew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> to call at her house to make the acquaintance of -Nan Byrne's son. It would be queer surely to see him calling at that -house and inquiring for John Brennan when his father had gone there -aforetime to see John Brennan's mother. But how was Ulick to know and -view from such an angle this aspect of his existence?</p> - -<p>Yet, after all, the meeting of John Brennan and Ulick Shannon happened -quite accidentally and upon such a morning as we have seen John in -Garradrimna.</p> - -<p>Ulick had gone for a walk around that way before his breakfast. He was -not feeling particularly well as he paused at the end of the valley -road to survey the mean street of Garradrimna, down which he had -marched last night with many a wild thought rushing into his mind as -the place and the people fell far beneath his high gaze.</p> - -<p>His quick eye caught sight of something now which seemed a curiously -striking piece in the drab mosaic of his morning. It was a little party -of four going towards the chapel. The pair in front could possibly be -none other than the bridegroom and his bride. It was easy to see that -marriage was their purpose from the look of open rapture upon their -faces. The bridesmaid and the best man were laughing and chatting gaily -as they walked behind them. They seemed to be having the best of it.</p> - -<p>Ulick thought it interesting to see this pair moving eagerly towards -a mysterious purpose.... He was struck by the fact that it was a most -merciful thing that all men do not lift the veil of life so early as he -had done.... The harsh, slight laugh which came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> from him was like the -remembered laughter of a dead man.</p> - -<p>Now that his eyes were falling, with an unfilled look, upon the street -along which the four had gone he began to see people who had been -looking out move away from the squinting windows and a few seconds -later come hurriedly out of their houses and go towards the chapel.</p> - -<p>The poor, self-conscious clod, who had dearly desired to marry the girl -of his fancy quietly and with no prying eyes, amid the fragrance of -the fine June morning, had, after all, succeeded only in drawing about -him the leering attention of all the village. There were ever so many -people going towards the chapel this morning. The lot was large enough -to remind one of a Sunday congregation at either Mass, this black drove -now moving up the laneway. Ulick Shannon went forward to join it.</p> - -<p>Coming near the chapel he encountered a young man in black, who wore -the look of a student. This must be John Brennan, he thought, of whom -his uncle had so repeatedly spoken. He turned and said:</p> - -<p>"Good morning! I'm Ulick Shannon, and I fancy you're Brennan, the chap -my uncle has talked of so often. He has been expecting you to call at -Scarden House."</p> - -<p>They shook hands.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I'm John Brennan, and I'm delighted to meet you. I have not -forgotten your uncle's kind invitation."</p> - -<p>Together they entered the House of God.... Father O'Keeffe was already -engaged in uniting the couple.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> Distantly they could hear him mumbling -the words of the ceremony.... All eyes were upon the priest and the -four people at the altar.... Suddenly Ulick giggled openly, and John -Brennan blushed in confusion, for this was irreverence such as he had -never before experienced in the presence of sacred things.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> - -<p>Next day Ulick Shannon made a call upon John Brennan and invited him -for a drive. Outside upon the road Charlie Clarke's motor was snorting -and humming. Ulick had learned to drive a car in Dublin, and had now -hired Mr. Clarke's machine for the day.</p> - -<p>"You see," he said airily, "that I have dispensed with the -sanctimonious Charlie and am driving myself. Meaning no respect to you, -Brennan, one approach to a priest is as much as I can put up with at a -time."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan had come to the window, which looked out upon the little -garden wicket by which they were standing.... Her eyes were dancing and -wild thoughts were rushing into her mind.... Here, at last, was the -achieved disaster and the sight her eyes had most dreaded to see—her -son and the son of Henry Shannon talking together as brothers.</p> - -<p>An ache that was akin to hunger seemed to have suddenly attacked her. -Her lips became parched and dry and her jaws went through the actions -of swallowing although there was nothing in her mouth. Then she felt -herself being altogether obliterated as she stood there by the window. -She was like a wounded bird that had broken itself in an attempt to -attain to the sunlight beyond.... And to think that it had fallen at -last, this shadow of separation from her lovely son. John came to the -door and called in:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I'm going for a drive in the motor with Mr. Shannon, mother."</p> - -<p>These were his very words, and they caused her to move away towards -the sewing-room with the big tears gathering into her eyes. From her -seat she saw her son take up his proud position by the side of Ulick -Shannon. There was something for you, now! Her son driving in a motor -car with a young man who was going on to be a doctor, in the high noon -of a working day, all down through the valley of Tullahanogue. If only -it happened to be with any other one in the whole world. What would -all the people say but what they must say?... She saw the two students -laughing just before the car started as if some joke had suddenly -leaped into being between them.</p> - -<p>Ned Brennan came into the room. He had been making an effort to do -something in the garden when the car had distracted him from his task. -Well, that was what you might call a grand thing! While he was here -digging in his drought, his son, I thank ye, going off to drive in a -motor with a kind of a gentleman. His mind went swiftly moving towards -a white heat of temper which must be eventually cooled in the black -pools of Garradrimna. He came into the room, a great blast of a man in -his anger, his boots heavy with the clay of the garden.</p> - -<p>"Well, be the Holy Farmer! that's the grand turn-out!... But sure -they're a kind of connections, don't you know, and I suppose 'tis only -natural?"</p> - -<p>Great God! He had returned again to this, and to the words she feared -most of all to hear falling from his mouth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> - -<p>"A curious attraction, don't you know, that the breed of the Byrnes -always had for the breed of the Shannons. Eh, Nan?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan said nothing. It had been the way with her that she felt -a certain horror of Ned when he came to her in this state, but now she -was being moved by a totally different feeling. She was not without a -kind of pity for him as she suddenly realized once more how she had -done him a terrible and enduring injury.... As he stood there glowering -down upon her he was of immense bulk and significance. If he struck her -now she would not mind in the least.</p> - -<p>"And they're like one another too, them two chaps, as like as brothers. -And mebbe they are brothers. Eh, Nan, eh; what happened the child -you had for Henry Shannon? It died, did it? Why 'tis only the other -night that Larry Cully came at me again about it in Garradrimna. 'I -see you have your sons home about you,' says he, 'and that must be -the great comfort to a man, your son John,' says he, 'and your son -Ulick. Maybe ye never heard tell,' says he, 'that Grace Gogarty's child -died young and that Henry Shannon bought his other son from his other -mother-in-law to prevent it being a rising disgrace to him. Bought it -for a small sum,' says he, 'and put it in the place of his lawful son, -and his wife never suspected anything until the day she died, poor -woman; for she was to be pitied, having married such a blackguard.' Is -that true, is it, Nan?"</p> - -<p>Oh, Blessed Mother! this was even more terrible than the suspicion -Marse Prendergast had put upon her. It seemed less of a crime that -the little innocent babe should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> have been murdered in this house -and buried in the garden than that her old, dead mother should have -sold it to Henry Shannon. And how was she to know? Twenty-five years -had passed since that time when she had been at Death's door, nor -realizing anything.... And her mother had never told her.... It would -be strange if she had gone digging at any time for the tiny bones of -the little infant that had never been baptized. People passing the -road might suspect her purpose and say hard things.... But sure they -said hard things of her still after all the years. It was dreadful to -think how any one could concoct a lie like this, and that no one could -forget. Old Marse Prendergast knew well. Deep in her wicked mind, for -twenty-five years, the secret had been hidden. It was a torture to -think of the way she would be hinting at it forever.... And just quite -recently she had threatened to tell John.</p> - -<p>Bit by bit was being erected in her mind the terrible speculation as -to what really was the truth and the full extent of her sin. Yet it -was not a thing she could set about making inquiries after.... She -wondered and wondered did Myles Shannon, the uncle of Ulick, know the -full truth. Why did not her husband drop that grimy, powerful hand? Her -breasts craved its blow now, even as they had yearned long ago for the -fumbling of the little, blind mouth.</p> - -<p>But he was merely asking her for money to buy drink for himself in -Garradrimna. Hitherto this request had always given her pain, but now, -somehow, it came differently to her ears. There was no hesitation on -her part, no making of excuses. She went upstairs to the box which held -her most dear possession—the money she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> had saved so well through all -the years for the fitting-out of Ned to go proudly with her to attend -the ordination of their son John. She opened the box with the air of -one doing a deliberate thing. The money, which amounted in all to about -five pounds, was still in the form in which she had managed to scrape -it together. In notes and gold and silver, and even copper. Before this -it would have appeared as a sacrilege on her part to have touched a -penny of it, but now she had no thought of this kind. Ned wanted the -money to purchase the means of forgetfulness of the great injury she -had done him.</p> - -<p>She counted thirty pennies, one by one, into the pocket of her apron. -This seemed the least suspicious way of giving it to him, for he had -still no idea that she could have any little store laid by. It was -hardly possible when one considered how much he drank upon her in the -village.</p> - -<p>She came down the stairs in silence, and spoke no word to him as she -handed over the money. His lips seemed to split into a sort of sneer -as he took it from her. Then he went out the door quickly and down the -white road toward Garradrimna.</p> - -<p class="space-above">For the admiration and surprise of John Brennan, Ulick Shannon had -been displaying his skill with the wheel. Soon the white, tidy houses -beyond the valley were whizzing past and they were running down the -easy road which led into the village of Ballinamult. They had moved in -a continuous cloud of dust from Tullahanogue.</p> - -<p>Ulick said he was choked with dust as he brought the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> car to a -standstill outside the "North Leinster Arms." He marched deliberately -into the public bar, and John Brennan followed after with less sure -footsteps, for it was his first appearance in a place of this kind. -There was a little, plump girl standing up on a chair rearranging the -bottles of whiskey and dusting the shelves.</p> - -<p>Ulick would seem to have already visited this tavern, for he addressed -the girl rather familiarly as "Mary Essie." She looked at the young -man impudently as she wheeled around to exhibit herself to the best -advantage. Ulick leaned his elbows upon the low counter and gazed -towards her with his deep, dark eyes. Some quite unaccountable thing -caused John Brennan to blush, but he noticed that the girl was not -blushing. She was more brazenly forcing her body into exhibition.</p> - -<p>Ulick called for a drink, whatever his friend Brennan would have, and -a bottle of Bass for himself. It appeared a little wrong to John that -he should be about to partake of a drink in a pub., for the "North -Leinster Arms" was nothing more than a sufficiently bad public-house. -He had a sudden recollection of having once been given cakes and sweets -in an evil-smelling tap-room one day he had gone with his mother -long ago to Mullaghowen. He thought of the kind of wine he had been -given that day and immediately the name was forced to his lips by the -thought—"Port wine!"</p> - -<p>When the barmaid turned around to fill their drinks the young men had -a view of the curves of her body. John Brennan was surprised to find -himself dwelling upon them in the intense way of his friend.</p> - -<p>Before they left Ulick had many drinks of various kinds, and it was -interesting to observe how he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>expanded with their influence. He began -to tell "smutty" stories to Mary Essie. She listened with attention. -No blush came into her face, and her glad neck looked brazen.... John -Brennan felt himself swallowing great gulps of disgust.... His training -had led him to associate the female form with the angelic form coming -down from Heaven. Yet here was something utterly different.... A vulgar -girl, with fat, round hands and big breasts, her lips red as a recent -wound in soft flesh, and looking lonely.</p> - -<p>He was glad when they regained the sunlight, yet the day was of such -a character as creates oppression by the very height of its splendor. -Ulick was in such a mood for talk that they had almost forgotten the -luncheon-basket at the back of the car.</p> - -<p>Beyond Ballinamult they stopped again where the ruins of a moldering -Abbey lay quietly surrounded by a circle of furze-covered hills.... -Ulick expanded still further with the meal, yet his discourse still ran -along the old trail. He was favoring his friend with a sketch of his -life, and it seemed to be made up largely of the women he had known -in Dublin. Quite suddenly he said what seemed to John a very terrible -thing:</p> - -<p>"I have learned a lot from them, and let me tell you this—it has been -my experience that you could not trust your own mother or the girl of -your heart. They seem to lack control, even the control of religion. -They do not realize religion at all. They are creatures of impulse."</p> - -<p>Here was a sentiment that questioned the very fact of existence.... -It seemed dreadful to connect the triumph of love and devotion that -was his mother with this consequent suggestion of the failure of -existence....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> Together they went across the grassy distance towards -the crumbling ruin wherein the good monks of old had lived and prayed. -And surely, he thought, the great spirit of holiness which had led -men hither to spend their lives in penance and good works could not -have departed finally from this quiet place, nor from the green fields -beyond the rim of furze-covered hills.</p> - -<p>Yet upon his ears were falling the even, convincing tones of Ulick -Shannon, still speaking cynically.</p> - -<p>"Behold," he was saying, "that it is to this place the younger -generation throng on the Sabbath. Around you, upon the ruined and bare -walls, you will observe not pious words, but the coupled names of those -who have come here to sin."</p> - -<p>"And look at this!" he exclaimed, picking from a niche in the wall -a long shin bone of one of the ancient monks, which possessed the -reputed power of cures and miracles. For a moment he examined it with a -professional eye, then handed it to John Brennan. There were two names -scribbled upon it in pencil, and beneath them a lewd expression. Ulick -had only laid hands upon it by the merest accident, but it immediately -gave body to all the airy ideas he had been putting forth. There was -something so greatly irreverent in the appearance of this accidental -piece of evidence that no argument could be put forward against it. It -was terrible and conclusive.</p> - -<p>The evening was far advanced when John Brennan returned home. His -mother and father were seated in the kitchen. His father was drunk, -and she was reading him a holy story, with an immeasurable feeling of -despondence in her tones. John became aware of this as he entered the house.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> - -<p>Rebecca Kerr had been ill for a few days and did not attend school -until the Monday following her arrival in the valley. There she made -the acquaintance of Mrs. Wyse, the principal of Tullahanogue Girls' -School, and Monica McKeon, the assistant of Tullahanogue Boys' School. -Mrs. Wyse was a woman who divided her energies between the education of -other women's children and the production of children of her own. Year -by year, and with her growing family, had her life narrowed down to -the painful confines of its present condition. She had the reputation -of being a hard mistress to the children and a harsh superior to -her assistants. From the very first she seemed anxious to show her -authority over Rebecca Kerr.</p> - -<p>In the forenoon of this day she was standing by her blackboard at the -east end of the school, imparting some history to her most advanced -class. Rebecca was at the opposite end teaching elementary arithmetic -to the younger children when something in the would-be impressive -seriousness of her principal's tone caused her to smile openly.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wyse saw the smile, and it lit her anger. She called loudly:</p> - -<p>"Miss Kerr, are you quite sure that that exercise in simple addition is -correct?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, perfectly certain, Mrs. Wyse."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> - -<p>The chalk had slipped upon the greasy blackboard, making a certain 5 -to appear as a 6 from the distance at which she stood, and it was into -this accidental trap that Mrs. Wyse had fallen. Previous assistants -had studied her ways and had given up the mistake of contradicting her -even when she was obviously in the wrong. But this was such a straight -issue, and Rebecca Kerr had had no opportunity of knowing her. She -came down in a flaming temper from the rostrum. Rebecca awaited her -near approach with a smiling and assured complacency which must have -been maddening. But Mrs. Wyse was not one to admit a mistake. Quick as -lightning she struck upon the complaint that the exercise was beyond -the course of instruction scheduled for this particular standard.... -And here were the foundations of an enmity laid between these two -women. They would not be friends in any fine way through the length of -all the long days they might teach together.</p> - -<p>Thus for Rebecca the first day in the valley school dragged out its -slow length and was dreary and dreadful until noon. Then Monica McKeon -came in from the Boys' School and they took their luncheon together.... -They went on chattering away until the door of the schoolroom was -suddenly darkened by the shadows of two men. The three women arose -in confusion as Master Donnellan called them to the door. There was -a young man standing outside who presented a strong contrast to -the venerable figure of the master. The latter, in his roundabout, -pedagogic way, went on to tell how the stranger had strayed into the -school playground and made himself known. He wished to show him the -whole of the building, and introduced him as "Mr. Ulick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> Shannon, Mr. -Myles Shannon's nephew, you know."</p> - -<p>The three female teachers took an immediate mental note of the young -man. They saw him as neat and well-dressed, with a half-thoughtful, -half-reckless expression upon his fine face, with its deep-set, -romantic eyes. The few words he spoke during the general introduction -appeared to Rebecca to be in such a gentle voice. There were some -moments of awkward silence. Then, between the five of them, they -managed to say a few conventional things. All the while those great, -deep eyes seemed to be set upon Rebecca, and she was experiencing the -disquieting feeling that she had met him at some previous time in some -other place in this wide world. The eyes of Monica McKeon were upon -both of them in a way that seemed an attempt to search their minds for -their thoughts of the moment.</p> - -<p>Immediately he was gone Mrs. Wyse and Miss McKeon fell to talking of -him:</p> - -<p>"He's the hateful-looking thing; I'd hate him like poison," said Monica.</p> - -<p>"Indeed what could he be and the kind of a father he had? Sure I -remember him well, a quare character," said Mrs. Wyse.</p> - -<p>"I wonder what could have brought him around here to-day of all days -since he came to Scarden?"</p> - -<p>This with her eyes set firmly upon Rebecca.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wyse was not slow to pick up the insinuation.</p> - -<p>"Oh, looking after fresh girls always, the same as his father."</p> - -<p>"He's not bad-looking."</p> - -<p>"No; but wouldn't you know well he has himself destroyed with the kind -of life he lives up in Dublin?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> They say he's gone to the bad and that -he'll never pass his exams."</p> - -<p>Every word of the conversation seemed to be spoken with the direct -intention of attacking certain feelings which had already begun to rise -in the breast of Rebecca Kerr.... Her mind was being held fast by the -well-remembered spell of his eyes.</p> - -<p>The afternoon passed swiftly for Mrs. Wyse. She was so engrossed by -thought of this small thing that had happened that she gave wrong dates -in another history lesson, false notes in the music lesson, and more -than one incorrect answer to simple sums in the arithmetic lesson.</p> - -<p>Rebecca was glad when three o'clock and her freedom at last came. Out -in the sunlight she would be able to indulge in certain realizations -which were impossible of enjoyment here in this crowded schoolroom. The -day was still enthroned beneath the azure dome. This was the period -of its languorous yawn when it seemed to dream for a space and gather -strength before it came down from its high place and went into the -long, winding ways of evening.</p> - -<p>There were men engaged in raising sand from a pit by the roadside as -she passed along. A pause in the ringing of their shovels made her -conscious that they had stopped in their labor to gaze after her as she -went.... Her neck was warm and blushing beneath the shadow of her hair.</p> - -<p>Her confusion extended to every portion of her body when she came upon -Ulick Shannon around a bend of the road, book in hand, sauntering along.</p> - -<p>He saluted as she overtook him, and spoke of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>pleasant -afternoon.... She hoped he was enjoying his holidays here in the -valley. He seemed to be spending the time very quietly. Reading? -Poetry? Just fancy! <i>The Daffodil Fields</i>, by John Masefield. What a -pretty name! Was he devoted to poetry, and was this particular poem a -good one?</p> - -<p>"It is a great tale of love and passion that happened in one of the -quiet places of the world," he told her with a kind of enthusiasm -coming into his words for the first time.</p> - -<p>"One of the quiet places?" she murmured, evidently at a loss for -something else to say.</p> - -<p>"Yes, a quiet place which must have been like this place and yet, at -the same time, most wonderfully different, for no poet at all could -imagine any tale of love and passion springing from the life about us -here. The people of the valley seem to have died before they were born. -I will lend you this poem, if you'd care to have it."</p> - -<p>"Oh, thank you, Mr. Shannon!" she said.</p> - -<p>They had wandered down a lane which led from the high road towards the -peaceful fields beyond the little lake. This lane, he told her, was -called "The Road of the Dead," and would afford her a short cut to her -lodging at Sergeant McGoldrick's.</p> - -<p>For lack of anything else to say, she remarked upon the strangeness of -this name—The Road of the Dead. He said it seemed a title particularly -suitable. He went on to elaborate the idea he had just expressed:</p> - -<p>"Around and about here they are all dead—dead. No passion of any kind -comes to light their existence. Their life is a thing done meanly, -shudderingly within<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> the shadow of the grave. That is how I have been -seeing it for the past few weeks. They hate the occurrence of new -people in their midst. They hate me already, and now they will hate -you. The sight of us walking together like this must surely cause them -to hate us still more."</p> - -<p>She was wondering that his words should hold a sense of consideration -for her, seeing that they had been acquainted only such a short while.</p> - -<p>"This way leads from a graveyard to a graveyard, and they have a -silly superstition that dead couples are sometimes seen walking -here. Particularly dismal also do I consider this picture of their -imagination. The idea of any one thinking us a dead couple!"</p> - -<p>As he said this her blushing cheek showed certainly that life was -strong in her.... Upon the wings of his words grand thoughts had gone -flying through her mind. All day she had been looking forward with -dread to the yellow, sickly, sunlit time after school. And now to think -that the miracle of this romantic young man had happened.... Both grew -silent. Rebecca's eyes were filling with visions and wandering over a -field of young green corn. They were dancing upon the waves of sunlight -which shimmered over all the clean, feathery surface of the field. The -eyes of Ulick were straying from the landscape and dwelling upon her -deeply, upon the curves of her throat and bosom, and upon the gentle -billows of her hair. Over all his face was clouding that mysterious, -murky expression which had come as he gazed upon the little barmaid of -the "North Leinster Arms" a few days previously.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> - -<p>Rebecca wanted some light blouses. Those she possessed had survived -through one summer, and it was all that could be expected of them. So -one day she ran down to Brennan's, during the half hour allowed for -recreation, to leave the order. When she entered the sewing-room Mrs. -Brennan was busy at her machine. Her ever-tired eyes struggled into a -beaming look upon Rebecca.</p> - -<p>The young girl, with her rich body, seemed to bring a clean freshness -into the room. For a moment the heavy smell of the miscellaneous -materials about her died down in the nostrils of Mrs. Brennan. But this -might have arisen from a lapse of other faculties occasioned by her -agreeable surprise. So here was the new teacher who had so recently -occupied her tongue to such an extent. She now beheld her hungrily.</p> - -<p>Rebecca laid her small parcel of muslin upon the table, and became -seated at the request of Mrs. Brennan.</p> - -<p>"That's the grand day, ma'am," said she.</p> - -<p>"'Tis the grand day indeed, miss," said Mrs. Brennan.</p> - -<p>"Not nice, however, to be in a stuffy schoolroom."</p> - -<p>"Indeed you might swear that, especially in such a school as -Tullahanogue, with a woman like Mrs. Wyse; she's the nice-looking -article of a mistress!"</p> - -<p>Rebecca almost bounded in her chair. She had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> fancied Mrs. Brennan, -from the nature of her occupation, as a gabster, but she had not -reckoned upon such a sudden and emphatic confirmation of her notion. -Immediately she tried to keep the conversation from taking this turn, -which, in a way, might bring it to a personal issue. But Mrs. Brennan -was not to be baulked of her opportunity.</p> - -<p>She began to favor her visitor with a biography of Mrs. Wyse. It was a -comprehensive study, including all her aspects and phases. Her father -and his exact character, and her mother and what she was. Her husband, -and how the marriage had been arranged. How she had managed to gain her -position. Everything was explained with a wealth of detail.</p> - -<p>Rebecca out of the haze into which the garrulous recital had led her, -spoke suddenly and reminded Mrs. Brennan of the passage of the half -hour. Mrs. Brennan quickly fancied that the cause of the girl's lack of -enthusiasm in this outpouring of information might have arisen from the -fact that Mrs. Wyse had forestalled her with a previous attack. Thus, -by a piece of swift transition, she must turn the light upon herself -and upon the far, bright period of her young girlhood.</p> - -<p>Now maybe Miss Kerr would like to look through the album of photos upon -the table. This was a usual extension of feminine curiosity.... Rebecca -opened the heavy, embossed album and began to turn over the pages.... -There was a photo of a young girl near the beginning. She was of -considerable beauty, even so far as could be discerned from this faded -photo, taken in the early eighties. As Rebecca lingered over it, the -face of Mrs. Brennan was lit by a sad smile.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> - -<p>"She was nice, and who might she have been?" said Rebecca.</p> - -<p>"That was me when I was little and innocent," said Mrs. Brennan.</p> - -<p>Rebecca looked from Mrs. Brennan to the photo, and again from the photo -to Mrs. Brennan. She found it difficult to believe that this young -girl, with the long, brown hair and the look of pure innocence in the -fine eyes, could be the faded, anxious, gossipy woman sitting here at -her labor in this room.... She thought of the years before herself and -of all the tragedy of womanhood.... There was silence between them for -a space. Mrs. Brennan appeared as if she had been overpowered by some -sad thought, for not a word fell from her as she began to untie the -parcel of blouse material her customer had brought. There was no sound -in the wide noontide stillness save the light fall of the album leaves -as they were being turned.... Rebecca had paused again, and this time -was studying the photos of two young men set in opposite pages. Both -were arrayed in the fashions of 1890, and each had the same correct, -stiff pose by an impossible-looking pedestal, upon which a French-gray -globe reposed. But there was a great difference to be immediately -observed as existing between the two men. One was handsome and of such -a hearing as instantly appeals to feminine eyes. It was curious that -they should have been placed in such contiguous contradistinction, for -the other man seemed just the very opposite in every way to the one who -was so handsome. It could not have been altogether by accident, was -Rebecca's thought, and, with the intuition of a woman at work in her, -she proceeded to lay the foundations of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> romance.... Mrs. Brennan was -observing her closely, and it grew upon her that she had been destined -to bare her soul to this girl in this moment.</p> - -<p>"That was the nice young man," said Rebecca, indicating the one who, -despite his stiff pose by the pedestal, looked soldierly with his great -mustache.</p> - -<p>"Indeed he was all that," said Mrs. Brennan. "I met him when I was away -off in England. He was a rich, grand young man, and as fond of me as -the day was long; but he was a Protestant and fearful of his people to -change his religion, and to be sure I could not change mine. For the -sake of me holy religion I gave up all thoughts of him and married Ned -Brennan, whose likeness you see on the other page."</p> - -<p>Rebecca lifted her eyes from the album and looked full at Mrs. Brennan. -She wondered how much truth could be in this story. The dressmaker -was a coarse woman and not at all out of place in this mean room. She -imagined the heavy husband of her choice as a suitable mate for her.</p> - -<p>This sudden adoption of the attitude of a kind of martyr did not seem -to fit well upon her. Rebecca could not so quickly imagine her as -having done a noble and heroic thing for which she had not received -sufficient beatification.</p> - -<p>Rebecca was still turning the leaves. She had hurried through this -little pageant of other generations, and was at the last pages. Now -she was among people of the present, and her attention was no longer -held by the peculiarities of the costumes.... Her mind was beginning to -wander. Suddenly she was looking down upon a photo in the older style -and the anachronism was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>startling. Had it been placed in any other -portion of the album she might not have so particularly noticed it. It -was the likeness of a dark, handsome man on horseback.</p> - -<p>"Who was he?" she said, almost unconsciously.</p> - -<p>A flush passed over the face of Mrs. Brennan, but she recovered herself -by an effort. She smiled queerly through her confusion and said:</p> - -<p>"Indeed 'tis you who ought to know that."</p> - -<p>"How should I know?"—Rebecca was amazed.</p> - -<p>"Don't you know Ulick Shannon?"</p> - -<p>It was now Rebecca's turn to be confused.</p> - -<p>Fancy this woman knowing that she had been talking just once with Ulick -Shannon.... Evidently the tongue of this place had already begun to -curl around her.</p> - -<p>"But this is not Ulick Shannon!" She blushed as she found herself -speaking his name.</p> - -<p>"No, but it is the photo of his dead father, Henry Shannon."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan heaved a great sigh as she said this. She rose from her -seat by the machine and moved towards the place where Rebecca was -bending over the album. She gazed down at the picture of the dead man -with moist eyes.... There was silence between them now for what seemed -a long time. Rebecca became alarmed as she thought that she might have -overstayed the half hour. At the school the priest or the inspector -might have called and found her absent from her post.</p> - -<p>She broke in abruptly upon Mrs. Brennan's fit of introspection, and -gave a few hurried orders about the blouses.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Will you be giving me the making of your next new costume?" said Mrs. -Brennan.</p> - -<p>"Well, I'm sorry—I don't think so. You see I have it being made -already in Dublin."</p> - -<p>"In Dublin itself? Well, well! that'll be the great style."</p> - -<p>She felt it as an affront to her reputation that any one who lived in -the neighborhood should patronize other places for their needs. She -took such doings as exhibitions of spite and malice against her. And, -somehow, she could not get rid of the idea now, although this girl -evidently knew nothing of her history.</p> - -<p>She was seeing Rebecca to the door when John Brennan came up the little -path. She introduced him, and told how he was her son and, with vanity -in her tones, that he was going to be a priest.</p> - -<p>"That'll give her something to think of, with her slighting me be -telling how she was having her costume made be another. A woman that's -going to have a son a priest ought to be good enough to make for her, -and she a whipster that's after coming from God knows where."</p> - -<p>The mind of Mrs. Brennan was saying this to itself as she stood there -at her own door gazing in pride upon her son. Rebecca Kerr was looking -up into his face with a laugh in her eyes. He was such a nice young -fellow, she was thinking. John Brennan was blushing in the presence of -this girl and glancing shyly at her hair.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she broke away from them with a laughing word upon her lips, -ran out to the road, and down towards the school.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> - -<p>"She's a very nice girl, mother."</p> - -<p>"Oh! indeed she's not much, John; and I knew well I wouldn't like her -from the very first I heard tell of her coming."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> - -<p>Large posters everywhere announced the holding of a concert in -Garradrimna. As in many other aspects of life in the village, it was -not given to John Brennan to see their full meaning. He had not even -seen in Thomas James, who posted the bills, a symbolic figure, but only -one whom disaster had overtaken through the pursuit of his passion. For -many a year had Thomas James gone about in this way, foretelling some -small event in the life of Garradrimna. Now it was a race-meeting or a -circus, again an auction or a fair. All the while he had been slipping -into his present condition, and herein lay the curious pathos of him. -For he would never post like this the passing of his own life; he would -never set up a poster of Eternity.</p> - -<p>It was curious to think of that, no poster at all of the exact moment -amid the mass of Time when the Great White Angel would blow his blast -upon the Shining Trumpet to awaken all Earth by its clear, wide ringing -across the Seven Seas.</p> - -<p>John Brennan spoke to his mother of the concert.</p> - -<p>"The cheek of them I do declare, with their concert. People don't find -it hard enough to get their money without giving it to them. Bits of -shop-boys and shop-girls! But I suppose they want new clothes and -costumes for the summer. I'll go bail you'll see them girls with new -hats after this venture."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> - -<p>"The bills announce that it is for the Temperance Club funds."</p> - -<p>"And them's the quare funds, you might say, and the quare club. Young -fellows and young girls meeting in the one room to get up plays. No -good can come of it."</p> - -<p>"Of course we need not attend if we don't like."</p> - -<p>"Ah, we must go all the same. If we didn't, 'tis what they would say -mebbe that we hadn't the means, and so we must let them know that we -have. It wouldn't be nice to see you away from it."</p> - -<p>"I have no desire to go, mother, I assure you. A quiet evening more or -less will not matter."</p> - -<p>"But sure it'll be a bit of diversion and amusement."</p> - -<p>"Yes, that is exactly what I was thinking, so I didn't see anything -very wrong in going or in supporting those who organized it. But if you -don't care to go, it does not matter."</p> - -<p>"Ah, but wouldn't it be the quare thing to see your mother ignorant and -not having a word to say about what was after passing to any one that -would come in, and they knowing the whole thing? Now what you'll do for -me, John, is this. You'll go into Phillips's this evening and get two -of the most expensive tickets, one for yourself and one for me."</p> - -<p>John Brennan had a momentary realization of the pitiful vanity behind -this speech. He remained thinking while she went upstairs for the price -of the tickets, for that must be her object, he fancied, in ascending -into the upper story. He could hear her moving a trunk and opening it. -The sounds came to him with perfect clearness in the still room and -struck him with a sense of their little mournfulness, even though he -was quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> unaware that his mother had secretly begun the destruction -of a bright portion of her life's dream.</p> - -<p>In the evening he went to the village for the tickets.</p> - -<p>"It'll be a grand turn-out," said Jimmy Phillips, as he took in the -money and blinked in anticipation with his one eye.</p> - -<p>"I'm sure," said John, as he left the little shop where you might buy -the daily newspaper and sweets and everything.</p> - -<p>He strolled up the street towards the old castle of the De Lacys. The -local paper, published at Mullaghowen, was never tired of setting down -its fame. The uncouth historians of the village had almost exhausted -their adjectives in relating the exploits of this marauding baron of -the Normans who had here built him a fortress, from which his companies -of conquering freebooters had sallied forth so long ago. Yet, as an -extraordinary mistake on the part of those who concerned themselves so -intimately with the life around them, they had altogether missed the -human side of the crumbling ruin. Of what romances of knighthood it -had once been the scene? Of what visions of delight when fair women -had met cuirassed gallants? Of all that pride which must have reared -itself aloft in this place which was now the resort, by night, of the -most humble creatures of the wild? Not one of them had ever been able -to fancy the thoughts which must have filled the mind of Hugh De Lacy -as he drew near this noble monument of his glory after some successful -expedition against the chieftains of the Pale.</p> - -<p>Through the thin curtain of the twilight John Brennan saw two figures -stealing from the labyrinthine ways<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> which led beneath the castle into -what were known as "The Cells." These were dark, narrow places in which -two together would be in close proximity, and it was out from them that -this man and this woman were now stealing. He could not be certain of -their identity, but they looked like two whom he knew.... And he had -heard that Rebecca Kerr was going to sing at the concert, and also -that Ulick Shannon was coaching the Garradrimna Dramatic Class in the -play they were to produce, which was one he had seen at the Abbey -Theater.... A curious thrill ran through him which was like a spasm of -pain. Could it be this girl and this young man who had spoken with such -disgusting intimacy of the female sex in the bar of the "North Leinster -Arms" in Ballinamult ...? They went by a back way into the Club, where -the rehearsals were now going forward.</p> - -<p class="space-above">John Brennan was sitting stiffly beside his mother in the front -seats. Around and about him were people of renowned respectability, -who had also paid two shillings each for their tickets. The seven -publicans of Garradrimna were there, some with their wives, some with -their wives and daughters, and some with their wives and daughters -and sisters-in-law. The Clerk of the Union continually adjusting and -re-adjusting his lemon-colored gloves. The old bespectacled maid from -the Post Office sitting near the gray, bullet-headed postmaster, -whose apoplectic jowl was shining. They were keeping up a continual -chatter and buzz and giggle before the rise of the curtain. The jaws -of the ancient postmistress never ceased to work, and those hot words -of criticism and scorn which did not sizzle outwardly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> from her lips -dropped inwardly to feed the fire of her mind, which was a volcano in -perpetual eruption.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan sat in silence by the side of her son, in the pride of his -presence, glad that he and she were here. She was as fine as any of -them, for she kept fine raiment for such occasions. In the first place -as an advertisement for her craft of dressmaker, and, secondly, to -afford a cloak for her past, even as those among whom she sat cloaked -their pasts in heavy garments of pride. Her attention was concentrated -not so much upon the performance she was about to witness as upon the -audience assembled to witness it. To her the audience was the concert, -and, although she was speaking no word, she was as nervously observant -as the old postmistress. She was concerned by the task before her, for -would she not be in honor bound to "go over" all that passed to any one -who might happen into the sewing-room next day, and lay everything bare -with a searching and deadly analysis for her son John? Thus was she not -distracted by the chattering and giggling, but perfectly at ease while -her mind worked nimbly within the limits of its purpose.</p> - -<p>The mind of John Brennan was not enjoying the same contentment. He was -a little excited by the presence of Rebecca Kerr on a seat adjacent. -She had a place on the program, and was awaiting her time to appear. -His eye was dwelling upon her hair, which lifted gracefully from her -white neck in a smooth wave of gold. It was the fairest thing in this -clouded place of human fumes, and the dear softness from which it -sprang such a recess of beauty.</p> - -<p>The concert had at last begun. Harry Holton, the comic, was holding the -stage and the audience was in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> convulsions. Harry Holton was a distant -disciple of Harry Lauder. Having heard the funny Scotchman upon the -gramophone he rather fancied that it was he who should have been Harry -Lauder. In course of time, he had grown to think that it was Lauder and -not himself who was doing the impersonation. His effort to be broadly -Scotch, while the marks of the son of Erin were so strong upon him, was -where, all unseen, his power to move towards laughter really lay. Yet -the audience rocked its sides in crude mirth at this crude exhibition, -and each man asked his neighbor was it not the funniest damned thing? -The seven sleek publicans of Garradrimna threatened to explode.... John -Brennan saw big beads of perspiration rise upon the comedian's brow and -gleam in the sickly glare of the lamplight. Beyond the excitement, from -behind the scenes, came a new sound—the popping of a cork—and through -a chink in the back cloth he saw Ulick Shannon take his drink from -the bottle.... Had Rebecca Kerr seen that as well as he or——. But -his speculation was cut short by the exit of the comedian after many -encores, amidst tumultuous applause.</p> - -<p>Next came Agnes McKeon, a near relation of Monica's and the -schoolmistress of Ballinamult. Her big spectacles gave her the look of -her profession, and although she sang well in a pleasing contralto, she -appeared stiff and unalluring in her white dress, which was starched to -a too strong resplendence. John heard two old maids with scraggy necks -remarking, not upon the power of Miss McKeon's voice, but upon the -extraordinary whiteness of her dress, and saying it was grand surely, -but they anxiously wondered were all her garments as clean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> for they -were ready to credit her with extreme slovenliness of habit.</p> - -<p>The play was the notable event of the evening. Although the work of a -famous Abbey playwright, it had been evidently re-written for Harry -Holton, who was the principal character. It was purely a Harry Holton -show. Dramatic point and sequence were sacrificed to give scope to -his renowned abilities. The other players would seem to have merged -themselves to give him prominence. But the ladies had not merged their -natural vanity. One in particular, who was supposed to represent an old -woman of Ireland, wore an attractive dress which was in the prevailing -fashion. It was the illiterate pronunciation of even the simplest words -which chiefly amused John Brennan. Herein might be detected the touch -of Ulick Shannon, who, in coaching the production, had evidently added -this means of diversion for his own amusement. John fancied that his -friend must be enjoying it hugely in there behind the scenes.</p> - -<p>When the play had been concluded by Harry Holton giving a few steps -of a dance, John Brennan saw Rebecca moving towards the stage. He -observed the light grace with which she went to the ordeal. Here was no -self-consciousness, but instead that easy quietness which is a part of -dignity.... It was Ulick Shannon who held aside the curtain allowing -her to pass in upon the stage.</p> - -<p>"Well now, isn't that one the brazen thing?"</p> - -<p>This was the expression of opinion which came clearly from out the -whispering and giggling. It was an unpardonable offense to appear in -public like this without a certain obvious fluttering and fear which -it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> one of Garradrimna's most notable powers to create. It was a -great flout. Even his mother was moved to nudge him, so unusual was the -method of this strange girl, appearing in public before the place into -which she had come to earn a living.</p> - -<p>But she was singing. Rebecca Kerr was singing, and to John Brennan -this was all he wished to know. He trembled as he listened and grew -weary with delight. He became nervous, as before some unaccountable -apprehension, and turned to his mother. She was looking quizzically -at the girl on the stage. But the stage to him was now a sort of haze -through which there moved ever little dancing specks.</p> - -<p>The concert was over and his mind had not yet returned to realization. -Rebecca had not come from behind the scenes. He moved with his mother -out into the night, and, as they went, glanced around the corner of the -hall. He saw Rebecca Kerr and Ulick Shannon standing within the shadow -of the surrounding wood. He spoke no word to his mother as they went -down the road towards the house in the valley.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> - -<p>As if from the excitement of the concert, John Brennan felt weary next -morning. He had been awake since early hours listening to the singing -of the birds in all the trees near the house. The jolly sounds came to -him as a great comfort. Consequently it was with an acute sensation -of annoyance that there crowded in upon his sense of hearing little -distracting noises. Now it was the heavy rumble of a cart, again -the screech of a bicycle ridden by Farrell McGuinness on his way to -Garradrimna for the letters of his rounds; and, continually, the hard -rasp of nailed boots upon the gravel of the road.</p> - -<p>His mother was moving about in the sewing-room beneath. He could hear -the noise made by her scissors as, from time to time, she laid it down -and picked it up again, while, mingled with these actions, occasionally -came up to him the little, unmusical song of the machine. His father -was still snoring.</p> - -<p>Last night Rebecca Kerr had shone in his eyes.... But how exactly had -she appeared before the eyes of Garradrimna and the valley? After what -manner would she survive the strong blast of talk? The outlook of his -mother would be representative of the feeling which had been created. -Yet he felt that it would be repugnant to him to speak with his mother -of Rebecca Kerr. There would be that faded woman, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>looking at him with -a kind of loving anxiety which seemed always to have the effect of -crushing him back relentlessly towards the realities of the valley and -his own reality. After his thoughts of last night and this morning he -hated to face his mother.</p> - -<p>When at last he went down into the room where she sat sewing he had -such an unusual look in his eyes as seemed to require the solace of an -incident to fill it. If he had expected to find a corresponding look -upon his mother's face he was disappointed. It seemed to wear still the -quizzical expression of last night, and a slight curl at the corners -of her mouth told that her mind was being sped by some humorous or -satirical impulse.</p> - -<p>"Whatever was the matter with you last night, John?" she asked.</p> - -<p>She did not give him time to frame an answer, but went on:</p> - -<p>"And I dying down dead to talk to you about the concert, I could not -get you to speak one word to me and we coming home."</p> - -<p>He noticed that she was in good heart, and, although it was customary -with him to be pleased to see his mother in a mood of gladness, he -could not enter into laughter and gossip with her now.</p> - -<p>But she could not be silent. This small expedition into the outer world -of passing events was now causing her mind to leap, with surprising -agility, from topic to topic.... Yet what was striking John more than -her talk, and with a more arresting realization, was, that although -the hour of his Mass-going was imminent, she was not reminding him or -urging him to remembrance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> of the good custom.... At last he was driven -by some scruple to remind her of the time, and it was her answer that -finally amazed him:</p> - -<p>"Ah, sure you mightn't go to-day, John. You're tired and all to that, I -know, and I want to tell you.... He! he! he! Now wasn't it the funniest -thing to see the schoolmistress of Ballinamult and the schoolmistress -of Tullahanogue and they up upon the one stage with Harry Holton's -dramatics making sport for a lot of grinning idiots? Like a couple of -circus girls they were, the brazen things! Indeed Miss Kerr is the -bold-looking hussy, with not a bit of shame in her at all. But sure -we may say she fell among her equals, for there wasn't much class -connected with it anyhow."</p> - -<p>"I think Ulick Shannon was knocking about the stage."</p> - -<p>The words strayed, without much sense of meaning or direction, out of -the current of his musing, but they produced a swift and certain effect -upon Mrs. Brennan. Her eyes seemed to cloud suddenly behind her glasses.</p> - -<p>"Aye ... I wonder who was the girl he went off with through the wood as -we came out. Never fear it was the new schoolmistress."</p> - -<p>She said this with a curious, dead quietness in her tones, and when she -had spoken she seemed instantly sorry that the words had slipped from -her lips.... It seemed a queer thing to say to her son and he going on -to be a priest.</p> - -<p>John thought it very strange that she too should have observed this -incident, which he had imagined must have been hidden from all eyes -save his own. He now wondered how many more must have seen it as he -tried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> to recall the sensations with which it had filled him.... But -beyond this remarkable endeavor of his mind his mother was again -speaking:</p> - -<p>"If you went now, you'd be in time for half-past eight Mass."</p> - -<p>He did not fail to notice the immediate change which had taken place in -her, and wondered momentarily what could have been its sudden cause. -He was beginning to notice of late that she had grown more and more -subject to such unaccountable fits.</p> - -<p>In his desire to obey her he was still strong, but, this morning, as he -walked along to Garradrimna he was possessed by a certain feeling of -annoyance which seemed to strain the bond that stretched between them.</p> - -<p>In the chapel he knelt beside Charlie Clarke, like the voteens around -them, with a lifeless acquiescence in the ceremony. He was here not -because his heart was here, but merely because his mother had wished -it. When his lips moved, in mechanical mimicry of the priest, he felt -that the way of the hypocrite must be hard and lonely.</p> - -<p>When he came out, upon the road he was confused to find himself face -to face with Rebecca Kerr. It seemed a trick of coincidence that he -should meet her now, for it had never happened on any other morning. -Then he suddenly remembered how his mother had kept him late from -"eight o'clock" by her talk of the concert, and it was now Miss Kerr's -school-going time.... She smiled and spoke to him.</p> - -<p>She looked handsome as she moved there along the road from the house -of Sergeant McGoldrick to the Girls' School of Tullahanogue. She was -in harmony with the beauty of the morning. There had been a dull<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> pain -upon his mind since he had last seen her, but already it was gone.</p> - -<p>Although the concert might appear as the immediate subject to which -their minds would turn, this was not so. They began to talk of places -and things away from Garradrimna.</p> - -<p>She spun for his amusement many little yarns of the nuns who conducted -the college where she had been trained. He told her stories of the -priests who taught in the English college where he was being educated -for the priesthood. They enlarged upon the peculiarities of monastic -establishments.</p> - -<p>"And you're going to be a priest?" she said, looking up into his face -suddenly with dancing eyes.</p> - -<p>Such a question had never before been put to him in exactly this way.</p> - -<p>"I am.... At least, I think so.... Oh, yes!" he faltered.</p> - -<p>She laughed in a ringing, musical way that seemed to hold just the -faintest trace of mockery in its tones, but it seemed, next instant, -to be only by way of preface to another conventual tale which she -proceeded to tell.</p> - -<p>Through the period of this story they did not notice that they were -being stared at by those they were meeting upon the road.... As she -chatted and laughed, his eyes would be straying, in spite of him, to -that soft place upon her neck from which her hair sprang upward.</p> - -<p>It was with painful abruptness that she said: "Good morning, Mr. -Brennan!" and went into the old, barrack-like school.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> - -<p>When John regained the house he saw that his father's boots had -disappeared from their accustomed place beside the fire. No doubt he -had gone away in them to Garradrimna. He had not met him on the road, -but there was a short way across the fields and through the woods, a -backward approach to three of the seven publichouses along which Ned -Brennan, some rusty plumber's tool in his hand and his head downcast, -might be seen passing on any day.</p> - -<p>He did not go straight into the sewing-room, for the door was closed -and he could hear the low murmur of talk within. It must be some -customer come to his mother, he thought, or else some one who had -called in off the road to talk about the concert. Immediately he -realized that he was wrong in both surmises, for it was the voice -of Marse Prendergast raised in one of its renowned outbursts of -supplication.</p> - -<p>"Now I suppose it's what you think that you're the quare, clever woman, -Nan Byrne, with your refusing me continually of me little needs; but -you'd never know what I'd be telling on you some day, and mebbe to your -grand son John."</p> - -<p>"Sssh—sssh—sure I'll get it for you when he goes from the kitchen."</p> - -<p>This last was in a low tone and spoken by his mother.</p> - -<p>"Mebbe it's what you're ashamed to let him see you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> giving to me. -That's a grand thing now, and I knowing what I know!"</p> - -<p>"Can't you be easy now and maybe 'tis a whole shilling I'll be giving -you in a few minutes."</p> - -<p>This was altogether too generous of his mother. It gave scope to Marse -Prendergast to exercise her tyranny. Her threat was part of the begging -convention she had framed for herself, and so it did not move him -towards speculation or suspicion. His mind drifted on to the enjoyment -of other thoughts, the girl he had just walked with down the valley, -the remembered freshness of the morning road. He came out to the door. -The little kitchen garden stretched away from his feet. An abandoned -spade stood up lonely and erect in the middle of the cabbage-plot. -Around it were a few square feet of freshly-turned earth. It was the -solitary trace of his existence that his father had left behind.... As -the mind of John Brennan came to dwell upon the lonely spectacle of the -spade the need for physical exertion grew upon him.</p> - -<p>He went out into the little garden and lifted the rude implement of -cultivation in his hand. He had not driven it many times into the soft -clay of the cabbage-bed when a touch of peace seemed to fall upon him. -The heavy burden that had occupied his mind was falling into the little -trench that was being made by the spade.</p> - -<p>He had become so interested in his task that he had not heard his -mother go upstairs nor seen Marse Prendergast emerge from the house -some moments later.</p> - -<p>The old shuiler called out to him in her high, shrill voice:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> - -<p>"That's right, John! That's right! 'Tis glad myself is to see you doing -something useful at last. Digging the cabbage-plot, me sweet gosoon, -and your father in Garradrimna be this time with his pint in his hand!"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan had followed her to the door, and her cruelty was stirred -to give the sore cut by reviving the old dread.</p> - -<p>"That's the lad! That's the lad! But mind you don't dig too far, for -you could never tell what you'd find. And indeed it would be the quare -find you might say!"</p> - -<p>He laughed as she said this, for he remembered that, as a child she -had entertained him with the strangest stories of leprecauns and their -crocks of gold, which were hidden in every field. The old woman passed -out on the road, and his mother came over to him with a pitiful look of -sadness in her eyes.</p> - -<p>"Now, John, I'm surprised at you to have a spade in your hand before -Marse Prendergast and all. That's your father's work and not yours, and -you with your grand education."</p> - -<p>The speech struck him as being rather painful to hear, and he felt as -if he should like to say: "Well, what is good enough for my father -ought to be good enough for me!" But this, to his mother, might have -looked like a back-answer, a piece of impertinence, so he merely -stammered in confusion: "Oh, sure I was only exercising and amusing -myself. When this little bit is finished I'm going down to have a read -by the lake."</p> - -<p>"That's right, John!" she said in a flat, sad voice, and turned back to -her endless labor.</p> - -<p>He stopped, his hands folded on the handle-end of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> spade, and fell -into a condition of dulness which even the slightest labor of the body -brings to those unaccustomed to it. All things grew so still of a -sudden. There seemed to come a perfect lull in the throbbing, nervous -realization of his brain from moment to moment.... He felt himself -listening for the hum of his mother's machine, but it was another -sound that came to him—the desolating sound of her lonely sobbing. -She was crying to herself there now in the sewing-room and mourning -forever as if for some lost thing.... There were her regular sobs, -heavy with an eternal sadness as he listened to them. Into such acute -self-consciousness had his mood now moved that he could not imagine -her crying as being connected with anything beyond himself. He was -the perpetual cause of all her pain.... If only she would allow him, -for short spaces, to go out of her mind they might both come into the -enjoyment of a certain freedom, but sometimes the most trivial incident -seemed to put her out so. This morning she had been in such heart and -humor, and last night so interested in the concert, and here now she -was in tears. It could not have been the visit of Marse Prendergast -or her talk, for there was nobody so foolish, he thought, as to take -any notice of either. It must have been the digging and the fact that -people passing the road might see him. Now was not that foolish of her, -for did not Father O'Keeffe himself dig in his own garden with his own -two blessed hands ...? But he must bend in obedience to her desire, and -go walking like a leisured gentleman through the valley. He was looking -forward to this with dread, for, inevitably, it must throw him back -upon his own thoughts.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> - -<p>As he came down past the school he could hear a dull drone from among -the trees. The school had not yet settled down to the business of the -day, and the scholars were busy with the preparation of their lessons. -John stopped by the low wall, which separated its poor playground from -the road, to gaze across at the hive of intellect. Curious that his -mother should now possess a high contempt for this rude academy where -he had been introduced to learning. But he had not yet parted company -with his boyhood. He was remembering the companions of his schooldays -and how this morning preparation had been such a torture. Still moving -about the yard before his formal entrance to the school, was Master -Donnellan. As John Brennan saw him now he appeared as one misunderstood -by the people of the valley, and yet as one in whom the lamp of the -intellect was set bright and high. But beyond this immediate thought -of him he appeared as a man with overthrown ambitions and shattered -dreams, whose occasional outbursts of temper for these reasons had -often the effect of putting him at enmity with the parents of the -children.</p> - -<p>Master Donnellan was a very slave of the ferrule. He had spent his -brains in vain attempts to impart some knowledge to successive -generations of dunces of the fields. It had been his ambition to be -the means of producing some great man whose achievements in the world -might be his monument of pride. But no pupil of his in the valley -school had ever arisen as a great man. Many a time, in the long summer -evenings, when the day would find it hard to disappear from Ireland, -he would come quietly to the old school with a step of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> reverence, -and going into the moldy closet, where all the old roll-books and -register-books were kept, take them down one by one and go searching -through the lists of names. His mind would be filled with the ringing -achievements of men who had become notable in the world.... Not a -trace of any of those famous names could he find here, however far he -might search in all the musty books until the day had faded.... Then -he would rely upon his memory in a further aspect of his search. He -had not even produced a local great man. In his time no priests had -come out of the valley. There was a strange thing now—no priests, and -it was a thing that was always said by angry mothers and fathers when -they called at the valley school to attack him for his conduct towards -their children—"And you never to have made a priest or a ha'porth!" -It was not the unreasonableness of their words that annoyed him, but -rather the sense of impotence with which they filled him.... If only it -would happen that he could say he had produced one famous man. A priest -would be sufficiently fine to justify him in the eyes of the valley. It -was so strange that, although he had seen many young men move towards -high attainment, some fatality had always happened to avert his poor -triumph. He thought of young Brennan as his present hope and pride.</p> - -<p>John went on towards the lake. When he came to the water's edge he -was filled with a sense of peace. He sat down beneath one of the fir -trees and, in the idleness of his mood, began to pick up some of the -old dried fir-cones which were fallen beneath. They appeared to him -as things peculiarly bereft of any sap or life. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> gathered until he -had a handful and then cast them from him one by one on the surface of -the water. It seemed a surprising thing that the small eddies which -the light splashes of them made rolled distantly to the shores of the -little lake. He began to wonder would his life come to be like that—a -small thing to be flung by the Hand of Fate and creating its little -ripple to eddy to the far shores of Time.</p> - -<p>"Me sound man, John!"</p> - -<p>It was the voice of Shamesy Golliher coming from behind a screen of -reeds where he had been fishing.</p> - -<p>"'Tis a warm day," he said, pushing back his faded straw hat from his -brow, "Glory be to the Son of God!"</p> - -<p>This was a pious exclamation, but the manner of its intonation seemed -to make it comical for John Brennan laughed and Shamesy Golliher -laughed.</p> - -<p>"Now isn't them the clever, infernal little gets of fishes? The divil -a one can I catch only the size of pinkeens, and I wanting to go to -Garradrimna with a hell of a thirst!"</p> - -<p>"And is that all you have troubling you?" said John.</p> - -<p>"Is that all? Begad if it isn't enough after last night. If the priests -knew all the drink that bees drunk at concerts in aid of Temperance -Halls you wouldn't see a building of that kind in the country.</p> - -<p>"Now down with me last night to the concert with me two lovely -half-pints of malt. Well, to make a long story short, I finished one -of them before I went in. I wasn't long inside, and I think it was -while Harry Holton was singing, when who should give me a nudge only -Hubert Manning: 'Are ye coming out, Shamesy?' says he. He had two -bottles of stout and a naggin, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> we had them finished before Harry -Holton had done his first song. I was striving for to crush back into -me place when who should I knock against only Farrell McGuinness? -He had a lot of bottles in his pocket. He seemed to have about four -dozen of stout on his person, according to the noise he made: 'For the -honor of Jases,' says he, 'will you not spill me porter?' But then -when he saw it was me he had in it: 'Come to hell oura this,' says he, -'into the night air.' I was so glad to see that he hadn't broken his -bottles, I introduced th'other half pint. Sure he nearly swallowed -it, bottle and all. Then we fell to at the porter, and such a bloody -piece of drinking never was seen. And it wasn't that we had plenty of -drink of our own, but strange people were coming running through the -wood putting half-pints and naggins into our mouths just as if we were -little sucking childer. I fell a corpse under a tree about eleven. I -don't know how long I was insensible, but when I came to I had a quare -feeling that I was in Hell or some place. I wasn't able to move an -inch, I was that stiff and sick.... Somewhere near me I could hear two -whispering and hugging in the darkness. They were as close as ever they -could be. I couldn't stir to get a better look for fear they'd hear me. -But there was quare goings on I can tell you, things I wouldn't like to -mention or describe. Whisper, I'm near sure it was Ulick Shannon and -the schoolmistress, Miss Kerr, or whatever the hell her name is——."</p> - -<p>Shamesy's sickening realism was brought to an abrupt end by the ducking -of his cork, which had been floating upon the surface of the water. -There was a short moment of joyous excitement and then a dying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> perch -lay on the grass by the side of John Brennan.</p> - -<p>He viewed with sorrow that clean, shining thing wriggling there beneath -the high heavens. Its end had come through the same pitiful certainty -as that of the rabbits which had aforetime contributed to the thirst of -Shamesy, who presently said with delight:</p> - -<p>"Now I have the correct number. I can sell them for sixpence in 'The -World's End,' and you'd never know the amount of good drink that -sixpence might bring."</p> - -<p>He prepared to take his departure, but ere he went across the hill he -turned to John and said:</p> - -<p>"That was the fine walk you were doing with Ulick Shannon's girl this -morning! She was in great form after last night."</p> - -<p>He said it with such a leer of suggestion as cast John, still blushing, -back into his gloom.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> - -<p>Last night and this morning, what Shamesy Golliher had told him of -last night and said of the walk with Rebecca this morning—all this -was now recurring clearly to his mind, although Shamesy had long since -disappeared across the sweep of the hill on his way to Garradrimna.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan had so recently reminded her son of his coming exaltation -that the suggestion was now compelling him beyond the battle of his -thought to picture himself as a priest ordained. Yet an immense gulf of -difference still separated him from the condition of Father O'Keeffe, -for instance. His thought had been further helped to move this way by -the sudden appearance of Father O'Keeffe riding along The Road of the Dead.</p> - -<p>John did not see the man as he really was. Yet it was the full reality -of him that was exercising a subconscious influence upon his mind and -helping, with other things, to turn his heart away from the priesthood.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Father O'Keeffe came directly from that class so important in -Ireland—the division of the farmer class which has come to be known as -"The Grabbers." The word "grabber" had not been invented to describe a -new class, but rather to denote the remarkable character<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> of a class -already in existence. That was their innermost nature, these farmers, -to be close-fisted and to guard with an almost savage tenacity those -possessions to which they had already attained. It was notable also -that they were not too careful or particular as to the means they -employed to come into possession. This was the full answer to the -question why so many of them put a son on for the Church. It was a -double reason, to afford a means of acquiring still further and to be -as an atonement in the sight of Heaven for the means they had used in -acquiring thus far. This at once appeared amazingly true if one applied -it to the case of Father O'Keeffe, who could on occasion put on such a -look of remoteness from this world, that it was difficult to set about -analyzing him by any earthly standard. Yet, among all the <i>pedigrees</i> -she had read for him, as a notable example in Mrs. Brennan's crowd -of examples, had continually appeared and re-appeared this family of -O'Keeffe. His mother had always endeavored to fix firmly in his mind -the wonder of their uprise. It was through the gates of the Church -that the O'Keeffes had gone to their enjoyment. No doubt they had -denied themselves to educate this Louis O'Keeffe who had become P.P. of -Garradrimna, but their return had been more than satisfying. There was -now no relation of his to the most distant degree of blood who did not -possess great comfort and security in the land.</p> - -<p>At bottom Father O'Keeffe was still a man of the clay and loved the -rich grass and the fine cattle it produced. He had cattle in every -quarter of the parish. Men bought them and saw to their fattening -and sold them for him, even going so far as adding the money<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> to -his account in the bank. He had most discreetly used a seeming -unworldliness to screen his advance upon the ramparts of Mammon. Citing -the examples of Scripture, he consorted with notable, though suddenly -converted, sinners, and, when some critic from among the common people -was moved to speak his mind as one of the converted sinners performed -a particularly unscrupulous stroke of business, he was immediately -silenced by the unassailable spectacle of his parish priest walking -hand in hand with the man whose actions he was daring to question. The -combination was of mutual benefit; the gombeen man, the auctioneer and -the publican were enabled to proceed with their swindle of the poor by -maintaining his boon companionship.</p> - -<p>Thus, while publicly preaching the admonishing text of the camel and -the rich man and the needle's eye, Father O'Keeffe was privately -engaged in putting himself in such a condition that the task of -negotiating the needle's eye might be as difficult to him as the camel. -He went daily for a walk, reading his office, and returned anxiously -scanning stock exchange quotations and letters from cattle salesmen in -Dublin. But in spite of this he was a sportsman, and thought nothing of -risking a ten-pound note upon a horse or a night's card-play.</p> - -<p>When he first came to the parish his inclinations were quickly -determined. In the whirl of other interests cards had fallen into -disuse in Garradrimna. They had come to be considered old-fashioned, -but now suddenly they became "all the rage." Old card-tables were -rediscovered and renewed, and it was said that Tommy Williams was -compelled to order several gross of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>playing cars—for, what the -"elite" of the parish did, the "commonality" must needs follow and do. -Thus was a public advantage of doubtful benefit created; for laboring -men were known to lose their week's wages to the distress of their -wives and children.... At the "gorgeous card-plays" never an eyelid was -lifted when Father O'Keeffe "renayged."</p> - -<p>These took place in the houses of shopkeepers and strong farmers, and -were cultivated to a point of excessive brilliance. Ancient antagonists -of the tongue met upon this new field, and strategic attempts were made -to snatch Father O'Keeffe as a prize of battle. Thus was an extravagant -sense of his value at once created and, as in all such cases, the worst -qualities of the man came to be developed. His natural snobbishness, -for one thing, which led him to associate a great deal with the gilded -youth of Garradrimna—officials of the Union and people of that kind -who had got their positions through every effort of bribery and -corruption. At athletic sports or coursing matches you would see him -among a group of them, while they smoked stinking "Egyptian" cigarettes -up into his face.</p> - -<p>Yet it must not be thought that Father O'Keeffe neglected the ladies. -In evenings in the village he might be seen standing outside the worn -drapery counters back-biting between grins and giggles with the women -of the shops. This curious way of spending the time had once led an -irreverent American to describe him as "the flirtatious shop-boy of -Garradrimna."</p> - -<p>His interest in the female sex often led him upon expeditions beyond -the village. Many a time he might be seen riding his old, fat, white -horse, so strangely named,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> "King Billy," down some rutted boreen on -the way to a farmer's house where there were big daughters with weighty -fortunes. Those were match-making expeditions when he had come to tell -them of his brother Robert O'Keeffe and his broad acres.... While "King -Billy" was comforting himself with a plentiful feed of oats, he would -be sitting in the musty parlor with the girl and her mother, taking -wine and smoking cigars, which were kept in every house since it had -come to be known that Father O'Keeffe was fond of them. He generally -smoked a good few at a sitting, and those he did not consume he carried -away in his pocket for future use in his den at the Presbytery.</p> - -<p>"Isn't Father O'Keeffe, God bless him, the walking terror for cigars?" -was all the comment ever made upon this extraordinary habit.</p> - -<p>Robert O'Keeffe, in the intentions of his brother, was a much-married -man, for there was not a house in the parish holding a marriageable -girl into which Father O'Keeffe had not gone to get him a match. He had -enlarged upon the excellence of his brother, upon his manners and ways -and the breadth of his fields.</p> - -<p>"He's the grand, fine man, is Robert," he would say, by way of giving a -final touch to the picture.</p> - -<p>Upon those whose social standing was not a thing of any great certitude -this had always a marked effect towards their own advantage and that -of Father O'Keeffe. It gave them a certain pride in their own worth to -have a priest calling attentively at the house and offering his brother -in marriage. It would be a gorgeous thing to be married to a priest's -brother, and have your brother-in-law with power in his hands to help -you out of many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> a difficulty. He never inquired after the cattle their -fathers were grazing free of charge for him until he would be leaving -the house.</p> - -<p class="space-above">John Brennan followed the black figure upon the white horse down all -The Road of the Dead until Father O'Keeffe had disappeared among the -trees which surrounded the Schools of Tullahanogue, where he was making a call.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> - -<p>John now saw Ulick Shannon coming towards him across the Hill of Annus. -It was strange that he should be appearing now whose presence had just -been created by the Rabelaisian recital of Shamesy Golliher. As he -came along boldly his eyes roamed cheerfully over the blue expanse of -water and seemed to catch something there which moved him to joyous -whistling. John Brennan felt a certain amount of reserve spring up -between them as they shook hands.... For a moment that seemed to -lengthen out interminably the two young men were silent. The lake was -without a ripple in the intense calm of the summer day.... Suddenly it -reflected the movement of them walking away, arm in arm, towards the -village.</p> - -<p>It was high noontide when they reached Garradrimna. The Angelus was -ringing. Men had turned them from their various occupations to bend -down for a space in prayer. The drunkards had put away the pints from -their mouths in reverence. The seven sleek publicans were coming to -their doors with their hats in their hands, beating their breasts in -a frenzy of zeal and genuflecting. Yet, upon the appearance of the -students, a different excitement leaped up to animate them. They began -to hurry their prayers, the words becoming jumbled pell mell in their -mouths as they cleared a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> way for their tongues to say to one another -the thing they wanted to say of the two young men.</p> - -<p>By their God, there was John Brennan and Ulick Shannon coming into -Garradrimna in the middle of the day. To drink, they at once supposed. -Their tongues had been finding fine exercise upon Ulick Shannon for -a considerable time, but it was certainly a comfort to have the same -to say of John Brennan. A clerical student coming up the street with -a Dublin scamp. That was a grand how-d'ye-do! But sure they supposed, -by their God again, that it was only what she deserved (they were -referring to Mrs. Brennan).</p> - -<p>Her mention at once brought recollection of her story, and it came to -be discussed there in the heat of the day until the lonely woman, who -was still crying probably as she sat working by her machine in the -little house in the valley, became as a corpse while the vultures of -Garradrimna circled round it flapping great wings in glee.</p> - -<p>The students strode on, reciting the Angelus beneath their breaths with -a devotion that did not presently give place to any worldly anxiety. -They were doing many things now, as if they formed a new personality -in which the will and the inclination of each were merged. They turned -into McDermott's, and it seemed their collective intention from the -direction they took upon entering the shop to take refuge in the -retirement of the particular portion known as Connellan's office. It -was the place where Mick Connellan, the local auctioneer, transacted -business on Fridays. On all other days it was considered the more -select and secluded portion of this publichouse. But when they entered -it was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>occupied. Padna Padna, the ancient drunkard, was sitting by the -empty grate poking the few drawn corks in it as if they were coals. He -was speaking to himself in mournful jeremiads, and after the fashion of -one upon whom a great sorrow has fallen down.</p> - -<p>"Now what the hell does he want with his mission, and it too good we -are? A mission, indeed, for to make us pay him money every night, and -the cosht of everything, drink and everything. He, he, he! To pay the -price of a drink every night to hear the missioners denounce drink. Now -that's the quarest thing ever any one heard. To go pay the price of -a drink for hearing a man that doesn't even know the taste of it say -that drink is not good for the human soul. Begad Father O'Keeffe is the -funny man!"</p> - -<p>After this fashion did Padna Padna run on in soliloquy. He had seen -many a mission come to bring, in the words of the good missioners, "a -superabundance of grace to the parish," and seen it go without bringing -any appreciable addition of grace to him or any change in his way of -life. It seemed a pity that his tradition had set Padna Padna down as -a Christian, and would not allow him to live his life upon Pagan lines -and in peace. The struggle which continually held occupation of his -mind was one between Christian principles and Pagan inclinations. He -now began whispering to himself—"The Book of God! The Book of God! A -fellow's name bees written in the Book of God!" ... So absorbed was he -in his immense meditation that he had hardly noticed the entry of the -students. But as he became aware of their presence he stumbled to his -feet and gripping John Brennan by the arm whispered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> tensely: "Isn't -that a fact, young fellow, that one's name bees down there always, and -what one does, and that it's never blotted out?"</p> - -<p>"It is thus we are told," said John, speaking dogmatically and as if he -were repeating a line out of the Bible.</p> - -<p>Padna Padna, as he heard these words and recognized the voice of -their speaker, put on what was really his most gruesome expression. -He stripped his shrunken gums in a ghastly little smile, and a queer -"Tee-Hee!" issued from his furrowed throat.... Momentarily his concern -for Eternity was forgotten in a more immediate urgency of this world. -He gripped John still more tightly and in a higher whisper said: "Are -ye able to stand?"</p> - -<p>It was a strange anti-climax and at once betrayed his sudden descent -in the character of his meditation, from thinking of what the Angel -had written of him to his immortal longing for what had determined the -character of that record regarding immortality.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I'll stand," said Ulick, breaking in upon John Brennan's reply to -Padna Padna and pushing the bell.</p> - -<p>Mr. McDermott himself, half drunk and smelling of bad whiskey, came in -and soon the drinks were before them. New life seemed to come pushing -into the ancient man as he took his "half one." He looked up in blind -thankfulness into their faces, his eyes running water and his mouth -dribbling like that of a young child.... His inclinations were again -becoming rapidly Pagan.... From smiling dumbly he began to screech with -laughter, and moved from the room slowly tapping his way with his short -stick.... He was going forth to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> fresh adventures. Spurred on by this -slight addition of drink he would be encouraged to enter the other six -publichouses of Garradrimna, and no man could tell upon what luck he -might happen to fall. So fortunate might his half-dozen expeditions -prove that he would probably return to the house of the good woman who -was his guardian, led by Shamesy Golliher, or some other one he would -strike up with in the last dark pub, as if he were a toddling infant -babbling foolish nonsense about all the gay delights which had been his -of old. The mad drives from distant villages upon his outside car, his -passengers in the same condition as himself—a state of the wildest -abandon, and dwelling exultingly in that moment wherein they might make -fitting models for a picture by Jack B. Yeats.</p> - -<p>Ulick and John were now alone. The day outside was hot and still upon -the dusty street, but this office of Connellan's was a cool place like -some old cellar full of forgotten summers half asleep in wine.... They -were entering still deeper into the mood of one another.... Ulick had -closed the door when Padna Padna had passed through, tapping blindly -as he moved towards the far places of the village. He would seem to -have gone for no other purpose than to publish broadcast the presence -of Ulick Shannon and John Brennan together in McDermott's, and they -drinking. For now the door of Connellan's office was being opened and -closed every few minutes. People were calling upon the pretense of -looking for other people, and going away leaving the door open wide -behind them so that some others might come also and see for themselves -the wonderful thing that was happening.... Padna Padna was having such -a time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> as compared favorably with the high times of old. A "half-one" -of malt from every man he brought to see the sight was by no means -a small reward. And so he was coming and going past the door like a -sentry on guard of some great treasure which increased in value from -moment to moment. He was blowing upon his fingers and tapping his lips -and giggling and screeching with merriment down in his shivering frame.</p> - -<p>And most wonderful of all, the two young men who were creating all -this excitement were quite unconscious of it.... They were talking a -great deal, but each, as it were, from behind the barricade of his -personality, for each was now beginning for the first time to notice -a peculiar thing. They were discovering that their personalities were -complementary. John lacked the gift, which was Ulick's, of stating -things brilliantly out of life and experience and the views of those -modern authors whom he admired. On the other hand, he seemed to possess -a deeper sense of the relative realities of certain things, a faculty -which sprang out of his ecclesiastical training and which held no -meaning for Ulick, who spoke mockingly of such things. Ulick skimmed -lightly over the surface of life in discussing it; John was inclined to -plow deeply.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a desire fell upon John to hear Ulick discuss again those -matters he had talked of at the "North Leinster Arms" in Ballinamult. -It was very curious that this should be the nature of his thoughts -now, this inclination towards things which from him should always -have remained far distant and unknown.... But it may have been that -some subtle impulse had stirred in him, and that he now wished to -see whether the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>outlook of Ulick had changed in any way through his -rumored friendship with Rebecca Kerr. Would it be a cleaner thing and -purified through power of that girl? He fondly fancied that no thought -at all could be soiled within the splendid precinct of her presence.</p> - -<p>Josie Guinan, the new barmaid of McDermott's, came in to attend them -with other and other drinks. Her bosom was attractive and ample, -although her hair was still down upon her back in rich brown plaits.... -She dallied languorously within the presence of the two young men.... -Ulick began to tell some of the stories he had told to Mary Essie, and -she stood even as brazenly enjoying them with her back to the door -closed behind her. Then the two came together and whispered something, -and a vulgar giggle sprang up between them.</p> - -<p>And to think that this was the man to whom Rebecca Kerr might be giving -the love of her heart.... If John had seen as much of life as the other -he would have known that Ulick was the very kind of man who, at all -times, has most strongly appealed to women. Yet it was in this moment -and in this place that he fell in love with Rebecca.... He became -possessed of an infinite willingness to serve and protect her, and it -was upon the strength of his desire that he arose.</p> - -<p>Through all this secret, noble passage, Ulick remained laughing as at -some great joke. He, too, was coming into possession of a new joy, for -he was beginning to glimpse the conflagration of another's soul. Out -of sheer devilment, and in conspiracy with Josie Guinan, he had caused -John Brennan's drink, the small, mild measure of port wine, to be dosed -with flaming whiskey. Even the wine in the frequency of its repetition -had already<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> been getting the better of him. They had been hours -sitting here, and outside the day was fading.</p> - -<p>John began to stutter now in the impotence of degradation which was -upon him. His thoughts were all burning into one blazing thought. The -small room seemed suddenly to cramp and confine his spirit as if it -were a prison cell.... And Ulick was still smiling that queer smile of -his with his thick red lips and sunken eyes.</p> - -<p>He sprang towards the door and, turning the handle, rushed out into the -air.... Soon he was fleeing as if from some Unknown Force, staggering -between the rows of the elms which stretched all along the road into -the valley. It had rained a shower and the strong, young leaves held -each its burden of pearly drops. A light wind now stirred them and like -an aspergillus they flung a blessing down upon him as he passed. And -ever did he mutter her name to himself as he stumbled on:</p> - -<p>"Rebecca Kerr, Rebecca Kerr, I love you, Rebecca, I love you surely! -Oh, my dear Rebecca!"</p> - -<p>She was moving before him, with her hair all shining through the -twilight.</p> - -<p>"Oh, dear Rebecca! I love you! Oh, my dear!"</p> - -<p>He turned The Road of the Dead and down by the lake, where he lay -in the quiet spot from which Ulick Shannon had taken him away to -Garradrimna. There he remained until far on in the evening, when his -mother, concerned for his welfare, came to look for him. She found him -sleeping by the lake.</p> - -<p>She had no notion of how he had passed the evening. Her imagination -was, after all, only a very small thing and worked rigorously within -the romantic confines of the holy stories which were her continual -reading.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> When she had awakened him she asked a characteristic question:</p> - -<p>"And I suppose, John, you're after seeing visions and things have -appeared to you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, mother, I have seen a vision, I think," he said, as he opened -his eyes and blinked stupidly at the lake. He was still midway between -two conditions, but he was not noticeable to her, who could not have -imagined the like.</p> - -<p>These were the only words he spoke to her before he went to bed.</p> - -<p>Back in McDermott's a great crowd thronged the public bar. Every man -seemed to be in high glee and a hum of jubilation hung low between -them. A momentous thing had happened, and it was of this great event -they were talking. <i>John Brennan had left the house and he was -reeling.</i> Men from the valley foregathered in one group and, as each -new-comer arrived, the news was re-broken. It was about the best thing -that had ever happened. The sudden enrichment of any of their number -could not have been half so welcome in its importance.</p> - -<p>Padna Padna and Shamesy Golliher were standing in one corner taking sup -for sup.</p> - -<p>"Damn it, but it was one of the greatest days ever I seen in -Garradrimna since the ould times. It was a pity you missed of it," said -Padna Padna. "If you were to see him!"</p> - -<p>"Sure I'm after seeing him, don't I tell ye, lying a corpse be the -lake."</p> - -<p>"A corpse be the lake. He, he, he! Boys-a-day! Boys-a-day!"</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan, although she pondered it deeply, had made no advance -towards full realization of her son's condition by the lakeside. Yet -John felt strangely diffident about appearing before her next morning. -It seemed to him that another attack had been made upon the bond -between them. But when at last he came into the sewing-room she was -smiling, although there was a sinking feeling around his heart as he -looked upon her. Yet this would pass, he hoped, when they began to talk.</p> - -<p>The children were going the road to school, and it was the nature -of Mrs. Brennan that she must needs be making comment upon what was -passing before her eyes.</p> - -<p>"God help the poor, little girls," she cried, "sure 'tis the grand -example they're being set by that new one, Miss Kerr, with her quare -dresses and her light ways. They say she was out half the night after -the concert with Ulick Shannon, and that Mrs. McGoldrick and the -Sergeant are in terror of their lives for fear of robbers or the likes, -seeing that they have to leave the door on the latch for her to come in -at any time she pleases from her night-walking. And the lad she bees -with that's after knocking about Dublin and couldn't be good anyway. -But sure, be the same token, there's a touch of Dublin about her too. -How well she wouldn't give me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> the making of her new dress? But I -suppose I'm old-fashioned in my cut. Old-fashioned, how are ye; and I -buying <i>Weldon's Ladies' Journal</i> every week? But of course she had to -go to Dublin to be in the tip of the fashion and see what they wear in -Grafton Street in the lamplight. She had to get an outfit of immodest -fol-the-dols to be a disgrace in the chapel every Sunday, and give -room to the missioners when they come to say things that may have an -injurious effect upon poor dressmakers like myself who strive to earn a -living as decently as we can."</p> - -<p>This harangue was almost unnoticed by John Brennan. It was a failing -of his mother to be always speaking thus in terms of her trade. He -knew that if Miss Kerr had come here with her new dress, fine words -and encomiums would now be spoken of her in this room. But it was his -mother who was speaking—and he was thinking of the girl who had filled -his vision.</p> - -<p>And his mother was still talking:</p> - -<p>"That Ulick Shannon, I hate him. I wish you wouldn't let yourself be -seen along with him. It is not good for you, <i>avic machree</i>. Of course -I know the kind of talk you do be having, son. About books and classes -and the tricks and pranks of you at college. Ah, dear, I know; but I'd -rather to God it was any other one in the whole world. I'm fearing in -me heart that there's a black, black side to him. It's well known that -he bees always drinking in Garradrimna, and now see how he's after -striking up with the schoolmistress one. Maybe 'tis what he'd try to -change you sometime, for as sure as you're there I'm afraid and afraid. -And to think after all I have prayed for you through all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> years, -upon me two bare knees in the lonely nights, if an affliction should -come."</p> - -<p>"What affliction, mother? What is it?"</p> - -<p>He came nearer, and gazing deep into her face saw that there were tears -in her eyes. Her eyes were shining like deep wells.</p> - -<p>"Ah, this, son. If it should ever come that you did not think well to -do me wish, after all I have done—"</p> - -<p>She checked herself of a sudden, and it was some moments before John -replied. He, too, was thinking of Ulick Shannon. There was a side to -his friend that he did not like. Yesterday he had not liked him. There -were moments when he had hated him. But that mood and the reason for -it seemed to have passed from him during the night. It was a far thing -now, and Ulick Shannon was as he had been to John, who could not think -ill of him. Yet it was curious that his mother should be hinting at -things which, if he allowed his mind to dwell upon them at all, must -bring back his feelings of yesterday.... But he felt that he must speak -well of his friend.</p> - -<p>"Ah, sure there is nothing, mother. You are only fancying queer things. -At college I have to meet hundreds of fellows. He's not a bad chap, and -I like speaking to him. It is lonely here without such intercourse. He -realizes keenly how people are always talking of him, how the smallest -action of his is construed and constructed in a hundred different ways, -until he's driven to do wild things out of very defiance to show what -he thinks of the mean people of the valley and their opinion of him—"</p> - -<p>"They're not much, I know—"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> - -<p>"But at heart, I think, he's somehow like myself, and I can't help -liking him."</p> - -<p>"All the same he shouldn't be going with a girl and, especially, a -little chit of a schoolmistress like this one, for I can't stand her."</p> - -<p>Why did she continue to hammer so upon the pulse of his thought?... -With bowed head he began to drift out of the room. Why had she driven -him to think now of Rebecca Kerr?... He was already in the sunlight.</p> - -<p>To-day he would not go towards the lake, but up through the high green -fields of Scarden. He was taking <i>The Imitation of Christ</i> with him, -and, under the shade of some noble tree, it was his intention to turn -his thoughts to God and away from the things of life.</p> - -<p>It seemed grand to him, with a grandeur that had more than a touch of -the color of Heaven, to be ascending cool slopes through the green, -soft grass and to be looking down upon the valley at its daily labor. -The potatoes and turnips still required attention. He saw men move -patiently behind their horses over the broken fields of red earth -beneath the fine, clear clay, and thought that here surely was the true -vocation of him who would incline himself unto God.... But how untrue -was this fancy when one came to consider the real personality of these -tillers of the soil? There was not one of whom Mrs. Brennan could not -tell an ugly story. Not one who did not consider it his duty to say -uncharitable things of Ulick Shannon and Rebecca Kerr. Not one who -would not have danced with gladness if a great misfortune had befallen -John Brennan, and made a holiday in Garradrimna if anything terrible -had happened to any one within the circle of their acquaintance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> - -<p>John Brennan's attention was now attracted by a man who moved with an -air of proprietorship among a field of sheep. He was a tall man in -black, moving darkly among the white crowd of the sheep, counting them -leisurely and allowing his mind to dwell upon the pageant of their -perfect whiteness. He seemed to be reckoning their value as the pure -yield of his pastures. Here was another aspect of the fields.... The -man in black was coming towards him with long strides.</p> - -<p>It took John some moments to realize that he had strayed into the -farm of the Shannons and that this was Myles Shannon who was coming -over to meet him.... He was a fine, clean man seen here amid the -rich surroundings of his own fields. But he had advanced far into -bachelorhood, and the russet was beginning to go out of his cheeks. It -seemed a pity of the world that he had not married, for just there, -hidden behind the billowy trees, was the fine house to which he might -have brought home a wife and reared up a family to love and honor him -in his days. But his romance had been shattered by a piece of villainy -which had leaped out from the darkness of the valley. And now he was -living here alone. But he was serenely independent, exhibiting a -fine contempt, as well he might, for the mean strugglers around him. -He took his pleasures here by himself in this quiet house among the -trees. Had he been asked to name them, he could have told you in three -words—books and drink. Not that they entered into his life to any -great extent, for he was a wise man even in his indulgence.... But who -was there to see him or know since he did not choose to publish himself -in Garradrimna? And there was many a time when he worked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> himself into -a great frenzy while brooding over the story of his dead brother Henry, -and his own story, and Nan Byrne.... Even now he was thinking darkly of -Nan Byrne as he came forward to meet her son across his own field.</p> - -<p>"Good-day, Mr. Brennan!" he said affably. He had no personal grudge -against this young man, but his scheme of revenge inevitably included -him, for it was through John Brennan, her son, that Nan Byrne now hoped -to aspire, and it was him she hoped to embody as a monument of her -triumph over destructive circumstances before the people of the valley.</p> - -<p>John went forward and shook the hand of Mr. Shannon with deference.</p> - -<p>A fine cut of a man, surely, this Myles Shannon, standing here where -he might be clearly viewed. He appeared as a survival from the latter -part of the Victorian era. He was still mutton-chopped and mustachioed -after the fashion of those days. He wore a long-tailed black coat like -a morning-coat. His waistcoat was of the same material. Across the -expanse of it extended a wide gold chain, from which dangled a bunch -of heavy seals. These shook and jingled with his every movement. His -trousers were of a dark gray material, with stripes, which seemed -to add to the height and erectness of his figure. His tall, stiff -collar corrected the thoughtful droop of his head, and about it was -tastefully fixed a wide black tie of shiny silk which reached down -underneath his low-cut waistcoat. His person was surmounted by an -uncomfortable-looking bowler hat with a very hard, curly brim.</p> - -<p>When he smiled, as just now, his teeth showed in even,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> fine rows and -exhibited some of the cruelty of one who has allowed his mind to dwell -darkly upon a passionate purpose. But the ring of his laugh was hearty -enough and had the immediate effect of dispelling suspicions of any -sinister purpose.</p> - -<p>He said he was glad to see how his casual suggestion, made upon the day -they had journeyed down from Dublin together, had borne fruit, that Mr. -Brennan and his nephew, Ulick, had so quickly become friends.</p> - -<p>John thanked him, and began to speak in terms of praise about Ulick -Shannon.</p> - -<p>Mr. Shannon again bared his even, white teeth in a smile as he -listened.... A strong friendship, with its consequent community of -inclinations, had already been established. And he knew his nephew.</p> - -<p>"He's a clever chap, I'll admit, but he's so damned erratic. He seems -bent upon crushing the experience of a lifetime into a few years. Why -I'm a man, at the ripened, mellow period of life, and it's a fact that -he could teach me things about Dublin and all that."</p> - -<p>John Brennan was uncertain in what way he should confirm this, but at -last he managed to stammer out:</p> - -<p>"Ulick is very clever!"</p> - -<p>"He's very fond of Garradrimna, and I think he's very fond of the -girls."</p> - -<p>"It's so dull around here compared with Dublin."</p> - -<p>John appeared a fool by the side of this man of the world, who was -searching him with a look as he spoke again:</p> - -<p>"It's all right for a young fellow to gain his experience as early as -he can, but he's a bit too fond of his pleasure. He's going a bit too -far."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> - -<p>John put on a strained look of advocacy, but he spoke no word.</p> - -<p>"He's not a doctor yet, and even then his living would not be assured; -and do ye know what he had the cheek to come telling me the other -night—</p> - -<p>"'I've got infernally fond of that little girl,' he says.</p> - -<p>"'What girl?' I asked in amazement.</p> - -<p>"'Why, that schoolmistress—Rebecca Kerr. I'm "gone" about her. I'm in -love with her. She's not at all like any of the others.'"</p> - -<p>Myles Shannon, with his keen eyes, saw the sudden light of surprise -that leaped into the eyes of John Brennan. The passion of his hatred -and the joy of his cruelty were stirred, and he went on to develop the -plot of the story he had invented.</p> - -<p>"And what for," said I to him, "are you thinking of any girl in that -way. I, as your guardian, am able to tell you that you are not in a -position to marry. Surely you're not going to ruin this girl, or allow -her to ruin you. Besides she is only a strolling schoolmistress from -some unknown part of Donegal, and you are one of the Shannon family. -'But I'm "gone" about her,' was what Ulick said. How was I to argue -against such a silly statement?"</p> - -<p>The color was mounting ever higher on John Brennan's cheeks.</p> - -<p>But the relentless man went on playing with him.</p> - -<p>"Of course I have not seen her, but, by all accounts, she's a pretty -girl and possesses the usual share of allurements. Is not that so?"</p> - -<p>"She's very nice."</p> - -<p>"And, do you know what? It has come to me up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> here, although I may seem -to be a hermit among the fields who takes no interest in the world, -that you have been seen walking down the valley road together. D'ye -remember yesterday morning, eh?"</p> - -<p>John was blushing still, and a kind of sickly smile made his fine face -look queer. All kinds of expressions were trying to form themselves -upon his tongue, yet not one of them could he manage to articulate.</p> - -<p>"Not that I blame a young fellow, even one intended for the Church, if -he should have a few inclinations that way. But I can see that you are -the good friend of my nephew, and indeed it would be a pity if anything -came to spoil that friendship, least of all a bit of a girl.... And -both of you being the promising young men you are.... It would be -terrible if anything like that should come to pass."</p> - -<p>Even to this John could frame no reply. But the ear of Mr. Shannon did -not desire it, for his eye had seen all that he wished to know. He -beheld John Brennan shivering as within the cold and dismal shadows of -fatality.... They spoke little more until they shook hands again, and -parted amid the dappled grass.</p> - -<p>To Myles Shannon the interview had been an extraordinary success.... -Yet, quite suddenly, he found himself beginning to think of the -position of Rebecca Kerr.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> - -<p>Outside the poor round of diversions afforded by the valley and her -meetings with Ulick Shannon, the days passed uneventfully for Rebecca -Kerr. It was a dreary kind of life, wherein she was concerned to avoid -as far as possible the fits of depression which sprang out of the -quality of her lodgings at Sergeant McGoldrick's.</p> - -<p>She snatched a hasty breakfast early in the mornings, scarcely ever -making anything like a meal. When she did it was always followed -by a feeling of nausea as she went on The Road of the Dead towards -the valley school. When she returned after her day's hard work her -dinner would be half cold and unappetizing by the red ashy fire. Mrs. -McGoldrick would be in the sitting-room, where she made clothes for the -children, the sergeant himself probably digging in the garden before -the door, his tunic open, his face sweating, and the dirty clay upon -his big boots.... He was always certain to shout out some idiotic -salutation as she passed in. Then Mrs. McGoldrick would be sure to -follow her into the kitchen, a baby upon her left arm and a piece of -soiled sewing in her right hand. She was always concerned greatly about -the number at school on any particular day, and how Mrs. Wyse was and -Miss McKeon, and how the average was keeping up, and if it did not keep -up to a certain number would Mrs. Wyse's salary be reduced, and what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> -was the average required for Miss McKeon to get her salary from the -Board, and so on.</p> - -<p>Sometimes Rebecca would be so sick at heart of school affairs and of -this mean, prying woman that no word would come from her, and Mrs. -McGoldrick would drift huffily away, her face a perfect study in -disappointment. And against those there were times when Rebecca, with -a touch of good humor, would tell the most fantastical stories of -inspectors and rules and averages and increments and pensions, Mrs. -McGoldrick breathless between her "Well, wells!" of amazement.... Then -Rebecca would have a rare laugh to herself as she pictured her landlady -repeating everything to the sergeant, who would make mental comparisons -the while of the curious correspondence existing between those pillars -of law and learning, the Royal Irish Constabulary, and the National -Teachers of Ireland.</p> - -<p>Next day, perhaps, Mrs. McGoldrick would enlarge upon the excellent and -suitable match a policeman and a teacher make, and how it is such a -general thing throughout the country. She always concluded a discourse -of this nature by saying a thing she evidently wished Rebecca to -remember:</p> - -<p>"Let me tell you this, now—a policeman is the very best match that any -girl can make!"</p> - -<p>And big louts of young constables would be jumping off high bicycles -and calling in the evenings.... This was at the instigation of Mrs. -McGoldrick, but they made no impression whatsoever upon Rebecca, even -when they arrived in mufti.</p> - -<p>In school the ugly, discolored walls which had been so badly -distempered by Ned Brennan; the monotony of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> the maps and desks; the -constant sameness of the children's faces. All this was infinitely -wearying, but a more subtle and powerful torment arose beyond the hum -of the children learning by heart. Rebecca always became aware of it -through a burning feeling at the back of her neck. Glancing around -she would see that, although presumably intent upon their lessons, -many eyes were upon her, peering furtively from behind their books, -observing her, forming opinions of her, and concocting stories to tell -their parents when they went home. For this was considered an essential -part of their training—the proper satisfaction of their elders' -curiosity. It was one of the reasons why the bigger girls were sent to -school. They escaped the drudgery of house and farm because they were -able to return with fresh stories from the school every evening. Thus -were their faculties for lying and invention brought into play. They -feared Mrs. Wyse, and so these faculties came to be trained in full -strength upon Rebecca. As she moved about the school-room, she was made -the constant object of their scrutiny. They would stare at her with -their mean, impudent eyes above the top edges of their books. Then they -would withdraw them behind the opened pages and sneer and concoct. And -it was thus the forenoon would pass until the half-hour allowed for -recreation, when she would be thrown back upon the company of Mrs. Wyse -and Monica McKeon. No great pleasure was in store for her here, for -their conversation was always sure to turn upon the small affairs of -the valley.</p> - -<p>There was something so ingenuous about the relations of Rebecca and -Ulick Shannon that neither of the two women had the courage to comment -upon the matter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> openly. But the method they substituted was a greater -torture. In the course of half an hour they would suggest a thousand -hateful things.</p> - -<p>"I heard Ulick Shannon was drunk last night, and having arguments with -people in Garradrimna," Miss McKeon would say.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wyse would snatch up the words hastily. "Is that so? Oh, he's -going to the bad. He'll never pass his exams, never!"</p> - -<p>"Isn't it funny how his uncle does not keep better control of him. Why -he lets him do what he likes?"</p> - -<p>"Control, is it? It doesn't look much like control indeed to see him -encouraging his dead brother's son to keep the company he favors. -Indeed and indeed it gives me a kind of a turn when I see him going -about with Nan Byrne's son, young John Brennan, who's going on to be -a priest. Well, I may tell you that it is 'going on' he is, for his -mother as sure as you're there'll never see him saying his first Mass. -Now I suppose the poor rector of the college in England where he is -hasn't a notion of his antecedents. The cheek of it indeed! But what -else could you expect from the likes of Nan Byrne? Indeed I have a good -mind to let the ecclesiastical authorities know all, and if nothing -turns up from the Hand of God to right the matter, sure I'll have to do -it myself. Bedad then I will!"</p> - -<p>"Musha, the same John Brennan doesn't look up to much, and they say -Ulick Shannon can wind him around his little finger. He'll maybe make a -<i>lad</i> of him before the end of the summer holidays."</p> - -<p>"I can't understand Myles Shannon letting them go about together so -openly unless he's enjoying the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> thing as a sneer. But it would -be more to his credit indeed to have found other material for his fun -than a blood relation. I'm surprised at him indeed, and he knowing what -he knows about Nan Byrne and his brother Henry."</p> - -<p>With slight variations of this theme falling on her ears endlessly -Rebecca was compelled to endure the torture of this half hour every -day. No matter what took place in the valley Monica would manage, -somehow, to drag the name of Ulick into it. If it merely happened to -be a copy of the <i>Irish Independent</i> they were looking at, and if they -came upon some extraordinary piece of news, Monica would say:</p> - -<p>"Just like a thing that Ulick Shannon would do, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>And if they came across a photo in the magazine section, Monica would -say again:</p> - -<p>"Now wouldn't you imagine that gentleman has a look of Ulick Shannon?"</p> - -<p>Rebecca had become so accustomed to all this that, overleaping its -purpose, it ceased to have any considerable effect upon her. She had -begun to care too much for Ulick to show her affection in even the -glimpse of an aspect to the two who were trying to discover her for the -satisfaction of their spite. It was thus that she remained a puzzle to -her colleagues, and Monica in particular was at her wit's end to know -what to think. At the end of the half hour she was always in a deeper -condition of defeat than before it began, and went out to the Boys' -School with only one idea warming her mind, that, some day, she might -have the great laugh at Rebecca Kerr. She knew that it is not possible -for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> woman to hide her feelings forever, even though she thought -this one cute surely, cute beyond all the suggestion of her innocent -exterior.</p> - -<p>Towards the end of each day Rebecca was thrown altogether with the -little ones who, despite all the entreaties of their parents, had not -yet come very far away from Heaven. She found great pleasure in their -company and in their innocent stories. For example:</p> - -<p>"Miss Kerr, I was in the wood last night. With the big bear and the -little bear in the wood. I went into the wood, and there was the big -bear walking round and round the wood after the little bear, and the -big bear was walking round and round the wood."</p> - -<p>"I was in America last night, and I saw all the motor cars ever were, -and people riding on horses, and the highest, whitest buildings ever -were, and people going to Mass—big crowds of people going to Mass."</p> - -<p>"My mammy brought me into the chapel last night, and I saw God. I was -talking to God and He was asking me about you. I said: 'Miss Kerr is -nice, so she is.' I said this to God, but God did not answer me. I -asked God again did He know Miss Kerr who teaches in the valley school, -and He said He did, and I said again: 'Miss Kerr is nice, so she is.' -But He went away and did not answer me."</p> - -<p>Rebecca would enter into their innocence and so experience the happiest -hours of the day.</p> - -<p>She would be recalled from her rapt condition by the harsh voice of -Mrs. Wyse shouting an order to one of the little girls in her class, -this being a hint that she herself was not attending to her business.</p> - -<p>But soon the last blessed period of the day would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> come, the half hour -devoted to religious instruction. She found a pleasure in this task, -for she loved to hear the little children at their prayers. Sometimes -she would ask them to say for her the little prayer she had taught them:</p> - -<p>"O God, I offer up this prayer for the poor intentions of Thy servant -Rebecca Kerr, that they may be fulfilled unto the glory of Thy Holy -Will. And that being imperfect, she may approach to Thy Perfection -through the Grace and Mercy of Jesus Christ, Our Lord."</p> - -<p>She would feel a certain happiness for a short space after this, at -least while the boisterous business of taking leave of the school was -going forward. But once upon the road she would be meeting people who -always stared at her strangely, and passing houses with squinting -windows.... Then would come a heavy sense of depression, which might be -momentarily dispelled by the appearance of John Brennan either coming -or going upon the road. For a while she had considered this happening -coincidental, but of late it had been borne in upon her that it was -very curious he should appear daily at the same time.... The silly -boy, and he with his grand purpose before him.... She would smile upon -him very pleasantly, and fall into chat sometimes, but only for a few -minutes. She looked upon herself as being ever so much wiser. And she -thought it queer that he should find an attraction for his eyes in her -form as it moved before him down the road. She always fancied that she -felt low and mean within herself while his eyes were upon her.... But -he would be forever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> coming out of his mother's cottage to meet her -thus upon the road.</p> - -<p>After dinner in the house of Sergeant McGoldrick she would betake -herself to her little room. It would be untidy after the hurry in which -she had left it, and now she would set about putting it to rights. -This would occupy her half an hour or more. Then there would be a few -letters to be written, to her people away in Donegal and to some of -the companions of her training college days. She kept up a more or -less regular correspondence with about half-a-dozen of these girls. -Her letters were all after the frivolous style of their schooldays. To -all of them she imparted the confidence that she had met "a very nice -fellow" here in Garradrimna, but that the place was so lonely, and how -there was "nothing like a girl friend."</p> - -<p>"Ah, Anna," she would write, or "Lily" or "Lena," "There's surely -nothing after all like a girl friend."</p> - -<p>After tea she would put on one of her tidiest hats, and taking the -letters with her go towards the Post Office of Garradrimna. This was a -torture, for always the eyes of the old, bespectacled maid were upon -her, looking into her mind, as she stood waiting for her stamps outside -the ink-stained counter. And, further, she always felt that the doors -and windows of the village were forever filled with eyes as she went -by them. Her neck and face would burn until she took the road that led -out past the old castle of the De Lacys. There was a footpath which -took one to the west gate of the demesne of the Moores. The Honorable -Reginald Moore was the modern lord of Garradrimna. It was this way she -would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> go, meeting all kinds of stragglers from the other end of the -parish. People she did not know and who did not know her, queer, dark -men coming into Garradrimna through the high evening in quest of porter.</p> - -<p>"Fine evening, miss!" they would say.</p> - -<p>Once on the avenue her little walk became a golden journey for Ulick -always met her when she came this way. It was their custom to meet here -or on The Road of the Dead. But this was their favorite spot, where -the avenue led far into the quiet woods. A scurrying-away of rabbits -through the undergrowth would announce their approach to one another.</p> - -<p>Many were the happy talks they had here, of books and of decent life -beyond the boorishness of Garradrimna. She had given him <i>The Poems of -Tennyson</i> in exchange for <i>The Daffodil Fields</i>. Tastefully illuminated -in red ink on the fly-leaf he had found her "favorite lines" from -Tennyson, whom she considered "exquisite":</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"Glitter like a storm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid."</div> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"Cursed be the gold that gilds the straightened forehead of the fool."</div> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships,</div> -<div>And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips."</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>These had made him smile, and then he did not read any more of -Tennyson.... He was fond of telling her about the younger Irish poets -and of quoting passages from their poems. Now it would be a line or so -from Colum or Stephens, again a verse from Seumas O'Sullivan or Joseph -Campbell. Continually he spoke with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> enthusiasm of the man they called -Æ.... She found it difficult to believe that such men could be living -in Ireland at the present time.</p> - -<p>"And would you see them about Dublin?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, you'd see them often."</p> - -<p>"<i>Real</i> poets?"</p> - -<p>"Real poets surely. But of course they have earthly interests as well. -One is a farmer—"</p> - -<p>"A farmer!!!"</p> - -<p>This she found it hardest of all to believe, for the word "farmer" made -her see so clearly the sullen men with the dirty beards who came in the -white roads every evening to drink in Garradrimna. There was no poetry -in them.</p> - -<p>Often they would remain talking after this fashion until night had -filled up all the open spaces of the woods. They would feel so far -away from life amid the perfect stillness.... Their peace was rudely -shattered one night by a sudden breaking away from them through the -withered branches.... Instantly Ulick knew that this was some loafer -sent to spy on them from Garradrimna, and Rebecca clung to him for -protection.</p> - -<p>Occasionally through the summer a lonely wailing had been heard in the -woods of Garradrimna at the fall of night. Men drinking in the pubs -would turn to one another and say:</p> - -<p>"The Lord save us! Is that the <i>Banshee</i> I hear crying for one of the -Moores? She cries like that always when one of them dies, they being a -noble family. Maybe the Honorable Reginald is after getting his death -at last in some whore-house in London."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Arrah not at all, man, sure that's only Anthony Shaughness and he -going crying through the woods for drink, the poor fellow!"</p> - -<p>But the sound had ceased to disturb them for Anthony Shaughness had -found an occupation at last. This evening he came running down from -the woods into McDermott's bar, the loose soles of his boots slapping -against the cobbles of the yard. Josie Guinan went up to him excitedly -when he entered.</p> - -<p>"Well?" This in a whisper as their heads came close together over the -counter.</p> - -<p>"Gimme a drink? I'm choked with the running, so I am!"</p> - -<p>"Tell me did you see them first, or not a sup you'll get. Don't be so -smart now, Anthony Shaughness!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I saw them all right. Gimme the drink?"</p> - -<p>She filled the drink, making it overflow the glass in her hurry.</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"Bedad I saw them all right. Heard every word they were saying, so I -did, and everything! It was the devil's father to find them, so it was, -they were that well hid in the woods.... Gimme another sup, Josie?"</p> - -<p>"Now, Anthony?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, but you don't know all I have to tell ye!"</p> - -<p>Again she overflowed the glass in her mounting excitement.</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> - -<p>The summer was beginning to wane, August having sped to its end. The -schools had given vacation, and Rebecca Kerr had gone away from the -valley to Donegal. Ulick Shannon had returned to Dublin. This was -the uneventful season in the valley. Mrs. Brennan, finding little to -talk about, had grown quiet in herself. Ned had taken his departure -to Ballinamult, where he was engaged in putting some lead upon the -roof of the police-barracks. He was drinking to his heart's content, -she knew, and would come home to her without a penny saved against -his long spell of idleness or the coming rigors of the winter. But -she was thankful for the present that he had removed himself from the -presence of his son. It was not good for such a son to be compelled -to look upon such a father. She had prayed for this blessing and lo! -it had come. And it extended further. Ulick Shannon too was gone from -the valley, and so she was no longer annoyed by seeing him in company -with her son. Their friendship had progressed through the months of -July and August, and she was aware that they had been seen together -many times in Garradrimna. She did not know the full truth but, as on -the first occasion, the lake could tell. Rebecca Kerr was gone, and -so there was no need to speak of this strange girl for whom some wild -feeling had enkindled a flame of hatred within her. Thus was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> she left -in loneliness and peace to dwell upon the wonder of her son. He seemed -more real to her during these quiet days, nearer perhaps, than he had -ever been since she had first begun to dream her great dream.</p> - -<p>Of late he had taken to his room upstairs, where he did a little study -daily. "So that it won't be altogether too strange when I go back again -to college," he told her on more than one occasion when she besought -him not to be blinding his eyes while there was yet leisure to rest -them. There were times during the long quiet day in the house when -her flood of love for him would so well up within her that she would -call him down for no other reason than that she might have the great -pleasure of allowing her eyes to rest upon him for a short space only. -She would speak no word at all, so fearful would she be of disturbing -the holy peace which fell between them. In the last week of his -present stay in the valley this happened so often that it became a -little wearying to John, who had begun to experience a certain feeling -of independence in his own mind. It pained him greatly now that his -mother should love him so.... And there were many times when he longed -to be back in his English college, with his books and friends, near -opportunities to escape from the influences which had conspired to -change him.</p> - -<p>One morning, after his mother had gazed upon him in this way, he came -out of the house and leaned over the little wicket gate to take a look -at the day. It was approaching Farrell McGuinness's time to be along -with the post, and John expected him to have a letter from the rector -of the College giving some directions as to the date of return. Yet he -was not altogether so anxious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> to return as he had been towards the -ends of former vacations.... At last Farrell McGuinness appeared around -the turn of the road. His blue uniform was dusty, and he carried his -hard little cap in his hand. He dismounted from his red bicycle and -took two letters out of his bag. He smirked obviously as he performed -this action. John glanced in excitement at the letters. One was -addressed in the handwriting of his friend Ulick Shannon and the other -in the handwriting of a girl. It was this last one that had caused -Farrell McGuinness to smirk so loudly.</p> - -<p>"'Tis you that has the times, begad!" he said to John as he mounted his -red bicycle and went on up the road, fanning his hot brow with his hard -cap.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan came to the door to hear tidings of the letters from her -son, but John was already hurrying down through the withering garden, -tearing open both letters simultaneously.</p> - -<p>"Who are they from?" she called out.</p> - -<p>"From Ulick Shannon."</p> - -<p>"And th'other one?"</p> - -<p>"From a chap in the college," he shouted across his shoulder, lying -boldly to her for the first time in his life. But if only she could see -the confusion upon his face?</p> - -<p>She went back into the sewing-room, a feeling of annoyance showing in -the deep lines about her eyes. It seemed strange that he had not rushed -immediately into the house to tell her what was in the letters, strange -beyond all how he had not seen his way to make that much of her.</p> - -<p>Down the garden John was reading Rebecca Kerr's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> letter first, for it -was from her that the letter from "one of the chaps in the college" had -come.</p> - -<p>It told of how she was spending her holidays at a seaside village in -Donegal. "It is even far quieter than Garradrimna and the valley. I go -down to the sea in the mornings, but it is only to think and dream. The -sea is just like one big lake, more lonely by far than the lake in the -valley. This is surely the loneliest place you could imagine, but there -is a certain sense of peace about it that is quite lovely. It is some -distance from my home, and it is nice to be amongst people who have no -immense concern for your eternal welfare. I like this, and so I have -avoided making acquaintances here. But next week I am expecting a very -dear friend to join me, and so, I dare say, my holidays will have a -happy ending after all. I suppose you will have gone from the valley -when I go back in October. And it will be the dreary place then...." -She signed herself, "Yours very sincerely, Rebecca Kerr."</p> - -<p>His eyes were dancing as he turned to read Ulick Shannon's letter.... -In the opening passages it treated only in a conventional way of -college affairs, but suddenly he was upon certain lines which to his -mind seemed so blackly emphasized:</p> - -<p>"Now I was just beginning to settle back into the routine of things -when who should come along but Miss Kerr? She was looking fine. She -stayed a few days here in Dublin, and I spent most of them with her. -I gave her the time of her life, the poor little thing! Theaters -every night, and all the rest of it. She was just lost for a bit of -enjoyment. Grinding away, you know, in those cursed National Schools -from year's end to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> year's end. Do you know what it is, John? I am -getting fonder and fonder of that girl. She is the best little soul in -all the world.</p> - -<p>"She is spending her holidays up in some God-forsaken village in -Donegal. Away from her people and by herself, you know. She has a girl -friend going to see her next week. You will not be able to believe it -probably—<i>but I am the girl friend</i>."</p> - -<p>He read them and re-read them, these two letters which bore so -intimately upon one another and which, through the coincidence of their -arrival together, held convincing evidence of the dramatic moment that -had arrived in the adventure of those two lives.</p> - -<p>He became filled by an aching feeling that made him shiver and grow -weak as if with some unknown expectation.... Yet why was he so -disturbed in his mind as to this happening; what had he to do with it? -He was one whose life must be directed away from such things. But the -vision of Rebecca Kerr would be filling his eyes forever. And why had -she written to him? Why had she so graphically pictured her condition -of loneliness wherein he might enter and speak to her? His acquaintance -with her was very slight, and yet he desired to know her beyond all the -knowledge and beauty of the world.... And to think that it was Ulick -Shannon who was now going where he longed to go.</p> - -<p>A heavy constraint came between him and his mother during the remaining -days. He spoke little and moved about in meditation like one fearful -of things about to happen. But she fondly fancied as always that he -was immersed in contemplation of the future she had planned for him. -She never saw him setting forth into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> autumn fields, a book in his -hand, that she did not fancy the look of austere aloofness upon his -face to be the expression of a priest reading his office. But thoughts -of this kind were far from his mind in the fields or by the little -wicket gate across which he often leaned, his eyes fixed upon the -white, hard road which seemed to lead nowhere.</p> - -<p>The day of his release at last came. Now that Ned was away from her, -working in Ballinamult, she had managed to scrape together the price of -another motor drive to Kilaconnaghan, but it was in the misfortune of -things that Charlie Clarke's car should have been engaged for the very -day of John's departure by the Houlihans of Clonabroney. It worried her -greatly that she could not have this piece of grandeur upon this second -occasion. Her intense devotion to religious literature had made her -superstitious to a distressing degree. It appeared to her as an omen -across the path of John and her own magnification. But John did not -seem to mind.</p> - -<p>It was notable that through his advance into contemplation he had -triumphed over the power of the valley to a certain extent. So long -as his mind had been altogether absorbed in thought of the priesthood -he had moved about furtively, a fugitive, as it were, before the -hateful looks of the people of the valley and the constant stare of the -squinting windows. Now he had come into a little tranquillity and his -heart was not without some happiness in the enjoyment of his larger -vision.... And yet he was far from being completely at peace.</p> - -<p>As he sat driving with his mother in the ass-trap to Kilaconnaghan, -on his way back to the grand college in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> England, his doubts were -assailing him although he was so quiet, to all seeming, sitting there. -Those who passed them upon the road never guessed that this pale-faced -young man in black was at war with his soul.... Few words passed -between him and his mother, for the constraint of the past week had not -yet been lifted. She was beginning to feel so lonely, and she was vexed -with herself that the period of his stay in the valley had not been all -she had dreamt of making it. It had been disappointing to a depressing -extent, and now especially in its concluding stage. This sad excursion -in the little ass-trap, without any of the pomp and circumstance which -John so highly deserved, was a poor, mean ending.</p> - -<p>He was running over in his mind the different causes which had given -this vacation its unusual character. First there came remembrance of -his journey down from Dublin with Mr. Myles Shannon, who had then -suggested the friendship with his nephew Ulick. Springing out of this -thought was a very vivid impression of Garradrimna, that ugly place -which he had discovered in its true colors for the first time; its vile -set of drunkards and the few secret lapses it had occasioned him. Then -there was his father, that fallen and besotted man whom the valley had -ruined past all hope. As a more intimate recollection his own doubts -of the religious life by the lakeside arose clear before him. And the -lake itself seemed very near, for it had been the silent witness of all -his moods and conditions, the dead thing that had gathered to itself -a full record of his sojourn in the valley. But, above all, there was -Rebecca Kerr, whom he had contrived to meet so often as she went from -school. It was she who now brought light to all the darkened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> places of -his memory. Her letter to him the other day was the one real thing he -had been given to take away from the valley. How he longed to read it -again! But his mother's eyes were upon him.... At last he began to have -a little thought of the part she had played.</p> - -<p>Already they had reached the railway station of Kilaconnaghan. They -went together through the little waiting-room, which held sad memories -for Mrs. Brennan, and out upon the platform, where a couple of porters -leaned against their barrows chewing tobacco. Two or three passengers -were sitting around beside their luggage waiting to take the train for -Dublin. A few bank clerks from the town were standing in a little group -which possessed an imaginary distinction, laughing in a genteel way -at a puerile joke from some of the London weekly journals. They were -wearing sporting clothes and had fresh fags in their mouths. It was -an essential portion of their occupation, this perpetual delight in -watching the outgoing afternoon train.</p> - -<p>"Aren't they the grand-looking young swells?" said Mrs. Brennan; "I -suppose them have the great jobs now?"</p> - -<p>"Great!" replied John, quite unconscious of what he said.</p> - -<p>He spoke no other word till he took his place in the train. She kissed -him through the open window and hung affectionately to his hand.... -Then there fluttered in upon them the moment of parting.... Smiling -wistfully and waving her hand, she watched the train until it had -rounded a curve. She lingered for a moment by the advertisement for -Jameson's Whiskey in the waiting-room to wipe her eyes. She began to -remember<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> how she had behaved here in this very place on the day of -John's home-coming, and of how he had left her standing while he talked -to Myles Shannon.... He seemed to have slipped away from her now, -and her present thought made her feel that the shadow of the Shannon -family, stretching far across her life, had attended his going as it -had attended his coming.</p> - -<p>She went out to the little waiting ass and, mounting into the trap, -drove out of Kilaconnaghan into the dark forest of her fears.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> - -<p>Through the earlier part of this term at college there was no peace -in the mind of John Brennan, and his unsettled state arose, for the -most part, from simple remembrance of things that had happened in -the valley. Now it was because he could see again, some afternoon in -the summer, Rebecca Kerr coming towards him down the road in a brown -and white striped dress, that he thought was pretty, and swinging a -sun-bonnet by its long cotton strings from her soft, small hand. Or -again, some hour he had spent listening to Ulick Shannon as he talked -about the things of life which are marked only by the beauty of passion -and death. Always, too, with the aid of two letters he still treasured, -his imagination would leap towards the creation of a picture—Rebecca -and Ulick together in far-off Donegal.</p> - -<p>He did not go home at Christmas because it was so expensive to return -to Ireland, and in the lonely stretches of the vacation, when all his -college friends were away from him, he felt that they must surely be -meeting again, meeting and kissing in some quiet, dusky place—Rebecca -as he had seen her always and Ulick as he had known him.</p> - -<p>Even if he had wished to leave Ulick and Rebecca out of his mind, it -would have been impossible, so persistently did his mother refer to -both in her letters. There was never a letter which did not contain -some allusion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> to "them two" or "that one" or "that fellow." In -February, when the days began to stretch out again, he thought only of -the valley coming nearer, with its long period of delight.... Within -the fascination of his musing he grew forgetful of his lofty future. -Yet there were odd moments when he remembered that he had moved into -the valley a very different man at the beginning of last June. The -valley had changed him, and might continue to change him when he went -there again.</p> - -<p>Nothing came to stay the even rise of his yearning save his mother's -letters, which were the same recitals at all times of stories about the -same people. At no time did he expect to find anything new in them, and -so it was all the stronger blow when from one letter leaped out the -news that Ulick Shannon had failed to pass his final medical exam., and -was now living at home in Scarden House with his uncle Myles. That he -had been "expelled from the University and disgraced" was the way she -put it. It did not please John to see that she was exulting over what -had happened to Ulick while hinting at the same time that there was no -fear of a like calamity happening to her son. To him it appeared as -not at all such an event as one might exult about. It rather evoked -pity and condolence in the thought that it might happen to any man. It -might happen to himself. Here surely was a fearful thing—the sudden -dread of his return to the valley, a disgrace for life, and his mother -a ruined woman in the downfall of her son.... This last letter of hers -had brought him to review all the brave thoughts that had come to him -by the lakeside, wild thoughts of living his own life, not in the way -appointed for him by any other person, but freely, after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> the bent of -his own will. Yet when he came to think of it quietly there was not -much he could do in the world with his present education. It seemed -to have fitted him only for one kind of life. And his thoughts of the -summer might have been only passing distractions which must disappear -with the full development of his mind. To think of those ideas ever -coming suddenly to reality would be a blow too powerful to his mother. -It would kill her. For, with other knowledge, the summer holidays had -brought him to see how much she looked forward to his becoming a priest.</p> - -<p>Quite unconsciously, without the least effort of his will, he found -himself returning to his old, keen interest in his studies. He found -himself coming back to his lost peace of mind. He felt somehow that -his enjoyment of this grand contentment was the very best way he could -flash back his mother's love. Besides it was the best earnest he had of -the enjoyment of his coming holidays.</p> - -<p>Then the disaster came. The imminence of it had been troubling the -rector for a long time. His college was in a state of disintegration, -for the Great War had cast its shadow over the quiet walls.</p> - -<p>It was a charity college. This was a secret that had been well kept -from the people of the valley by Mrs. Brennan. "A grand college in -England" was the utmost information she would ever vouchsafe to any -inquirer. She had formed a friendly alliance with the old, bespectacled -postmistress and made all her things free of charge for keeping close -the knowledge of John's exact whereabouts in England. Yet there was -never a letter from mother to son or from son to mother that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> the old -maid did not consider it her bounden duty to open and read.</p> - -<p>The college had been supported by good people who could find nothing -else to do with their money. But, in war-time, charity was diverted -into other channels, and its income had consequently dwindled almost to -vanishing point. Coupled with this, many of the students had left aside -their books and gone into the Army. One morning the rector appeared in -the lecture-hall to announce to the remnant that the college was about -to be closed for "some time." He meant indefinitely, but the poor man -could not put it in that way.</p> - -<p>John heard the news with mingled feelings. In a dumb way he had longed -for this after his return from the valley, but now he saw in it, -not the arrival of a desired event, but a postponement of the great -intention that had begun to absorb him again. He was achieving his -desire in a way that made it a punishment.... To-morrow he would be -going home.... But of course his mother knew everything by this time -and was already preparing a welcome for him.</p> - -<p>The March evening was gray and cold when he came into the deserted -station of Kilaconnaghan. It had been raining ceaselessly since -Christmas, and around and away from him stretched the sodden country. -He got a porter to take his trunk out to the van and stand it on end -upon the platform. Then he went into the waiting-room to meet his -mother. But she was not there. Nor was the little donkey and trap -outside the station house. Perhaps she was coming to meet him with -Charlie Clarke in the grand and holy motor car. If he went on he might -meet them coming through Kilaconnaghan. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> got the porter to take his -box from its place on the platform and put it into the waiting-room. -All down through the town there was no sign of them, and when he got -out upon the road to Garradrimna and the valley there was no sign of -them either. The night had fallen thick and heavy, and John, as he -went on through the rain, looked forward to the comforting radiance of -Charlie Clarke's headlights suddenly to flash around every corner. But -the car did not come and he began to grow weary of tramping through the -wet night. All along the way he was meeting people who shouldered up -to him and strove to peer into his face as he slipped past. He did not -come on to the valley road by way of Garradrimna, but instead by The -Road of the Dead, down which he went slopping through great pools at -every few yards.</p> - -<p>He was very weary when he came at last to the door of his mother's -house. Before knocking he had listened for a while to the low hum of -her reading to his father. Then he heard her moving to open the door, -and immediately she was silhouetted in the lamp-light.</p> - -<p>"Is that you, John? We knew you were coming home. We got the rector's -letter."</p> - -<p>He noticed a queer coldness in her tone.</p> - -<p>"I'd rather to God that anything in the world had happened than this. -What'll they say now? They'll say you were expelled. As sure as God, -they'll say you were expelled!"</p> - -<p>He threw himself into the first chair he saw.</p> - -<p>"Did any one meet you down the road? Did many meet you from this to -Kilaconnaghan?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> - -<p>He did not answer. This was a curious welcome he was receiving. Yet he -noticed that tears were beginning to creep into her eyes, which were -also red as if from much recent weeping.</p> - -<p>"Oh, God knows, and God knows again, John, I'd rather have died than it -should have come to this. And why was it that after all me contriving -and after all me praying and good works this bitter cross should have -fallen? I don't know. I can't think for what I am being punished and -why misfortune should come to you. And what'll they say at all at all? -Oh you may depend upon it that it's the worst thing they'll say. But -you mustn't tell them that the college is finished. For I suppose it's -finished now the way everything is going to be finished before the war. -But you mustn't say that. You must say that it is on special holidays -you are, after having passed a Special examination. And you must behave -as if you were on holidays!"</p> - -<p>Such a dreadful anxiety was upon her that she appeared no longer as his -mother, the infinitely tender woman he had known. She now seemed to -possess none of the pure contentment her loving tenderness should have -brought her. She was altogether concerned as to what the people would -say and not as to the effect of the happening upon her son's career. -He had begun to think of this for himself, but it was not of it that -she was now thinking.... She was thinking of herself, of her pride, and -that was why she had not come to meet him. And now his clothes were wet -and he was tired, for he had walked from Kilaconnaghan in the rain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> - -<p>Ned Brennan, stirring out of his drunken doze, muttered thickly: "Ah, -God blast yourselves and your college, can't you let a fellow have a -sleep be the fire after his hard day!"</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> - -<p>John went from the kitchen to a restless night. Soon after daybreak he -got up and looked out of the window. The crows had been flying across -it darkly since the beginning of the light. He gazed down now towards -the stretch of trees about the lake. They were dark figures in the -somber picture. He had not seen them since autumn, and even then some -of the brightness of summer had lingered with them. Now they looked -as if they had been weeping. He could see the lake between the clumps -of fir-trees. The water was all dark like the scene in which it was -framed. It now beat itself into a futile imitation of billows, into -a kind of make-believe before the wild things around that it was an -angry sea, holding deep in its caverns the relics of great dooms. But -the trees seemed to rock in enjoyment and to join forces with the wild -things in tormenting the lake.</p> - -<p>John looked at the clock. It was early hours, and there would be no -need to go out for a long time. He went back to bed and remained there -without sleep, gazing up at the ceiling.... He fell to thinking of what -he would have to face in the valley now.... His mother had hinted at -the wide scope of it last night when she said that she would rather -anything in God's world had happened than this thing, this sudden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> -home-coming.... She was thinking only of her own pride. It was an -offense against her pride, he felt, and that was all. It stood to -lessen the exalted position which the purpose of his existence gave -her before the other women of the valley. But he had begun to feel the -importance of his own person in the scheme of circumstance by which he -was surrounded. It had begun to appear to him that he mattered somehow; -that in some undreamt-of way he might leave his mark upon the valley -before he died.</p> - -<p>He would go to Mass in Garradrimna this morning. He very well knew how -this attendance at morning Mass was a comfort to his mother. He was -about to do this thing to please her now. Yet, how was the matter going -to affect himself? He would be stared at by the very walls and trees as -he went the wet road into Garradrimna; and no matter what position he -might take up in the chapel there would be very certain to be a few who -would come kneeling together into a little group and, in hushed tones -within the presence of their God upon the altar, say:</p> - -<p>"Now, isn't that John Brennan I see before me, or can I believe my -eyes? Aye, it must be him. Expelled, I suppose. Begad that's great. -Expelled! Begad!" If he happened to take the slightest side-glance -around, he would catch glimpses of eyes sunk low beneath brows which -published expressions midway between pity and contempt, between delight -and curiosity.... In some wonderful way the first evidence of his long -hoped for downfall would spread throughout the small congregation. -Those in front would let their heads or prayerbooks fall beside or -behind them, so that they might have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> an excuse for turning around to -view the young man who, in his unfortunate presence here, stood for -this glad piece of intelligence. The acolytes serving Father O'Keeffe, -and having occasional glimpses of the congregation, would see the -black-coated figure set there in contradistinction to Charlie Clarke -and the accustomed voteens with the bobbing bonnets. In their wise -looks up at him they would seem to communicate the news to the priest.</p> - -<p>And although only a very few seconds had elapsed, Father O'Keeffe -would have thrown off his vestments and be going bounding towards the -Presbytery for his breakfast as John emerged from the chapel. It would -be an ostentatious meeting. Although he had neither act nor part in it, -nor did he favor it in any way, Father O'Keeffe always desired people -to think that it was he who was "doing for Mrs. Brennan's boy beyond -in England." ... There would be the usual flow of questions, a deep -pursing of the lips, and the sudden creation of a wise, concerned, -ecclesiastical look at every answer. Then there was certain to come -the final brutal question: "And what are you going to do with yourself -meanwhile, is it any harm to ask?" As he continued to stare up vacantly -at the ceiling, John could not frame a possible answer to that -question. And yet he knew it would be the foremost of Father O'Keeffe's -questions.</p> - -<p>There would be the hurried crowding into every doorway and into all -the squinting windows as he went past. Outwardly there would be smiles -of welcome for him, but in the seven publichouses of Garradrimna the -exultation would be so great as to make men who had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> ancient -enemies stand drinks to one another in the moment of gladness which had -come upon them with the return of John Brennan.</p> - -<p>"'Tis expelled he is like Ulick Shannon. That's as sure as you're -there!"</p> - -<p>"To be sure he's expelled. And wouldn't any one know he was going to -be expelled the same as the other fellow, the way they were conducting -themselves last summer, running after gerrls and drinking like hell?"</p> - -<p>"And did ye ever hear such nonsense? The idea of him going on for to be -a priest!" Then there would be a shaking of wise heads and a coming of -wise looks into their faces.</p> - -<p>He could see what would happen when he met the fathers of Garradrimna, -when he met Padna Padna or Shamesy Golliher. There would be the short, -dry laugh from Padna Padna, and a pathetic scrambling of the dimming -intelligence to recognize him.</p> - -<p>"And is that you, John? Back again! Well, boys-a-day! And isn't it -grand that Ulick Shannon is at home these times too? Isn't it a pity -about Ulick, for he's a decent fellow? Every bit as decent as his -father, Henry Shannon, was, and he was a damned decent fellow. Ah, 'tis -a great pity of him to be exshpelled. Aye, <i>'tis a great pity of any -one that does be exshpelled</i>."</p> - -<p>The meeting with Shamesy Golliher formed as a clearer picture before -his mind.</p> - -<p>"Arrah me sound man, John, sure I thought you'd be saying the Mass -before this time. There's nothing strange in the valley at all. Only -'tis harder than ever to get the rabbits, the weeshy devils! Only for -Ulick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> Shannon I don't know what I'd do for a drink sometimes. But, -damn it, he's the decentest fellow.... You're only a few minutes late, -sure 'tis only this blessed minute that Miss Kerr's gone on to the -school.... And you could have been chatting with her so grandly all the -way!"</p> - -<p>That John Brennan should be thinking after this fashion, creating all -those little scenes before the eye of his mind and imagining their -accompanying conversations, was indicative of the way the valley and -the village had forced their reality upon him last summer. But this -pictured combination of incidents was intensified by a certain morbid -way of dwelling upon things his long spells of meditation by the lake -had brought him. Yet he knew that even all his clear vision of the -mean ways of life around him would not act as an incentive to combat -them but, most extraordinary to imagine, as a sort of lure towards the -persecution of their scenes and incidents.</p> - -<p>"It must be coming near time to rise for Mass," he said aloud to -himself, as he felt that he had been quite a long time giving himself -up to speculations in which there was no joy.</p> - -<p>There was a tap upon the door. It was his mother calling him, as had -been her custom during all the days of his holiday times. The door -opened and she came into the room. Her manner seemed to have changed -somewhat from the night before. The curious look of tenderness she had -always displayed while gazing upon him seemed to have struggled back -into her eyes. She came and sat by the bedside and, for a few moments, -both were silent.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> - -<p>"'Tis very cold this morning, mother," was the only thing John could -think of saying.</p> - -<p>A slight confusion seemed to have come upon her since her entrance to -the room. Without any warning by a word, she suddenly threw her arms -about him as he lay there on the bed and covered his face with kisses. -He was amazed, but her kisses seemed to hurt him.... It must have been -years and years since she had kissed him like this, and now he was a -man.... When she released him so that he could look up at her he saw -that she was crying.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry about last night, John," she said. "I'm sorry, darling; -but surely I could not bring myself to do it. Even for a few hours I -wanted to keep them from knowing. I even wanted to keep your father -from knowing. So I did not tell him until I heard your poor, wet foot -come sopping up to the door. He did not curse much then, for he seems -to have begun to feel a little respect for you. But the curses of him -all through the night were enough to lift the roof off the house. Oh, -he's the terrible man, for all me praying and all me reading to him of -good, holy books; and 'tis no wonder for all kinds of misfortune to -fall, though God between us and all harm, what am I saying at all?... -It was the hard, long walk down the wet, dark road from Kilaconnaghan -last night, and it pained me every inch of the way. If it hurt your -feet and your limbs, <i>avic</i>, remember that your suffering was nothing -to the pain that plowed through your mother's heart all the while you -were coming along to this house.... But God only knows I couldn't. I -couldn't let them see me setting off into the twilight upon the little -ass, and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> going for me son. I even went so far as to catch the little -ass and yoke him, and put on the grand clothes I was decked out in when -I met you last June with the motor. But somehow I hadn't the heart -for the journey this time, and you coming home before you were due. I -couldn't let them see me! I couldn't let them see me, so I couldn't!"</p> - -<p>"But it is not my fault, mother. I have not brought it about directly -by any action of mine. It comes from the changed state of everything on -account of the Great War. You may say it came naturally."</p> - -<p>"Ah, sure I know that, dear, I know it well, and don't be troubling -yourself. In the letter of the rector before the very last one didn't -he mention the change of resigned application that had at last come to -you, and that you had grown less susceptible—I think that is the grand -word he used—aye, less susceptible to distractions and more quiet in -your mind? And I knew as well as anything that it was coming to pass -so beautifully, that all the long prayers I had said for you upon me -two bare, bended knees were after being heard at last, and a great joy -was just beginning to come surging into me heart when the terrible blow -of the last letter fell down upon me. But sure I used to be having the -queerest dreams, and I felt that nothing good was going to happen when -Ulick Shannon came down here expelled from the University in Dublin. -You used to be a great deal in his company last summer, and mebbe there -was some curse put upon the both of you together. May God forgive me, -but I hate that young fellow like poison. I don't know rightly why -it is, but it vexes me to see him idling around the way he is after -what's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> happened to him. Bragging about being expelled he bees every -day in McDermott's of Garradrimna. And his uncle Myles is every bit -as bad, going to keep him at home until the end of next summer. 'To -give him time to think of things,' he says. 'I'm going to find a use -for him,' he says to any one that asks him, 'never you fear!' Well, -begad, 'tis a grand thing not to know what to do with your money like -the Shannons of Scarden Hill.... But sure I'm talking and talking. 'Tis -what I came in to tell you now of the plan I have been making up all -night. If we let them see that we're lying down under this misfortune -we're bet surely. We must put a brave face upon it. You must make -a big show-off that you're after getting special holidays for some -great, successful examination you've passed ahead of any one else in -the college. I'll let on I'm delighted, and be mad to tell it to every -customer that comes into the sewing-room. But you must help me; you -must go about saying hard things of Ulick Shannon that's after being -expelled, for that's the very best way you can do it. He'll mebbe seek -your company like last year, but you must let him see for certain that -you consider yourself a deal above him. But you mustn't be so quiet -and go moping so much about the lake as you used to. You must go about -everywhere, talking of yourself and what you're going to be. Now you -must do all this for my sake—won't you, John?"</p> - -<p>His tremulous "yes" was very unenthusiastic and seemed to hold no great -promise of fulfilment. These were hard things his mother was asking him -to do, and he would require some time to think them over.... But even -now he wondered was it in him to do them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> at all. The attitude towards -Ulick Shannon which she now proposed would be a curious thing, for they -had been the best of friends.</p> - -<p>"And while you're doing this thing for me, John, I'll be going on with -me plans for your future. It was me, and me only, that set up this -beautiful plan of the priesthood as the future I wanted for you. I got -no one to help me, I can tell you that. Only every one to raise their -hands against me. And in spite of all that I carried me plan to what -success the rector spoke of in his last letter. And even though this -shadow has fallen across it, me son and meself between us are not going -to let it be the end. For I want to see you a priest, John. I want to -see you a priest before I die. God knows I want to see that before I -die. Nan Byrne's son a priest before she dies!"</p> - -<p>Her speech mounted to such a pitch of excitement that towards the end -it trailed away into a long, frenzied scream. It awoke Ned Brennan -where he dozed fitfully in the next room, and he roared out:</p> - -<p>"Ah, what the hell are yous gosthering and croaking about in there at -this hour of the morning, the two of yous? It'd be serving you a lot -better to be down getting me breakfast, Nan Byrne!"</p> - -<p>She came away very quietly from the bedside of her son and left the -room. John remained for some time thinking over the things she had been -saying. Then he rose wearily and went downstairs. It was only now he -noticed that his mother had dried his clothes. It must have taken her -a good portion of the night to do this. His boots, which had been so -wet and muddy after his walk from Kilaconnaghan, were now polished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> -to resplendence and standing clean and dry beside the fire. The full -realization of these small actions brought a fine feeling of tenderness -into his mind.... He quickly prepared himself to leave the house. She -observed him with concern as she went about cooking the breakfast for -her man.</p> - -<p>"You're not going to Mass this morning, are ye, John?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no!" he replied with a nervous quickness. "Our chat delayed me. It -is now past nine."</p> - -<p>"Ah, dear, sure I never thought while I was talking. The last time I -kept you it was the morning after the concert, and even then you were -in time for 'half-past eight'.... But sure, anyhow, you're too tired -this morning."</p> - -<p>"I'm going for a little walk before breakfast."</p> - -<p>The words broke in queerly upon the thought she had just expressed, -but his reason was nothing more than to avoid his father, who would be -presently snapping savagely at his breakfast in the kitchen.</p> - -<p>The wet road was cheerless and the bare trees and fields were cold and -lonely. Everything was in contrast to the mood in which he had known it -last summer. It seemed as if he would never know it in that mood again. -Now that he had returned it was a poor thing and very small beside the -pictures his dream had made.... He was wandering down The Road of the -Dead and there was a girl coming towards him. He knew it was Rebecca -Kerr, and this meeting did not appear in the least accidental.</p> - -<p>She was dressed, as he had not previously seen her, in a heavy brown -coat, a thick scarf about her throat and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> a pretty velvet cap which hid -most of her hair. Her small feet were well shod in strong boots, and -she came radiantly down the wet road. A look of surprise sprang into -her eyes when she saw him, and she seemed uncertain of herself as they -stopped to speak.</p> - -<p>"Back again?" she said, not without some inquisitive surprise in her -tones.</p> - -<p>"Yes, another holiday," he said quickly.</p> - -<p>"Nothing wrong?" she queried.</p> - -<p>"Well, well, no; but the college has closed down for the period of the -war."</p> - -<p>"That is a pity."</p> - -<p>He laughed a queer, excited little laugh, in which there did not seem -to be any mirth or meaning. Then he picked himself up quickly.</p> - -<p>"You won't tell anybody?"</p> - -<p>"What about?"</p> - -<p>"This that I have told you, about the college."</p> - -<p>"Oh, dear no!" she replied very quickly, as if amazed and annoyed that -he should have asked her to respect this little piece of information as -a confidence. And she had not reckoned on meeting him at all. Besides -she had not spoken so many words to him since the morning after the -concert.</p> - -<p>She lifted her head high and went on walking between the muddy puddles -on the way to the valley school.</p> - -<p>John felt somewhat crushed by her abruptness, especially after what -he had told her. And where was the fine resolve with which his mother -had hoped to infuse him of acting a brave part for her sake before the -people of the valley?</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> - -<p>Myles Shannon and his nephew Ulick sat at breakfast in the dining-room -of the big house among the trees. The <i>Irish Times</i> of the previous -day's date was crackling in the elder man's hand.</p> - -<p>"Did you ever think of joining the Army, Ulick? It is most -extraordinary, the number of ne'er-do-wells who manage to get -commissions just now. Why I think there should be no bother at all -if you tried. With your knowledge I fancy you could get into the -R.A.M.C. It is evidently infernally easy. I suppose your conduct at the -University would have nothing to do with your chances of acceptance or -rejection?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, not at all."</p> - -<p>"I thought not."</p> - -<p>"But I fancied, uncle, that when I came down here from Dublin I had -done with intending myself to kill people. That is, with joining any -combination for purposes of slaughter."</p> - -<p>Myles Shannon lifted his eyes from the paper and smiled. Evidently he -did not appreciate the full, grim point of the joke, but he rather -fancied there was something subtle about it, and it was in that quiet -and venerable tradition of humorous things his training had led him to -enjoy. This was one of the reasons why, even though a Catholic and a -moderate Nationalist, he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> remained a devoted reader of the <i>Irish -Times</i>. He was conservative even in his humor.</p> - -<p>"But in Army medical work, however, there is always the compensating -chance of the gentleman with the license to kill getting killed -himself," continued Ulick.</p> - -<p>His lips closed now, for he had at last come to the end of his joke. -The conversation lapsed, and Mr. Shannon went on with his reading. -Ulick had been to Garradrimna on the previous evening, and he was -acutely conscious of many defects in his own condition and in the -condition of the world about him this morning. His thoughts were now -extending with all the power of which they were capable to his uncle, -that silent, intent man, whose bald head stretched expansively before -him.</p> - -<p>Myles Shannon was a singularly fine man, and in thinking of him as such -his mind began to fill with imaginations of the man his father must -have been. He had never known his father nor, for the matter of that, -could he boast of any deep acquaintance with his uncle, yet what an -excellent, restrained type of man he was to be sure! Another in the -same position as his guardian would have flogged himself into a fury -over the mess he had made of his studies. But it had not been so with -his uncle. He had behaved with a calm forbearance. He had supplied him -with time and money, and had gone even so far as to look kindly upon -the affair with Rebecca Kerr. He had been here since the beginning of -the year, and all his uncle had so far said to him by way of asserting -his authority was spoken very quietly:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Now, I'll give you a fair time to think over things. I'll give you -till the end of the summer holidays, till after young Brennan comes and -goes." These had been his uncle's exact words, and he had not attempted -to question them or to qualify them at the time. But just now they were -running through his brain with the most curious throbbing insistence. -"Till after young Brennan comes and goes." He knew that his uncle had -taken an unusual fancy to John Brennan and evidently wished that his -summer holidays should be spent enjoyably. But it was a long time until -summer, and he was not a person one might conscientiously commend to -the friendship of a clerical student. He very often went to Garradrimna.</p> - -<p>Ulick had already formed some impressions of his fellow man. He -held it as his opinion that at the root of an action, which may -appear extraordinary because of its goodness, is always an amount of -selfishness. Yet, somehow, as he carefully considered his uncle in the -meditative spaces of the breakfast he could not fit him in with this -idea.</p> - -<p>As he went on with his thought he felt that it was the very excess of -his uncle's qualities which had had such a curious effect upon his -relations with Rebecca Kerr. It was the very easiness of the path he -had afforded to love-making which now made it so difficult. If they had -been forbidden and if they had been persecuted, their early affection -must have endured more strongly. The opposition of the valley and the -village still continued, but Ulick considered their bearing upon him -now as he had always considered it—with contempt.</p> - -<p>There had been a good deal of wild affection <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>transported into their -snatched meetings during the past summer in Donegal. After Christmas, -too, he had gone there to see her, and then had happened the climax of -their love-making in a quiet cottage within sound of the sea.... Both -had moved away from that glowing moment forever changed. Neither could -tell of the greatness of the shadow that had fallen between them.</p> - -<p>He remembered all her tears on the first evening he had met her after -coming back to the valley. There had been nothing in her letters, only -the faintest suggestion of some strained feeling. Then had come this -unhappy meeting.... She had tortured herself into the belief that it -was she who was responsible for his failure.</p> - -<p>"With all the time you have wasted coming to see me I have destroyed -you. When you should have been at your studies I was taking you up to -Donegal."</p> - -<p>As he listened to these words between her sobs, there rushed in upon -him full realization of all her goodness and the contrast of two -pictures her words had called to his mind.... There was he by her side, -her head upon his shoulder in that lonely cottage in Donegal, their -young lives lighting the cold, bare place around them.... And then -the other picture of himself bent low over his dirty, thumb-greased -books in that abominable street up and down which a cart was always -lumbering. All the torture of this driving him to Doyle's pub at the -corner, and afterwards along some squalid street of ill-fame with a few -more drunken medical students.</p> - -<p>He was glad to be with her again. They met very often during his first -month at his uncle's house, in dark spots along the valley road and The -Road of the Dead. Then he began to notice a curious reserve springing -up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> between them. She was becoming mysterious while at the same time -remaining acutely present in his life.</p> - -<p>One morning she had asked him if he intended to remain long in the -valley, and he had not known how to reply to her. Another time she -had asked him if he was going to retire altogether from the study of -medicine, and with what did he intend to occupy himself now? And, upon -a certain occasion, she had almost asked him was it the intention of -his uncle to leave him the grand farm and the lovely house among the -trees?</p> - -<p>These were vexatious questions and so different from any part of the -talk they used to have here in the valley last summer or at the cottage -in Donegal. Her feeling of surrender in his presence had been replaced -by a sense of possession which seemed the death of all that kindling of -her heart. Then it had happened that, despite the encouragement of his -uncle, a shadow had fallen upon his love-affair with Rebecca Kerr.... -He was growing tired of his idle existence in the valley. Very slowly -he was beginning to see life from a new angle. He was disgusted with -himself and with the mess he had made of things in Dublin. He could not -say whether it was her talk with him that had shamed him into thinking -about it, but he felt again like making something of himself away from -this mean place. Once or twice he wondered whether it was because he -wanted to get away from her. Somehow his uncle and himself were the -only people who seemed directly concerned in the matter. His uncle -was a very decent man, and he felt that he could not presume on his -hospitality any longer.</p> - -<p>Mr. Shannon took off his spectacles and laid by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> <i>Irish Times</i>. -There was an intimate bond between the man and his paper. He always -considered it as hitting off his own opinions to a nicety upon any -subject under the sun. This always after he had read the leaders which -dealt with these subjects. It afforded a contribution to his thought -and ideas out of which he spoke with a surer word.</p> - -<p>Old Susan Hennessy came into the room with some letters that Farrell -McGuinness was after leaving. She hobbled in, a hunched, decrepit -woman, now in the concluding stages of her long life as housekeeper to -the Shannons, and put the letters into her master's hand.... Then she -lingered, quite unnecessarily, about the breakfast-table. Her toothless -gums were stripping as words began to struggle into her mouth.... Mr. -Shannon took notice of her. This was her usual behavior when she had -anything of uncommon interest to say.</p> - -<p>"Well, what is it now?" said Mr. Shannon, not without some weariness in -his tones, for he expected only to hear some poor piece of local gossip.</p> - -<p>"It's how Farrell McGuinness is after telling me, sir, that John -Brennan is home."</p> - -<p>"Is that a fact?"</p> - -<p>"And Farrell says that by the looks on the outside of a certain letter -that came to Mrs. Brennan th'other day it is what he is after being -expelled."</p> - -<p>"Expelled. Well, well!"</p> - -<p>There was a mixture of interest and anxiety in Mr. Shannon's tones.</p> - -<p>"A good many of those small English colleges are getting broken up -and the students drifting into the Army, I suppose that's the reason; -but of course they'll say he's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> been expelled," Ulick ventured as old -Susan slipped from the room and down to the loneliness of the kitchen, -where she might brood to her heart's content over this glad piece of -information, for she was one who well knew the story of John Brennan's -mother and "poor Misther Henery Shannon."</p> - -<p>"Is that so?" The interest of Mr. Shannon was rapidly mounting towards -excitement.</p> - -<p>"A case like that is rather hard," said Ulick.</p> - -<p>"Yes, it will be rather hard on Mrs. Brennan, I fancy, she being so -stuck-up with pride in him."</p> - -<p>He could just barely hide his feelings of exultation.</p> - -<p>"And John Brennan is not a bad fellow."</p> - -<p>"I daresay he's not."</p> - -<p>There was now a curious note of impatience in the elder man's tones as -if he wished, for some reason or other, to have done speaking of the -matter.</p> - -<p>"It will probably mean the end of his intention for the Church."</p> - -<p>"That is more than likely. These sudden changes have the effect of -throwing a shadow over many a young fellow's vocation."</p> - -<p>His eyes twinkled, but he fingered his mustache nervously as he said -this.</p> - -<p>"Funny to think of the two of us getting thrown down together, we being -such friends!"</p> - -<p>The doubtful humor in the coincidence had appealed to the queer kink -that was in the mind of Ulick, and it was because of it he now spoke. -It was the merest wantonness that he should have said this thing, and -yet it seemed instantly to have struck some hidden chord of deeper -thought in his uncle's mind. When Myles <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>Shannon spoke again it was -abruptly, and his words seemed to spring out of a sudden impulse:</p> - -<p>"You'd better think over that matter of the Army I have just mentioned."</p> - -<p>It was the first time his uncle Myles had spoken to him in this way, -and now that the rod of correction had fallen even thus lightly he did -not like it at all. He felt that his face was already flushing.... And -into his mind was burning again the thought of how he had made such a -mess of things.... He moved towards the door, and there was his uncle's -voice again raised as if in the reproof of authority:</p> - -<p>"And where might you be going to-day?"</p> - -<p>"Down the valley to see my friend John Brennan, who'll be surely lonely -on the first day at home," he said, rather hurriedly, as he went out in -the hallway to get his overcoat.</p> - -<p>When Myles Shannon was left alone he immediately drifted into deeper -thought there in the empty room with his back to the fire. With one -hand he clasped his long coat-tails, and with the other nervously -twirled his long mustache. He was thinking rapidly, and his thoughts -were so strong within him that he was speaking them aloud.</p> - -<p>"I might not have gone so far. Don't you see how I might have waited in -patience and allowed the hand of Fate to adjust things? See how grandly -they are coming around.... And now maybe I have gone too far. Maybe I -have helped to spoil Ulick's life into the bargain. And then there's -the third party, this girl, Rebecca Kerr?"</p> - -<p>He looked straight out before him now, and away over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> the remains of -the breakfast.... He crossed to the window and gazed for a while over -the wet fields. He moved into the cold, empty parlor and gazed from -its window also over the fields.... Then he turned and for a space -remained looking steadfastly at the bureau which held so much of -<i>Her</i>. Quite suddenly he crossed over and unlocked it.... Yes, there, -with the other dead things, were the photograph of Helena Cooper and -the letters she had written, and the letter John Brennan's mother had -written about him. He raised his eyes from the few, poor relics and -they gathered into their depths the loneliness of the parlor.... Here -was the picture of this girl, who was young and lovely, while around -him, surging emptily forever, was the loneliness of his house. It was -Nan Byrne who had driven him to this, and it was Nan Byrne who had -ruined his brother Henry.... And yet he was weakly questioning his -just feelings of revenge against this woman, but for whom he might now -be a happy man. He might have laughter in this house and the sound -of children at play. But now he had none of these things, and he was -lonely.... He looked into the over-mantel, and there he was, an empty -figure, full of a strong family pride that really stood for nothing, -a polite survival from the mild romance of the early nineties of the -last century, a useless thing amid his flocks and herds. A man who had -none of the contentment which comes from the company of a woman or her -children, a mean creature, who, during visits to the cattle-market, -occasionally wasted his manhood in dingy adventure about low streets -in Dublin. One who remained apart from the national thought of his own -country reading<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> queer articles in the <i>Irish Times</i> about "resolute" -government of Ireland.</p> - -<p>His head lay low upon his chest because he was a man mightily oppressed -by a great feeling of abasement.</p> - -<p>"In the desolation of her heart through the destruction of her son," he -muttered to himself, not without a certain weariness, as he moved away -from the mirror.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> - -<p>Whenever a person from the valley went abroad now to fair or market the -question was always asked:</p> - -<p>"Is it a fact that Ulick Shannon was expelled from the University in -Dublin and is at home? And is it a fact that John Brennan is at home -from the college he was at too, the grand college in England whose -story his mother spread far and wide?"</p> - -<p>"That's quite so, ma'am. It's a double fact!"</p> - -<p>"Well, well!"</p> - -<p>"And is it a fact that they do be always together, going by back ways -into the seven publichouses of Garradrimna?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, indeed, that's true, ma'am, and now you have the whole of it. Sure -it was in the same seven publichouses that the pair of them laid the -foundations of their ruination last summer. Sure, do ye know what I'm -going to tell you? They couldn't be kept out of them, and that's as -sure as you're there!"</p> - -<p>Now it was true that if Ulick had gone at all towards Garradrimna it -was through very excess of spirits, and it was for the very same reason -that he had enticed John Brennan to go with him.... That time they were -full of hope and their minds were held by their thoughts of Rebecca. -But now, somehow, she seemed to have slipped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> out of the lives of both -of them. And because both had chosen. The feeling had entered into -Ulick's heart. But in the case of John Brennan it was not so certain. -What had brought him out upon the first morning of his homecoming to -take a look at her? It would seem that, through the sudden quickening -of his mind towards study just before the break-up of the college, -he should have forgotten her.... His life now seemed to hang in the -balance shudderingly; a breath might direct it anyway.</p> - -<p>He felt that he should have liked to make some suggestions of his own -concerning his future, but there was always that tired look of love in -his mother's eyes to frustrate his intention.... Often he would go into -the sewing-room of a morning and she would say so sadly as she bent -over her machine—"I'm contriving, John; I'm contriving!" He had come -to the years of manhood and yet he must needs leave every initiative in -her hands since she would have it so.... Thus was he driven from the -house at many a time of the day.</p> - -<p>He went to morning Mass as usual, but the day was long and dreary after -that, for the weather was wet and the coldness of winter still lay -heavy over the fields. The evenings were the dreariest as he sat over -his books in his room and listened to the hum of his mother's machine. -Later this would give place to the tumultuous business of his father's -home-coming from Garradrimna. Sometimes things were broken, and the -noise would destroy his power of application. Thus it was that, for the -most part, he avoided the house in the evenings. At the fall of dark he -would go slipping along the wet road on his way to Garradrimna. Where -the way from Scarden joined the way from Tullahanogue he generally met<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> -Ulick Shannon, comfortably top-coated, bound for the same place.</p> - -<p>It seemed as if the surrounding power of the talk their presence in the -valley had created was driving them towards those scenes in which that -talk had pictured them. Through the dusk people would smirk at them as -they were seen going the road.... They would slip into McDermott's by -the same back way that Ned Brennan had often gone to Brannagan's. Many -a time did they pass the place in the woods where John had beheld the -adventure of his father and the porter last summer.... In the bottling -room of McDermott's they would fancy they were unseen, but Shamesy -Golliher or Padna Padna or Thomas James would be always cropping up -most unaccountably to tell the tale when they went out into the bar -again after what would appear the most accidental glance into the -bottling-room.... John would take port wine and Ulick whatever drink he -preferred. But even the entertainment of themselves after this fashion -did not evoke the subtle spell of last summer. There was no laughter, -no stories, even of a questionable kind, when Josie Guinan came to -answer their call. Every evening she would ask the question:</p> - -<p>"Well, how is Rebecca, Ulick?"</p> - -<p>This gross familiarity irritated him greatly, for his decent breeding -made him desire that she should keep her distance. Besides he did not -want any one to remind him of Rebecca just now. He never answered this -question, nor the other by which it was always followed:</p> - -<p>"You don't see her very often now, do ye? But of course the woods bees -wet these times."</p> - -<p>The mere mention of Rebecca's name in this filthy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> place annoyed John -Brennan, who thought of her continuously as some one far beyond all -aspects of Garradrimna.</p> - -<p>Yet they would be forever coming here to invite this persecution. Ulick -would ever and again retreat into long silences that were painful for -his companion. But John found some solace come to him through the -port wine. So much was this the case that he began to have a certain -hankering after spending the evening in this way. When the night -had fallen thick and dark over Garradrimna they would come out of -McDermott's and spend long hours walking up and down the valley road. -Ulick would occasionally give vent to outbursts of talk upon impersonal -subjects—the war and politics, the tragic trend of modern literature. -John always listened with interest. He never wished to return early to -the house, for he dreaded the afflicted drone of his mother reading the -holy books to his father by the kitchen fire.</p> - -<p>During those brief spells, when the weather brightened for a day or -two, he often took walks down by the school and towards the lake.... -Always he felt, through power of an oppressive realization, that -the eyes of Master Donnellan were upon him as he slipped past the -school.... So he began to go by a lane which did not take him before -the disappointed eyes of the old man.</p> - -<p>Going this way one day he came upon a battered school-reader of an -advanced standard, looking so pathetic in its final desertion by its -owner, for there is nothing so lonely as the things a schoolboy leaves -behind him.... He began to remember the days when he, too, had gone -to the valley school and there instituted the great promise which, so -far, had not come to fulfilment. He was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>turning over the leaves when -he came on a selection from Carlyle's <i>French Revolution</i>—"Thy foot -to light on softness, thy eye on splendor." He pondered it as he stood -by the water's edge and until it connected itself with his thought of -Rebecca. <i>Thy foot to light on softness, thy eye on splendor.</i></p> - -<p>It would be nearing three o'clock now, he thought, and Rebecca must -soon be going from school. He might see her passing along between the -muddy puddles on The Road of the Dead.</p> - -<p>He had fallen down before her again.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> - -<p>In the high, gusty evening Tommy Williams, the gombeen-man, was -standing proudly at his own door surveying the street of Garradrimna. -It was his custom to appear thus at the close of the day in -contemplation of his great possessions. He owned four houses in the -village, four proud buildings which advertised his worth before the -beggars of the parish—out of whom he had made the price of them. But -he was distrustful of his customers to an enormous degree, and his -purpose in standing thus at his own door was not altogether one of -aimless speculation upon his own spacious importance in Garradrimna. -He was watching to see that some people going down the valley road -upon ass-carts did not attempt to take away any of the miscellaneous -merchandise exhibited outside the door. As he stood against the -background of his shop, from which he might be said to have derived his -personality, one could view the man in his true proportions beneath his -hard, high hat. His short beard was beginning to show tinges of gray, -and the deepening look of preoccupation behind his glasses gave him the -appearance of becoming daily more and more like John Dillon.</p> - -<p>Father O'Keeffe came by and said: "Good-evening, Tommy!" This was a -tribute to his respectability and worth. He was the great man of the -village, the head and front of everything. Events revolved around him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> -He would have you know that he was somebody, so he was. A politician -after the fashion in the Ireland of his time, he organized and spoke -at public meetings. He always wanted to be saying things in support -of "The Cause." "The Cause" was to him a kind of poetic ideal. His -patriotic imagination had intensified its glory. But it was not the -future of Ireland he yearned to see made glorious. He looked forward -only to the triumph of "The Cause."</p> - -<p>Upon the death of his father, also a patriot, the little mean huckstery -at the tail end of the village street had descended to him; and -although he had risen to the dignity and proprietorship of four houses, -this establishment had never changed, for, among the many ancient -superstitions which crowded his mind, the hoary one of the existence -of luck where there is muck occupied a place of prominence. And like -his father he was a rebel—in his mind. The more notable political -mountebanks of his time were all men who had fought as upon a field -of battle. Words served them as weapons, and words were the weapons -that he loved; he might have died if he were not fighting, and to him -talk meant battle. He used to collect all the supplemental pictures of -those patriots from <i>The Weekly Freeman</i> and paste them in a scrapbook -for edification of his eldest son, whom he desired to be some day a -unit of their combination. An old-fashioned print of Dan O'Connell -hung side by side with a dauby caricature of Robert Emmet in the old -porter-smelling parlor off the bar. The names of the two men were -linked inseparably with one of his famous phrases—"The undying spirit -of Irish Nationality."</p> - -<p>Occasionally, when he had a drunken and enthusiastic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> crowd in that -part of his many-sided establishment which was a public bar, he would -read out in a fine loud voice how "The Cause" was progressing, and, -having learned by heart a speech of John Dillon's, he would lash it -out to them as a composition of his own. Whereupon the doubly excited -audience would shake his hand as one man and shout: "More power there, -mister; 'tis yourself is the true Irishman, me sweet fellow!" He could -be very funny too when occasion demanded, and tell stories of Father -Healy of Bray at pleasant little dinners which took place in the upper -story of his house after every political meeting held in Garradrimna. -He never missed the opportunity and the consequent honor of singing "On -an old Irish Hill in the Morning" at every one of those dinners. He was -always warmly applauded by Father O'Keeffe, who invariably occupied -the chair. He was treasurer of the fund, out of which he was paid for -supplying all this entertainment.</p> - -<p>His wife was the daughter of a farmer of the "red-hat" class. He had -been compelled to marry her.... If this had happened to a poor man -the talk would have followed him to the grave. But they were afraid -to talk censoriously of the patriot who had enveloped all of them. -He practically owned them.... The priest could not deliver an attack -upon the one who headed his lists of Offerings and Easter Dues and -the numerous collections which brought in the decent total of Father -O'Keeffe's income.</p> - -<p>To Rebecca Kerr had been given the position of governess to the -Williams household. She had not sought it, but, on the removal of the -two boys, Michael Joseph and Paddy, from the care of Master Donnellan -to this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> more genteel way of imparting knowledge and giving correction, -which savored somewhat of the splendor of the Moores of Garradrimna -and the Houlihans of Clonabroney, had merely accepted it as part of -the system of the place. She had fully anticipated such possibilities -upon the very evening of her arrival.... Besides old Master Donnellan -had thanked her from his heart for the release she had been the means -of affording him, and she liked the master for a quiet, kind old man -who did not prate or meddle. So far she had made little improvement in -either of the boys. But Mrs. Williams was evidently delighted for "our -governess, Miss Kerr," was the one person she ever spoke a good word of -to Father O'Keeffe.</p> - -<p>This evening Rebecca was in the parlor, seated just beneath the -pictures of Dan O'Connell and Robert Emmet, wrestling hard with the -boys. All at once her pupils commanded her to be silent. "Whist!" they -said in unison. She was momentarily amazed into eavesdropping at their -behest....</p> - -<p>"Oh, not at all, Mrs. Brennan, sure and I couldn't think of the like at -all at all!"</p> - -<p>"Well, Mr. Williams, as a well-known benefactor of the college at -Ballinamult and a good, religious man to boot, I thought that mebbe you -could give John a recommendation. It would be grand to see him there -and he working himself up to the summit of his ambition. There would be -a great reward to your soul for doing the like of that, Mr. Williams, -as sure as you're there."</p> - -<p>"And now, woman-a-dear, what about my own sons, Michael Joseph and -Paddy?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, indeed, there's no fear of them, Mr. Williams!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> - -<p>"But I could not think of jeopardizing them while I'd be doing for the -families or the sons of the stranger."</p> - -<p>"But sure, sir, I'll pay you at any rate of interest you like if -only you could see your way to give me this help. Enough to buy a -bicycle that'll take him over to Ballinamult every day and your grand -recommendation to the priests that'll be worth gold. I'll pay you every -penny I can, and sure the poor boy will repay you everything when he -comes into the position that's due to him."</p> - -<p>"Well, I don't know. I don't think the missus—"</p> - -<p>At this very moment Mrs. Williams came into the parlor where Rebecca -sat with them, and beamed upon her sons.</p> - -<p>"Oh, my poor boys, sure it is killed you are with the terrible strain -of the study. Sure it is what you'd better go out into the fields now -with the pony; but mind, be careful! You poor little fellows!"</p> - -<p>Michael Joseph and Paddy at once snatched up their caps and rushed -for the door. So much for the extent of their training and Rebecca's -control of them, for this was a daily happening. But another part of -her hour of torture at the gombeen-man's house had yet to come. Of -late Mrs. Williams had made of her a kind of <i>confidante</i> in the small -concerns of her household. She was the sort of woman who must needs be -always talking to some one of her affairs. Now she enlarged upon the -immediate story of how Mrs. Brennan had been begging and craving of -Tommy to do something for her son John, who had been sent home from -the place he was in England. "The cheek of her, mind you, that Mrs. -Brennan!" emphasized Mrs. Williams.</p> - -<p>If it had been any other schoolmistress or girl of any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> kind at all -that Mrs. Williams had ever known, they would have acquiesced in this -statement of denunciation and said: "That's a sure fact for you, -ma'am!" or "Just so!" But this had never been Rebecca's way. She merely -said: "John Brennan is a very nice young fellow!"</p> - -<p>Although Mrs. Williams was surprised, she merely said: "Is that so? -Sure I know very little about him only to see him pass the door. They -say he's taken the fashion of tippling a bit, and it's to McDermott's -he does go, d'ye mind, with Ulick Shannon, and not to this house. But, -of course, it's my bold Ulick that's spending. Easy for him, begad, and -it not his own."</p> - -<p>Rebecca saw the dirty meanness that stirred in this speech.</p> - -<p>"That's what they say and it is surely a great pity to see him wasting -his time about the roads of the valley. I think it would be a grand -piece of charity on the part of any one who would be the means of -taking him away from this place. If only he could be afforded some -little help. 'Tis surely not his fault that the college in England -broke down, and although his mother is, I believe, contriving the best -for his future, sure it is hard for her. She is only a poor woman, and -the people of the valley seem queerly set against her. I don't know -why. They seem to hate the very sight of her."</p> - -<p>"You may say that indeed, and it is the good reasons they have—"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Williams suddenly checked herself, for there flashed across her -mind a chapter of her own story. She had been one of the lucky ones.... -Besides, by slow steps, Rebecca was coming to have some power over her.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Of course it would be no loss to Tommy if he did give this help. He'd -be bound to get the interest of his money, even if he were to sell her -out of house and home. He knows his business, and he's not against it -himself, I may tell you; for he sees a return in many a way. It was -myself that was keeping him from it on account of the boy's mother. -But, of course, if you think it would be a nice, good thing to do—"</p> - -<p>"It would be a good thing, and a very good thing, and one of the best -actions you could put for luck before your own sons."</p> - -<p>"Oh, indeed, there's no fear of them! Is it Michael Joseph or Paddy?"</p> - -<p>"Of course not, indeed, nor did I mean anything of the kind. I only -said it to soften you, Mrs. Williams."</p> - -<p>"Well, I may tell you it's all right, Miss Kerr. Mrs. Brennan is out -there in the shop, and she's craving from me man.... It'll be all -right, Miss Kerr, and that's a fact.... I'll make it all right, never -you fear!"</p> - -<p>In this way was John Brennan again led back into the paths of the -Church. Curious that it should have been given Rebecca to effect the -change in his condition—Rebecca, whose beauty, snatching at his -spirit always, had drawn his mind into other ways of contemplation. -In less than a week, through the powerful ecclesiastical influence of -Tommy Williams, the gombeen-man, he was riding daily to the college at -Ballinamult. By teaching outside the hours allotted for his own study -he was earning part of his fees, and, as a further example of his worth -to the community, Tommy Williams was paying the other portion, although -as a purely financial speculation.... In a year it was expected he -would win one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> of the Diocesan Scholarships and go up to Maynooth. -Mrs. Brennan knew more joy than had ever before possessed her. Her son -was to be ordained in Ireland after all, and maybe given a curacy in -his own diocese. Who knew but he might yet follow in the footsteps of -Father O'Keeffe and become Parish Priest of Garradrimna while she was -still alive here in this little house in the valley!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> - -<p>The meetings of Ulick and Rebecca had become less and less frequent. -Sometimes she would not see him for days at a stretch, and such periods -would appear as desert spaces. She would be driven by them into the -life of the valley, where no echo of comfort ever came to her. Even -the little children created an irritation with their bright faces -continually reminding her of all the prayers they had said for her -intentions.... It was curious that she never asked them to say a prayer -for her intentions now. And their looks would seem to be beseeching -her forever. And yet she could not—she could not ask them now.... -Each distinct phase of the day seemed to hold for her its own peculiar -tortures. These seemed to have reached their climax and very moment of -ecstasy on the days succeeding upon one another when Monica McKeon came -in at the recreation hour to take her luncheon in company with Mrs. -Wyse.</p> - -<p>Monica would be certain to say with the most unfailing regularity and, -in fact, with exactly the same intonation upon all occasions: "I wonder -when that Ulick Shannon is going away?" To which Mrs. Wyse would reply -in a tone which would seem to have comprehended all knowledge: "Ah, -sure, he'll never go far!" Presently Monica would begin to let fall -from her slyly her usual string of phrases: "Wouldn't you be inclined -to say, now, that Ulick Shannon is good-looking?" Talking of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> some -other one, she would describe him as being "Just like Ulick Shannon, -don't you know!" And if they happened to be discussing the passage of -some small event it would invariably circle around the breathless point -of interest—"And who do you think was there only Ulick Shannon?" Then -from where she sat supping her tea out of a saucerless cup Mrs. Wyse -would give out her full opinion of Ulick Shannon.</p> - -<p>"He's the quare sort, just like his father. I don't think I've ever -seen a son to take after his father so closely. And <i>he</i> was what you -might call a quare character in his day. It was said that a girl as -well as lost her good name if she was seen talking twice in succession -to Henry Shannon, he was that bad. Like father, like son is surely the -case between Henry and Ulick Shannon!"</p> - -<p>This seemed at all times the strangest talk for Rebecca to be -hearing.... It often caused her to shiver even though spring was well -on its way. And they would never let it out of their minds; they would -never let it rest. They were always talking at her about Ulick Shannon, -for they seemed to know.</p> - -<p>But no one knew save herself. It was a grand secret. Not even Ulick -knew. She hugged the dear possession of her knowledge to herself. There -was the strangest excitement upon her to escape from school in the -evenings so that she might enjoy her secret in loneliness.</p> - -<p>Even this joy had been dissipated by her certainty of meeting -John Brennan somewhere upon the road in the near vicinity of the -school.... Now, as she thought of it upon an evening a few days after -she had spoken to Mrs. Williams in his favor, she fancied that his -lonely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> admiration for her must have been growing in strength since -his return.... There had always been a sense of sudden relief in -his presence after the torture of the two women, a feeling of high -emancipation like the rushing in of some clean wind.... Only a few -words had ever passed between them on those occasions, but now they -were to her throbbing brain of blessed and sweet memory. And there had -always been the same look upon his face, making her try to puzzle out -in what possible way he could look upon her. Could it be in the way -she had looked upon him, with a full kindliness working into the most -marvelous ways of sympathy? Yet she missed him ever so much, now that -he was to be no longer seen upon the road.</p> - -<p>It was strange enough, too, as she thought of it, that although the -reason of Mrs. Williams in taking a fancy to her was no more than the -selfish one of showing her dislike for Master Donnellan, it should -have borne good fruit after this fashion. Yet a certain loneliness, a -certain feeling of empty sadness was to be her reward because she had -done a good thing.... No one at all now to take her mind away as she -wandered from torture to torture in the afternoons.... On one of the -first evenings of the changed condition of things Mrs. McGoldrick, -noticing in her keen mind that Rebecca was a minute or so earlier than -usual, said, after the manner of one proud of being able to say it:</p> - -<p>"Is it a fact, Miss Kerr, that John Brennan bees going as a kind of a -charity teacher or something to the college at Ballinamult?"</p> - -<p>"Well, if it's a fact, it is a fact," said Rebecca in a tired, dull -voice and without showing any interest <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>whatsoever. But even this -attitude did not baulk the sergeant's wife, for she hurried on:</p> - -<p>"Ah, God help his innocent wit, but sure he'll never be a priest, he'll -never be a priest! 'Tis a pity of his mother, but sure she could hardly -expect it to be so, for she wasn't a good woman, they tell me, and she -ought to know, you know, that she could hardly expect it to be so!"</p> - -<p>Rebecca saw at once that her landlady was in one of her fits of -garrulousness, so she concluded in consequence that there would not be -much pleasure in her dinner to-day. She passed it untasted and went -upstairs wearily. There was a certain grim comfort in thinking that -she had left Mrs. McGoldrick with her harangue unfinished and a great -longing upon her to be talking.... She flung herself upon the bed in -the still untidied room. She was weary with some great, immeasurable -weariness this blessed evening.... Her corset hurt her, and she sat -up again to take it off. She caught sight of herself reflected in -the mirror opposite.... How worn she looked! Her brows, with their -even curves, did not take from the desolation that had fallen upon -her forehead, where it was grown harder as beneath the blows of some -tyrannic thought. And it seemed as if the same thought had plowed all -the lines which were beginning to appear there now.... It must be that -she had long since entered into a mood of mourning for the things she -had lost in the valley.</p> - -<p>She fell to remembering the first evening she had come to it, and of -how she had begun to play with her beauty on that very first evening. -It had appeared then as the only toy in her possession in this place -of dreary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> immensity. And now it seemed to have run through many and -sudden vicissitudes. She had allowed Ulick Shannon to play with it -too.... But his language had been so sweet when he had praised her in -the silent woods.... And in the lonely cottage in Donegal, where he -had gone to see her after Christmas, there had been abiding joy, while -outside the night swept wild and dark upon the cold, gray sea.... Here -there came sudden qualms as to whether she had helped to ruin him by -taking him away from preparation for his final exam. But there was such -an urge of dear remembrance upon her that her mind sprang quickly back -again to all the thoughts they had had between them then.... Back into -her mind too were thronging the exact words he had used upon that night -they had spent together in the cottage.</p> - -<p>And by the side of all this, was it not queer that he came so seldom to -see her now although he lived distant from her by only a few fields? -Even when he came their partings were so abrupt, after a little period -of strained conversation, when he always went with a slight excuse in -his mouth to Garradrimna. Yet all the time she longed for his presence -by her side with an even greater longing than that she had experienced -in Donegal.... It was also painfully notable how he gave shifty answers -to her every question. And had she not a good right to be asking him -questions now?... And surely he must guess by this time.</p> - -<p>She threw her head back upon the pillow once more, and once more she -was weeping. She thought, through the mist of her tears, of how she -had so bitterly wept upon the first evening of her coming to this -room. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> on that evening also she had prayed, and she could not pray -now. Nor could she sleep. She remained there upon the bed, inert in -every sense save for her empty stare up at the discolored ceiling. It -was broken only by the queer smile she would take to herself ever and -again.... At last she began to count upon her fingers. She was simply -counting the number of times she had seen Ulick since his return to his -uncle's house.</p> - -<p>"Oh, dear, dear, and what have I done to him?" she muttered -incessantly, biting her lips occasionally between her words as if in a -very ecstasy of desire for the pain he was causing her.... There came -moments, winged and clean like shining angels, to bring her comfort, -when she wildly fancied it was the very loveliest thing to endure great -pain for his sake.</p> - -<p>But the powers of her mind for any wild gladness were being gradually -annihilated by dark thoughts coming down to defeat her thoughts of -beauty. She turned from contemplation of the ceiling and began to -glance around the room in search of some distraction. In one corner -she saw an old novelette thrown aside in its gaudy covers. The reading -of rubbish was Mrs. McGoldrick's recreation when she was not sewing or -nursing the baby.</p> - -<p>She had called the girls after heroines of passionate love-stories, -just as her husband, the sergeant, had seen that the boys were called -after famous men in the world of the police. Thus the girls bore names -like Euphemia McGoldrick and Clementina McGoldrick, while the boys bore -names like John Ross McGoldrick and Neville Chamberlain McGoldrick. -The girls, although they were ugly and ill-mannered, had already been -invested with the golden lure of Romance, and the boys were already<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> -policemen although they were still far distant from the age when they -could put on a belt or a baton.</p> - -<p>Rebecca began to snatch at paragraphs here and there through the story, -which was entitled <i>The Desecration of the Hearth</i>. There was one -passage which seemed to hold an unaccountable fascination as her eyes -lingered over it:</p> - -<blockquote><p>"<i>Then suddenly, and without a minute's warning, Lord Archibald -Molyneux dashed the poor, ruined girl from him, and soon she was -struggling for life in the swirling stream.</i></p> - -<p>"<i>'Ah-a-ha!' he said once more, hissing out his every word -between his thin, cruel lips. 'That will may be put an end to -your scandalous allegations against a scion of the noble house of -Molyneux.'</i></p> - -<p>"<i>'Mercy! Pity! Oh, God! The Child!' she wailed piteously as she -felt herself being caught in the maelstrom of the current.</i></p> - -<p>"<i>But Lord Archibald Molyneux merely twirled his dark, handsome -mustache with his white hands, after the fashion that was peculiar -to him, and waited until his unfortunate victim had disappeared -completely beneath the surface of the water.</i>"</p></blockquote> - -<p>Rebecca's eyes had closed over the passage, and she was dozing now, -but only fitfully.... To occupy small instants would come the most -terrifying dreams in long waves of horror which would seem to take -great spaces of time for their final passage from her mind. Then there -would flow in a brief space of respite, but only as a prelude to the -dread recurrence of her dreams again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> And all jumbled together, bits -of wild reality which were and were not parts of her experience would -cause her to start up ever and anon.</p> - -<p>There fell a knock upon the door, and a little girl came in with some -tea-things on a tray. She called: "Miss Kerr, your tea!" and when -Rebecca woke up with a terrible start it appeared as if she had not -slumbered at all.</p> - -<p>"Oh, is that yourself, Euphemia? I declare to goodness the dusk is -falling outside. I must have been sleeping."</p> - -<p>"Yes, miss!"</p> - -<p>"You are late in coming this evening?"</p> - -<p>"Well, wait till I tell you, miss. I went into the village for some -things for my mother, and what d'ye think but when I was coming home I -thought I saw a strange man just outside the ditch opposite the door, -and I was afraid for to pass, so I was."</p> - -<p>"A strange man! Is that a fact?"</p> - -<p>"Well, sure then I thought, miss, it might be Ulick Shannon, but I may -tell you I got the surprise of my life when I found it was only John -Brennan, and he standing there alone by himself looking up at your -window."</p> - -<p>Long before she had got through it, with many lisps and lapses, Rebecca -was wearied by the triteness of the little one's statement, so well -copied was it from the model of her mother's gossipy communication of -the simplest fact.</p> - -<p>But what could John Brennan be doing there so near her again? This was -the thought that held Rebecca as she went on with an attempt to take her tea.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> - -<p>John Brennan came down the valley. The trees by the roadside were -being shaken heavily by soft winds. Yet, for all the kindness of May -that lingered about it, there seemed to be some shadow hanging over -the evening. No look of peace or pity had struggled into the squinting -windows.... Would the valley ever again put on the smile it had worn -last summer? That time it had been so dearly magnified. At leaving it -there had been such a crush of feeling in his breast.</p> - -<p>He seemed to see it more clearly now. There was something that hurt him -in the thought of how he was preparing for a genteel kind of life while -his father remained a common sponger around the seven publichouses of -Garradrimna, asking people to stand him drinks for the love of God like -Anthony Shaughness. He could not forget that the valley had wrought -this destruction upon Ned Brennan, and that Ned Brennan was his father.</p> - -<p>This thought arose out of a definite cause. At the college in -Ballinamult he had made the acquaintance of Father George Considine, -who had already begun to exercise an influence over him. This priest -was a simple, holy man, who had devoted his life usefully, remaining -far away from the ways of pride. Although gombeen-men like Tommy -Williams had some influence with those who controlled the college, they -had no influence over him. He was in curious contrast to the system<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> -which tied him to this place. It was impossible to think that his -ordination had represented a triumph to any one at all, yet he had been -far ahead of his contemporaries and while yet a young man had been made -principal of this college in Ballinamult. His name had gone out into -the world. The satisfaction that had been denied to Master Donnellan -was his. He had had a hand in the education of men whose names were -now notable in many a walk of life. And yet, to see him moving about -the grounds of the college in his faded coat with the frayed sleeves -and shiny collar, no man would think that his name, the name of "poor -Father Considine," was spoken with respect in distant places.</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Brennan did not approve of him. On the evening of John's first -day in Ballinamult, after she had made every other possible inquiry she -said:</p> - -<p>"And did you meet Father Considine?"</p> - -<p>"I did indeed, mother; a nice man!"</p> - -<p>"Ah, a quare ould oddity! Wouldn't you think now that he'd have a -little pride in himself and dress a bit better, and he such a very -learned man?"</p> - -<p>"Maybe that's just the reason why he's not proud. The saints were not -proud, mother; then why should he be?"</p> - -<p>She always gave a deaf ear to any word of this kind from John, for -her ideal was Father O'Keeffe, with his patent leather top-boots, -silver-mounted whip and silk hat, riding to hounds with the Cromwellian -descendants of the district.... Here was where Father Considine stood -out in sharp contrast, for he was in spiritual descent from those -priests who had died with the people in the Penal Days. It was men -like him who had carried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> down the grandeur of Faith and Idealism from -generation to generation. One felt that life was a small thing to him -beyond the chance it gave to make it beautiful. He had written a little -book of poems in honor of Mary, the Mother of God, and to feel that it -had brought some comfort to many a troubled one and to know that he had -been the means of shaping young men's lives towards useful ends was all -that this world meant to him.</p> - -<p>John Brennan knew very well that if he became a priest it was in the -steps of Father Considine he would follow rather than in those of -Father O'Keeffe. This he felt must mean the frustration of half his -mother's grand desire, but, inevitable, it must be so, for it was the -way his meditative mind would lead him. Thus was he troubled again.</p> - -<p>Father Considine had spoken to him of Father O'Keeffe:</p> - -<p>"A touch of the farmer about that man don't you think? But maybe a -worthy man for all that!"</p> - -<p>Then he had looked long into the young man's eyes and said:</p> - -<p>"Be humble, my son, be humble, so that great things may be done unto -you!"</p> - -<p>John had pondered these words as he cycled home that evening past the -rich fields. He began to think how his friend Ulick would have put all -his thoughts so clearly. How he would have spoken of the rank green -grass now rising high over County Meath as a growth that had sprung -from the graves of men's rotted souls; of all the hate and pride that -had come out of their hunger for the luscious land; of how Faith and -Love and Beauty had gone forever from this golden vale to the wild -places<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> of his country, where there was a letting-in of wind and sun -and sea.... It was easy to connect Father O'Keeffe's pride with the -land. Remembrance of the man's appearance was sufficient. It was not so -easy in the case of his mother. But, of course, John had no knowledge -of how she had set her heart upon Henry Shannon's lovely farm in the -days gone by.</p> - -<p>Hitherto his thoughts of his future condition had been bound up with -consideration of his mother, but now there had come this realization -of his father. It was not without its sadness to think that his father -had been a stranger to him always and that he should now behold him -stumbling down to old age amid the degradation of Garradrimna. He felt -curiously desirous of doing something for him. But the heavy constraint -between them still existed as always. He was unequal to the task of -plucking up courage to speak to him. This evening, too, as he tried, -after his accustomed fashion, in a vacant moment to catch a glimpse of -his own future, he acutely felt the impossibility of seeing himself -as a monument of pride.... Always there would arise before his mind a -broken column in the middle of the valley.</p> - -<p>And he was lonely. He had not seen Ulick Shannon or Rebecca since he -had begun to cycle daily to Ballinamult. Often, in some of the vacant -stretches of thought which came to him as he hurried along, he pictured -the two of them meeting during some of those long, sweet evenings and -being kind to one another. Despite sudden flashes of a different regard -that would come sweeping his thoughts of all kinds, he loved these -two and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> was glad that they were fond of one another. It now seemed -surprising that he had ever thought so deeply of Rebecca Kerr, and -wished to meet her upon the road and look longingly into her eyes. All -this while going on to be a priest seemed far from him now that he had -begun to be influenced by Father Considine.</p> - -<p>He had to pass the house of Sergeant McGoldrick by the way he was -going, and it seemed an action altogether outside him that he had -gone into an adjacent field and gazed for quite a long time up at -her window.... He was all confusion when he noticed the child of the -McGoldricks observing him.... He drifted away, his cheeks hot and a -little sense of shame dimming his eyes.... He took to the road again -and at once saw Ulick Shannon coming towards him. The old, insinuating -smile which had so often been used upon his weak points, was spread -over the face of his friend.</p> - -<p>"And at last you have succeeded in coming to see her thus far?"</p> - -<p>The words seemed to fall out of Ulick's oblique smile.</p> - -<p>"She?" he said in surprise.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I thought it was that you had intentions of becoming my rival!"</p> - -<p>John laughed now, for this was the old Ulick come back again. He went -on laughing as if at a good joke, and the two students went together -down the road.</p> - -<p>"Don't let me delay you!" John said abruptly.</p> - -<p>"Oh, you're not preventing me in any way at all."</p> - -<p>"But Rebecca?"</p> - -<p>"Even the austerities of Ballinamult have not made you forget Rebecca?"</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Hardly—I shouldn't like to think that I had been the cause of keeping -you from her even for a short while."</p> - -<p>There came between them now one of those long spells of silence which -seemed essential parts of their friendship.</p> - -<p>"You're in a queer mood this evening?" John said at last.</p> - -<p>"I suppose I am, and that there's no use in trying to hide it.... -D'ye know what it is, Brennan? We two seem to have changed a great -deal since last summer. <i>I</i> simply can't look at things in the same -light-hearted way. I suppose I went too far, and that I must be paying -for it now. But there are just a few things I have done for which I am -sorry—I'm sorry about this affair with Rebecca Kerr."</p> - -<p>John was listening with quiet attention to the remarks which Ulick was -letting fall from him disjointedly.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry that I should ever have come here to meet her, -for somehow it has brought me to this state of mind and not to any -happiness at all. I'm doubtful, too, if it has brought any happiness to -her."</p> - -<p>"That's strange," said John, "and I thought you two were very happy in -your friendship."</p> - -<p>"Happiness!" jerked out the other in a full, strong sneer. "That's -a funny word now, and a funny thing. Do you think that we deserve -happiness any more than those we see working around us in the valley? -Not at all! Rather less do we deserve. Just think of them giving their -blood and sweat so crudely in mortal combat with the fields! And what -does it avail them in the end? What do they get out of it but the -satisfaction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> of a few unkind thoughts and a few low lies? In the mean -living of their own lives they represent futile expeditions in quest -of joy. Yet what brings the greatest joy it is possible for them to -experience? Why, the fact that another's hope of happiness has been -finally desolated. If any great disaster should suddenly come upon one -or other of the three of us, upon you or me or Rebecca Kerr, they would -see more glory in the fulfilment of their spite than in the harvest -promise of their fields. And yet I here assert that these deserve to -be happy. They labor in the hard way it was ordained that man should -labor at Adam's fall, and they attend to their religion. They pray for -happiness, and this is the happiness that comes to them. Some must be -defeated and driven down from the hills of their dreams so that the -other ones, the deserving and the pious, may be given material for -their reward of joy. That, Brennan, is the only happiness that ever -descends upon the people of the valley. It may be said that they get -their reward in this life."</p> - -<p>Ulick was in one of those moods of eloquence which always came to him -after a visit to Garradrimna, and when a very torrent of words might -be expected to pour forth from him. John Brennan merely lifted his -eyebrows in mild surprise and said nothing as the other went on:</p> - -<p>"Happiness indeed. What have I ever done to deserve happiness? I have -not worked like a horse, I have not prayed?"</p> - -<p>"I was not thinking of any broad generalizations of happiness. I was -only thinking of happiness in your relation to Rebecca Kerr."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> - -<p>Ulick now gave a sudden turn to the conversation:</p> - -<p>"Where were you wandering to the night?" he inquired of John Brennan.</p> - -<p>"Oh, nowhere in particular—just down the road."</p> - -<p>"Well, it seems strange that you should have come this way, past the -house of Sergeant McGoldrick."</p> - -<p>It appeared as if Ulick had glimpsed the tender spot upon which John -Brennan's thoughts were working and struck it with the sharp point of -his words. John did not reply, but it could be seen that his cheeks -were blushing even in the gloom that had come towards them down the -road.</p> - -<p>"I hope you will be very kind to her, John, when I am gone from here. -She's very nice, and this is the drear, lonely place for her to be. I -expect to be going away pretty soon."</p> - -<p>It seemed extraordinary that this thing should be happening now.... He -began to remember how he had longed for Rebecca last summer, and how -his poor yearning had been reduced to nothing by the favor with which -she looked upon his friend. And later how he had turned away out of the -full goodness of his own heart and returned again through power of a -fateful accident to his early purpose. And now how the good influence -of Father Considine had just come into his life to lead him finally -into the way for which he had been intended by his mother from the -beginning.</p> - -<p>He did not yet fully realize that this quiet and casual meeting which -had been effected because Ulick Shannon had accidentally come around -this way from Garradrimna represented the little moment which stood for -the turning-point of his life. But it had certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> moved into being -along definite lines of dramatic significance.</p> - -<p>Presently Ulick mounted a stile which gave upon a path leading up -through the fields of his uncle Myles and to the lonely house among the -trees. Then it was true that he was not seeing Rebecca to-night.... A -great gladness seemed to have rushed in upon John Brennan because he -had become aware of this thing. And further, Ulick Shannon was going -away from the valley and Rebecca remaining here to be lonely. But he, -who had once so dearly longed for her company, would be coming and -going from the valley daily, and summer was upon them again.... Ulick -must have bade him a "Good-night!" that he had not heard, for already -he could see him disappearing into the sea of white mist which would -seem to have rolled into the valley from the eternity of the silent -places.... He was left here now upon this lonely, quiet shore while his -mind had turned into a tumbling sea.</p> - -<p>When at last he roused himself and went into the kitchen he saw that -his mother had already settled herself to the task of reading a -religious paper to his father.... The elder man was sitting there so -woebegone by the few wet sods that were the fire. He was not very drunk -this evening, and the usual wild glint in his eyes was replaced by -the look of one who is having thoughts of final dissolution.... John -experienced a little shudder with the thought that he did not possess -any desire to speak to his father now.</p> - -<p>But his mother had broken in with a question:</p> - -<p>"Was that Ulick Shannon was with you outside just now?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, mother, it was."</p> - -<p>"He went home very early, didn't he?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose it is rather early for him to go home."</p> - -<p>"I think 'tis very seldom he bees with Rebecca Kerr now, whatever's the -reason, <i>whatever's the reason</i>."</p> - -<p>It was her repetition and emphasis of the final words which brought -about the outburst.</p> - -<p>Ned Brennan suddenly flamed up and snarled out:</p> - -<p>"Look ye here, Nan Byrne, that's no kind of talk to be giving out to -your grand, fine, educated young fellow of a son, and he be going on to -be a priest. That's the quare, suggestive kind of talk. But sure 'tis -very like you, Nan Byrne. 'Tis very like you!"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan had just been on the point of beginning to read the -religious paper, and, with the thought of all her reading surging in -upon her in one crushing moment, she felt the cutting rebuff most -keenly and showed her confusion. She made no reply as John went up to -the room where his books were.... Long after, as he tried to recall -forgotten, peaceful thoughts, he could hear his father speaking out of -the heat of anger in the kitchen below.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> - -<p>After she had failed to take her tea Rebecca walked the valley road -many times, passing and repassing their usual meeting place. But no -sign of Ulick did she find. She peered longingly into the sea of white -fog, but he did not come.... What in the world was happening to him at -all? Never before had he missed this night of the week.... She did not -care to return so early, for she feared that Mrs. McGoldrick might come -with that awful look of scrutiny she detested. Just to pass the time -she wandered down The Road of the Dead towards the lake. To-night it -seemed so lonely set there amid the sea of white.</p> - -<p>It was strange to think that this place could ever have had a fair look -about it or given pleasure to any person at all. Yet it was here that -John Brennan had loved to walk and dream. She wondered how it was with -him now. She began to think of the liking he had shown for her. Maybe -he fancied she did not know why he happened to meet her so often upon -the road. But well did she know—well. And to think that he had come to -look up at her window this evening.</p> - -<p>Yet even now she was fearful of acknowledging these things to herself. -It appeared as a double sacrilege. It was an attack upon her love for -Ulick and it questioned the noble intention of Mrs. Brennan in devoting -her son to God. But all chance that it might ever come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> to anything -was now over. The ending had been effected by herself in the parlor of -Tommy Williams, the gombeen-man, and Mrs. Brennan might never be able -to guess the hand she had had in it. It was a thing upon which she -might well pride herself if there grew in her the roots of pride. But -she was not of that sort. And now she was in no frame of delight at all -for the thought of him had united her unto the thought of Ulick, and -Ulick had not come to her this evening.... She felt herself growing -cold in the enveloping mist. The fir trees were like tall ghosts in -the surrounding gloom.... But immediately the lake had lost its aspect -of terror when she remembered what she had done might have averted the -possibility of having John Brennan ever again to wander lonely.... And -yes, in spite of any comforting thought, the place would continue to -fill her with a nameless dread. She was shivering and expectant.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a big pike made a splash among the reeds and Rebecca gave a -loud, wild cry. It rang all down the lonely aisle of the fir-trees and -united its sound with that of a lone bird crying on the other side of -the lake. Then it died upon the banks of mist up against the silent -hills.</p> - -<p>For a few moments its source seemed to flutter and bubble within her -breast, and then it ended in a long, sobbing question to herself—Why -had she cried out at all? She might have known it was only a fish or -some such harmless thing. And any one within reasonable distance could -have heard the cry and thought it was the signal of some terrible thing -that had happened here by the lakeside. It was not so far distant from -two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> roads, and who knew but some one had heard? Yet she could hardly -fancy herself behaving in this way if she had not possessed an idea -that it was a lonely place and seldom that any one went by in the -night-time.</p> - -<p>But she hurried away from the feeling of terror she had caused to -fill the place and back towards the house of Sergeant McGoldrick. As -quickly as possible she got to bed. Here seemed a little comfort. She -remembered how this had been her place of refuge as a child, how she -felt safe from all ghosts and goblins once her head was hidden beneath -the clothes. And the instinct had survived into womanhood.</p> - -<p>Again a series of those fitful, half sleeping and waking conditions -began to pass over her. Side by side with the most dreadful feelings of -impending doom came thronging memories of glad phases of life through -which she had passed.... And to think that this life of hers was now -narrowing towards this end. Were the valley and its people to behold -her final disaster? Was it to be that way with her?</p> - -<p>She had intended to tell Ulick if he had come to her this evening, -but he had not come, and what was she to do now? In the slough of -her torment she could not think of the right thing.... Maybe if she -wrote an angry letter upbraiding him.... But how could she write an -angry letter to him? Yet she must let him know, and immediately—when -the dawn had broken into the room she would write. For there was no -use in thinking of sleeping. She could not sleep. Yes, when the dawn -had broken into the room she would write surely. But not an angry -letter.... Very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> slowly she began to notice the corners of the room -appearing in the new light before her wide open eyes. And to feel that -this was the place she had so fiercely hated from the first moment -of setting foot in it, and that it was now about to see her write -the acknowledgment of her shame.... The dawn was a great while in -breaking.... If he did not—well then, what could her future life hope -to be? She began to grow strangely dizzy as she fell to thinking of it. -Dizzy and fearful as she drew near in mind to that very great abyss.</p> - -<p>The leaping-up of the day did not fill her with any of its gradual -delight.... She rose with a weariness numbing her limbs. The putting-on -of her few clothes was an immense task.... She went to the table upon -which she had written all those letters to her school-companions which -described that "there was nothing like a girlfriend." She pulled -towards her, with a small, trembling hand, the box of <i>Ancient Irish -Vellum</i>, upon which her special letters were always written. Her mind -had focussed itself to such small compass that this letter seemed more -important than any that had ever before been written in this world.</p> - -<p>But for a long time she could not begin. She did not know by what term -of endearment to address him now.... They had been so particularly -intimate.... And then it was so hard to describe her condition to -him in poor words of writing with pen and ink upon paper. If only -he had come to her last night it might have been a task of far less -difficulty. A few sobs, a gathering of her little troubled body unto -him, and a beseeching look up into his face.... But it was so hard to -put any single feeling into any separate sentence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> - -<p>After hours, during which the sun had been mounting high and bright, -she had the letter finished at last and was reading it over. Some -sentences like the following leaped out before her eyes here within -this sickly-looking room—Whatever was the matter with him that he -could not come to her? Surely he was not so blind, and he with his -medical knowledge. He must know what was the matter with her, and that -this was scarcely the time to be leaving her alone. His uncle, Myles -Shannon, was a very rich man, and did he not remember how often he had -told her how his uncle looked with favor upon her? Here she included -the very words in which Ulick had many a time described his uncle's -opinion of her—"I like that little schoolmistress, Rebecca Kerr!" "It -was all so grand, Ulick, our love and meetings; but here comes the -paying of the penalty, and surely you will not leave poor little me -to pay it in full. You have enjoyed me, have you not, Ulick?" She was -more immediately personal now, and this was exactly how the sentences -continued: "You know very well what this will mean to me. I'll have -to go away from here, and where, I ask you, can I go? Not back to my -father's house surely, nor to my aunt's little cottage in Donegal.... -I have no money. The poor salary I earn here is barely able to buy me -a little food and clothing and keep a roof over my head. Did I not -often tell you that when you were away from me there were times when -I could hardly afford the price of stamps? If it should happen that -this thing become public while I am yet here I could never get another -day's teaching, for Father O'Keeffe would warn every manager in Ireland -against engaging me. But surely, darling, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> will not allow things to -go so far.... You will please come down to see me at 5.30 this evening. -You will find me at the old place upon The Road of the Dead. Don't you -remember that it was there we had our first talk, Ulick?"</p> - -<p>Great as the torture of writing it had been, the torture of reading -it was still greater. Some of the lines seemed to lash out and strike -her and to fill her eyes with tears, and there were some that seemed -so hard upon him that she struck them out, not wishing, as ever, -to hurt her dearest Ulick at all. At one moment she felt a curious -desire to tear it into pieces and let her fate come to her as it had -been ordained from the beginning.... But there was little Euphemia -McGoldrick knocking at the door to be allowed to enter with the -breakfast. Who would ever imagine that it was so late?</p> - -<p>She had written a great deal. Why it filled pages and pages. She -hurriedly thrust it into a large envelope that she had bought for the -purpose of sending a card of greeting to John Brennan at Christmas, -thinking better of it only at the last moment. It was useful now, for -the many sheets were bulky.</p> - -<p>"The breakfast, miss!" announced Euphemia as she left the room.</p> - -<p>This was the third meal in twenty-four hours that Rebecca could make -no attempt to take, but, to avert suspicion, she wrapped up the sliced -and buttered bread in a few leaves from the novelette from which she -had read those desperate passages on the previous evening. The tea she -threw out into the garden. It fell in a shining shower down over the -bright green vegetables.... She put on her dust-coat and, stuffing the -letter to Ulick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> into one pocket and her uneaten breakfast by way of a -luncheon she would not eat into the other, hurried out of doors and up -the road, for this morning she had important business in the village -before going on to the school.</p> - -<p>Mrs. McGoldrick was set near the foot of the stairs holding Euphemia -and Clementina by the hand, all three in action there to behold the -exit of Rebecca. This was a morning custom and something in the nature -of a rite. It was the last clout of torture always inflicted by Mrs. -McGoldrick.</p> - -<p>Rebecca went on into Garradrimna. The village street was deserted save -by Thomas James, who held solitary occupation. He was posting the -bills for a circus at the market square. She was excited as she went -over to speak to him and did not notice the eyes of the bespectacled -postmistress that were trained upon her from the office window with the -relentlessness of howitzers. She asked Thomas James would he take a -letter from her to Mr. Ulick Shannon.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, miss; O Lord, yes!"</p> - -<p>She slipped the letter into his hand when she thought that no one was -looking. She had adopted this mode of caution in preference to sending -it through the Post Office. She was evidently anxious that it should be -delivered quickly and unread by any other person.</p> - -<p>"O Lord, yes, miss; just as soon as I have an auction bill posted after -this. You know, miss, that Mickeen Connellan, the auctioneer, is one of -my best patrons. He doesn't pay as well as the circus people, but he -pays oftener."</p> - -<p>That was in the nature of a very broad hint, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> Rebecca had -anticipated it and had the shilling already prepared and ready to slip -into his other hand.</p> - -<p>"Thanks, miss!"</p> - -<p>With remarkable alacrity Thomas James had "downed tools" and -disappeared into Brannagan's. Rebecca could hear the swish of his pint -as she went by the door after having remained a few moments looking -at the lurid circus-bills. Inside, Mrs. Brannagan, the publican and -victualler's wife, took notice that he possessed the air of a man bent -upon business.</p> - -<p>"Ah, it's how I'm going to do a little message for the assistant -schoolmistress," he said, taking his matutinal pinch of salt, for this -was his first pint and one could never tell what might happen.</p> - -<p>"Is that so?"</p> - -<p>"Aye, indeed; a letter to young Shannon."</p> - -<p>"Well now? And why for wouldn't it do to send it by the post?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, mebbe that way wouldn't be grand enough for her. Mebbe it is what -it would be too chape—a penny, you know, for the stamp, and this -costs a shilling for the porter. Give us another volume of this, Mrs. -Brannagan, if you please? Ha-ha-ha!" He laughed loudly, but without any -mirth, at his own joke and the peculiar blend of subtlety by which he -had marked it.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brannagan was all anxiety and excitement about the letter.</p> - -<p>"Well now, just imagine!" she said to herself about forty times as she -filled the second pint for Thomas James. Then she rose up from her bent -posture at the half barrel and, placing the drink before him on the -bar, said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I wonder what would be in that letter. Let me see?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, 'tis only a letter in a big envelope. Aren't you the inquisitive -woman now, Mrs. Brannagan?"</p> - -<p>"What'll you have, Thomas?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, another pint, Mrs. Brannagan, thanks!"</p> - -<p>His second drink had been despatched with his own celebrated speed.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brannagan was a notably hard woman, and he could not let the -opportunity of having her stand him a drink go by. She was the hardest -woman in Garradrimna. Her childlessness had made her so. She was -beginning to grow stale and withered, and anything in the nature of -love and marriage, with their possible results, was to her a constant -source of affliction and annoyance.</p> - -<p>Her heart was now bounding within her breast in curiosity.</p> - -<p>"Drink that quick, Thomas, and have another before the boss comes -down." But there was no need to command him. It had already -disappeared.... The fourth pint had found its way to his lips. He was -beginning to grow mellow now and to lose his cross-sickness of the -morning.</p> - -<p>"Will ye let me see the letter?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly, Mrs. Brannagan. O Lord, yes!"</p> - -<p>He handed it across the counter.</p> - -<p>"Such a quare letter? Oh, I hear the boss coming in across the yard." -... She had taken the empty glass from before Thomas James, and again -was it filled.... Her husband stood before her. And this was the moment -she had worked up to so well.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I'll hand it back to you when he goes out," she whispered.</p> - -<p>"All right, ma'am!"</p> - -<p>Thomas James and Mr. Brannagan fell into a chat while she went towards -the kitchen. She took the letter from her flat bosom, where she had -hastily thrust it and looked at it from every possible angle. It seemed -to possess a compelling attraction. But she could not open it here. -She would run across to her friend the postmistress, who had every -appliance for an operation of the kind. Besides she was the person -who had first right to open it.... Soon the bespectacled maid and the -barren woman were deep in examination of Rebecca Kerr's letter to Ulick -Shannon. Into their minds was beginning to leap a terrible joy as they -read the lines it had cost Rebecca immense torture to write.</p> - -<p>"This is great, this is great!" said the ancient postmistress, clicking -her tongue continually in satisfaction. "The cheek of her, mind you, -not to send it by the public post like another. But I knew well there -was something quare when I saw her calloguing with Thomas James at the -market square."</p> - -<p>"Wasn't she the sly, hateful, little thing. Why you'd never have -thought it of her?"</p> - -<p>"A grand person indeed to have in charge of little, innocent girls!"</p> - -<p>"Indeed I shouldn't like to have a child if I thought it was to a purty -thing like that she'd be sent to school!"</p> - -<p>"Nor me," said the old lady, from whom the promise of motherhood had -departed for many a long year.</p> - -<p>They shook in righteous anger and strong detestation of the sin of -Rebecca Kerr, and together they held<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> council as to what might be the -best thing to do? They closed the letter, and Mrs. Brannagan again -stuck it into her bosom.... What should they do? The children must -be saved from contamination anyhow.... An approach to solution of -the difficulty immediately presented itself, for there was Mrs. Wyse -herself just passing down the street with her ass-load of children. -Mrs. Brannagan rushed out of the office and called:</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Wyse, I want to see you in private for just a minute!"</p> - -<p>The schoolmistress bent over the back of the trap, and they whispered -for several minutes. At last, out of her shocked condition, Mrs. Wyse -was driven to exclaim:</p> - -<p>"Well now, isn't that the limit?"</p> - -<p>It seemed an affront to her authority that another should have first -discovered it, so she was anxious to immediately recover her lost -position of superiority.</p> - -<p>"Sure I was having my suspicions of her since ever she come back from -the Christmas holidays, and even Monica McKeon too, although she's -a single girl and not supposed to know. It's a terrible case, Mrs. -Brannagan."</p> - -<p>"Terrible, Mrs. Wyse. One of the terriblest ever happened in the -valley.... And before the children and all."</p> - -<p>"God bless and save us! But we must only leave it in Father O'Keeffe's -hands. He'll know what is best to do, never fear. I'll send for him as -soon as I get to the school."</p> - -<p>There was a note of mournful resignation in her tones as she moved away -in the ass-trap with her children, like an old hen in the midst of her -brood.... There was a peculiar smirk of satisfaction about the lips -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> Mrs. Brannagan as she returned to the shop, bent upon sending the -letter on its way once more.</p> - -<p>"Much good it'll do her now, the dirty little fool!" she said in the -happiness of some dumb feeling of vengeance against one who was merely -a woman like herself. But she was a woman who had never had a child.</p> - -<p>Thomas James was considerably drunk. He had spent the remainder of the -shilling upon porter, and Mr. Brannagan had stood him another pint.</p> - -<p>"Be sure and deliver it safely now, <i>for maybe it's important</i>!" said -Mrs. Brannagan, as she returned the letter.</p> - -<p>"It's a great letter anyhow. It's after getting me nine pints. That's -long over half-a-crown's worth of drink," he said, laughing foolishly -as he wandered out to do his errand.</p> - -<p>It was a hard journey across the rising meadows to the house of Myles -Shannon, where dwelt his nephew Ulick. Thomas James fell many times and -wallowed in the tall, green grass, and he fell as he went leaping high -hedges, and cut his hands and tore his red face with briars until it -was streaked with blood. He was, therefore, an altogether deplorable -figure when he at last presented himself at the house of Myles Shannon. -Mr. Shannon came to the door to meet him, and in his fuddled condition -he laughed to himself as he fished the letter out of his pocket. It was -covered red with blood where he had felt it with his torn hand from -time to time to see whether or not he still retained possession of it.</p> - -<p>"From Mr. Brannagan, I suppose," said Mr. Shannon, thinking it had been -written hurriedly by the victualler just fresh from the slaughterhouse -and that it was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> request for prime beef or mutton from the rich -fields of Scarden. He opened it, for his nephew's name on the envelope -could not be seen through the blood-stains. He did not notice that it -began "My dearest Ulick" until he read down to the sentences that gave -him pause.... Thomas James was coughing insinuatingly beside him, so -he took half-a-crown from his pocket and handed it to the bedraggled -messenger. It was a tremendous reward, and the man of porter did not -fully perceive it until he had slipped out into the sunlight.</p> - -<p>"Be the Holy Farmer!" he stuttered, "another half-crown's worth of -drink, and I after drinking long more than that already. That was the -best letter I ever got to carry in me life. A few more like it and -I'd either get me death of drink or be a millionaire like John D. -Rockefeller or Andrew Carnegie!"</p> - -<p>Inside the parlor Myles Shannon was reading Rebecca Kerr's letter with -blanched face.... Here was a terrible thing; here had come to him this -great trouble for the second time. Something the like of this had -happened twenty-five or six years ago, when his brother had been in the -same case with Nan Byrne. Curious how it should be repeating itself -now! He pondered it for a few moments in its hereditary aspect. But -there was more in it than that. There was the trace of his own hand -determining it. He had encouraged his nephew with this girl. He had -directed him into many reckless ways just that he might bring sorrow to -the heart of Nan Byrne in the destruction of her son. It was a wicked -thing for him to have done. His own nephew—just to satisfy his desire -for revenge. And at the bottom of things he loved his nephew even as he -had loved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> his brother Henry. But he would try to save him the results, -the pains and penalties of his infatuation, even as he had tried -to save his brother Henry the results of his. But the girl and her -fate.... He would not be able to forget that until his dying day.... -For it was he who had done this thing entirely, done it in cold blood -too because he had heard that John Brennan had soft eyes for Rebecca -Kerr and that, to encourage his nephew and produce a certain rivalry, -might be the very best means of ruining the fair promise of Nan Byrne's -son.</p> - -<p>Only last night he had heard from Ulick that John Brennan had entered -the college at Ballinamult and that his prospects never looked so good -as at present.... To think of that now was to see how just it was that -his scheme should have so resulted, for it had been constructed upon a -very terrible plan. He had done it to avenge his defeated love for one -girl, and lo! it had brought another to her ruin.</p> - -<p>"Your uncle is a wealthy man." This sentence from the letter burned -before him, and he thought for a moment that here appeared the full -solution of the difficulty. But no. Of what use was that when the -dread thing was about to happen to her?... But for all that he would -send her money to-day or to-morrow, in some quiet way, and tell her -the truth and beseech her to go away before the final disgrace of -discovery fell upon her. His nephew must not know. He was too young -to marry now, least of all, a compulsory marriage after this fashion -to a schoolmistress. It was an ascent in the social standing of the -girl surely, for his brother Henry had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> disgraced himself with a mere -dressmaker. But any connection beyond the regrettable and painful -mistake of the whole thing was out of the question because, for long -years, the Shannons had been almost gentlemen in the valley.</p> - -<p>Ulick came into the room now.</p> - -<p>"Anything strange, uncle?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, nothing at all, only a letter from Mr. Brannagan about—about the -sheep. I suppose you're not going anywhere to-day. Please don't, for -I want you to give me a hand with the lambs after the shearing. And -to-night I'll want you to help me with some letters and accounts that -I've let slip for ever so long. I want you particularly."</p> - -<p>"All right, uncle!"</p> - -<p>How tractable and obliging his nephew had become ...! Last summer he -would not do a thing like this for any amount of coaxing. He would have -business in the valley at all times. But there was a far Power that -adjusted matters beyond the plans of men. Ulick had drifted out of the -room and Mr. Shannon again took the letter from his pocket. The sight -of the blood upon it still further helped the color of his thoughts -towards terror.... He crossed hurriedly to the bureau and slipped it -beneath the elastic band which held his letters from Helena Cooper, and -Mrs. Brennan's letter to her, and Mrs. Brennan's letter to his dead -brother Henry.... It seemed to belong there by right of the sad quality -which is the distinction of all shattered dreams.... And, just imagine, -he had considered his a wonderful scheme of revenge! But now it seemed -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> poor and a mean thing. He could hardly think of it as a part of the -once proud, easy-going Myles Shannon, but rather the bitter and ugly -result of some devilish prompting that had come to him here in the lone -stretches of his life in this quiet house among the trees.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> - -<p>More than ever on this morning was Rebecca aware that the keen eye -of Mrs. Wyse was upon her as she moved about the schoolroom. One of -the bigger girls was despatched to the other school for Monica McKeon -and Master Donnellan's assistant came in to Mrs. Wyse. She nodded the -customary greeting to Rebecca as she passed in. This interview was -unusual at such an early hour of the day. But it was never the custom -of either of them to tell her of what they were talking. As she busied -herself teaching the very smallest of the children she felt that the -eyes of both women were upon her.</p> - -<p>After what appeared to be a very long time Monica passed out. On this -second occasion she looked loftily across her glasses and gave no nod -of acknowledgment to Rebecca. Rebecca blushed at this open affront. She -felt that Mrs. Wyse must have something against her, something she had -told Monica just now.... And now the principal was exceedingly busy -with her pen as if writing a hurried note.... Rebecca heard the high, -coarse voice raised in command:</p> - -<p>"Euphemia McGoldrick, I want you!"</p> - -<p>Then came the timid "Yes, ma'am!" of Euphemia.</p> - -<p>"Here are two letters, child. Take this one to Father O'Keeffe, your -parish priest, and this to your mother, like a good child."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes'm!"</p> - -<p>Some fear of unknown things began to stir in the breast of Rebecca. -This connection of Mrs. McGoldrick with Mrs. Wyse's occupation of the -morning seemed to announce some dragging of her into the matter. But as -yet, although her mind moved tremulously in its excitement, she had, -curiously enough, no suspicion of what was about to happen. It could -not be that Mrs. Wyse had suspected. Oh, not at all. There was still -no danger. But it might be a near thing.... Already she had begun to -wonder would Ulick come to-night. But of course he would come. He was -not such a bad fellow. And he might be taken up with his own condition -just now. He had missed his examination in Dublin: missed it, maybe, -through his foolishness in coming to see her.... But already she had -thoroughly blamed herself for this.... To ease the pain of her mind -she went busily about her work. She knew that the eye of Mrs. Wyse was -upon her and that the very best way of defeating it was by putting on -this air of industry. The day, in its half-hour divisions, was passing -rapidly towards noon.</p> - -<p>A little girl came quickly in to say that Father O'Keeffe was coming up -the road. Rebecca glanced out of the window and, sure enough, there he -was upon his big, fat, white horse coming into the yard. She heard his -loud cries calling into the Boys' School "for a chap to come out and -hold his horse." When the boy came to do his bidding he held forth at -great length upon the best way of leading "King Billy" around the yard.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then the reverend manager of Tullahanogue Schools moved into the -female portion of the establishment. At the door he twisted his round -face into an aspect of severity which was still humorous in its alien -incongruity. Here also he removed his hat from his head, which was -white and bald like the apex of an egg above the red curve of his -countenance. It was his custom to visit the schools of which he was -manager, thus precociously to make up in some way for what he lacked in -educational knowledge and enthusiasm. As his short, squat figure moved -up the passage by the desks, the massive head bowed low upon the broad -chest and the fat fingers of both hands coiled behind his back, he was -not at all unlike an actor made up as Napoleon Bonaparte. His voice was -disciplined in the accents of militarism and dictatorship.</p> - -<p>Rebecca noticed on the instant that to-day he was as one intensified. -He began to slap his legs continuously with his silver-mounted riding -whip. He did not speak to her as he passed in. But, although it caused -her heart to flutter for a moment, this appeared to her as no unusual -occurrence. He never took notice of her unless when she called at the -vestry after Mass upon occasion to deliver up a slice of her salary in -Dues and Offerings. Then the Napoleonic powerfulness disappeared and -he fell to talking, with laughter in his words, about the richness of -Royal Meath in comparison with the wild barrenness of Donegal.</p> - -<p>He moved up to where Mrs. Wyse was at work. Rebecca could distinctly -hear the loud "Well, what's your best news?" with which he -always prefaced his conversations. In low whispers they began to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>communicate.... It was not till now that she began to have immense -doubts as to the purpose of his visit, and already she was trembling in -presence of the little children.</p> - -<p>"An example of her, Father!"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, an example of her. Nothing less, Mrs. Wyse!"</p> - -<p>The words came down to Rebecca clearly through the deep silence that -had fallen upon the school since the entrance of Father O'Keeffe. The -bigger girls were listening, listening in a great hush of patience for -all that had to be reported when they went home. Each one was preparing -for her respective examination—</p> - -<p>"Was there any one in the school to-day?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, mother!"</p> - -<p>"Who, the inspector?"</p> - -<p>"No, the Priest!"</p> - -<p>"Father O'Keeffe?"</p> - -<p>"Well, anything else?"</p> - -<p>"He was talking to Mrs. Wyse."</p> - -<p>"And what was he saying?"</p> - -<p>"I couldn't hear, mother, so I couldn't."</p> - -<p>"And why didn't you listen? What am I slaving myself to send you to -school for?"</p> - -<p>And so they were listening with such eagerness now. They were looking -down at Rebecca as if she were the object of the whole discussion. Her -thoughts were beginning to well into a swirling unconsciousness.... -Great sounds, like those of roaring cataracts and the drumming of -mighty armies were rolling up to her ears.</p> - -<p>Father O'Keeffe and Mrs. Wyse now came down the schoolroom together. -As they passed Rebecca, Father O'Keeffe beckoned to her with his -riding-whip in the way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> one might call to a very inferior hireling. -Shaken by unique and powerful impulses, she went out into the -hall-way to meet her superiors.... Instantaneously she knew what had -happened—they knew.</p> - -<p>"Well, isn't this a nice thing?" began Father O'Keeffe.</p> - -<p>"Ye might say it's a nice thing, Father!" echoed Mrs. Wyse.</p> - -<p>"An enormous thing!"</p> - -<p>"A terrible thing! Father!"</p> - -<p>"You're a nice lady!" he said, addressing Rebecca angrily. "To come -into a parish where there is none save decent people to leave a black -disgrace upon it and you going away!"</p> - -<p>"Was ever the like known, Father? And just imagine her keeping it so -secret. Why we thought there was nothing in this affair with Ulick -Shannon. There was such an amount of cuteness in the way they used to -meet at times and in places we never knew of. In the woods, I suppose!"</p> - -<p>Father O'Keeffe was addressing her directly again.</p> - -<p>"Why, when I think of the disgrace to this school and all that, it -drives me near mad."</p> - -<p>"And, mind you, the shocking insult it is to me and to the little -children."</p> - -<p>"The shocking insult to you and to the little children. True for you, -Mrs. Wyse."</p> - -<p>"And when I think of how you have contrived to besmirch the fair name -of one of the fine, respectable families of the parish, gentlemen, as -you might say, without one blot upon their escutcheon."</p> - -<p>"People as high up as the Houlihans of Clonabroney."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> - -<p>"People as high up as the Houlihans of Clonabroney, Mrs. Wyse."</p> - -<p>His eye was upon Rebecca with a sudden gleam.</p> - -<p>"When I think of that, I consider it an enormous offense...." She did -not flinch before them. She was thinking only of the way in which they -had come to hear it.... She was concerned now that Ulick should not -suffer, that his grand family name should not be dragged down with -hers.... If he had not come to her she would have slipped away without -a word.... And now to think that it had become public. The previous -burning of her mind had been nothing to this.... But Father O'Keeffe -was still speaking:</p> - -<p>"Listen to me, girl! You are to go from hence, but not, as you may -imagine, to the place from whence you came. For this very evening I -intend to warn your pastor of your lapse from virtue while in our -midst, so that you may not return to your father's house and have no -more hope of teaching in any National school within the four seas of -Ireland."</p> - -<p>"That is only right and proper, Father!" put in Mrs. Wyse.</p> - -<p>Rebecca was not listening or else she might have shuddered within the -shadow of the torture his words held for her. In these moments she -had soared far beyond them.... Through the high mood in which she -was accepting her tragedy she was becoming exalted.... What glorious -moments there would be, what divine compensation in whispering of the -torture surrounding its beginning to the little child when it came?</p> - -<p>"So now, Rebecca Kerr, I command you to go forth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> from this school and -from the little children that you corrupt towards your own abomination -by further presence among them."</p> - -<p>As he moved angrily out of the school she moved quietly, and without -speaking a word, to take her coat and hat down from the rack.</p> - -<p>"Oh, wait!" commanded Mrs. Wyse, "you must not leave until three, -until you have made an example of yourself here in a way that all the -children may bring home the story. God knows it will be the hard thing -for them to be telling their mothers when they go home. The poor little -things!"</p> - -<p>Rebecca stood there desolately alone in the hall-way through the -remainder of the afternoon. In one aspect she appeared as a bold child -being thus corrected by a harsh superior. On many more occasions than -appeared absolutely necessary Monica McKeon passed and repassed her -there as she stood so lonely. The assistant of the Boys' School was -a model of disdain as, with her lip curled, she looked away out over -her glasses. And ever and anon Mrs. Wyse passed in and out, muttering -mournfully to herself:</p> - -<p>"The cheek of that now, before the children and all!"</p> - -<p>And the elder girls moved about her in a procession of sneering. They -knew, and they were examining her for the purpose of giving full -accounts when they went home.</p> - -<p>But, occasionally, some of the little ones would come and gaze up into -her eyes with wild looks. Although they did not know why, they seemed -to possess for her an immense, mute pity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Poor Miss Kerr!" they would say, stroking her dress, but their big -sisters would come and whisk them away.</p> - -<p>"Don't touch her. She's dirty——" Then Monica would pass again. At -last she heard the merciful stroke of three.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> - -<p>When John Brennan went to his room after his father's outburst it was -with the intention of doing some preparation for the morrow's work at -the college; but although he opened several books in turn, he could -feel no quickening of knowledge in his mind.... There she was again -continually recurring to his thoughts. And now she was far grander. -This was the fear that had always been hidden in his heart,—that -somehow her friendship with Ulick was not a thing that should have -happened. But he had considered it a reality he could not attempt to -question. Yet he knew that but for Ulick she must be very near to him. -And Ulick had admitted his unworthiness, and so the separation was at -an end.</p> - -<p>It was surprising that this should have happened now. His mind sprang -back to all that tenderness with which his thoughts of her had been -surrounded through these long days of dreaming, when he had contrived -to meet her, as if by accident, on her way from school.</p> - -<p>All through the next day his heart was upon her; the thought of her -would give peace. Into every vacant moment she would come with the full -light of her presence. He had suddenly relapsed into the mood that had -imprisoned him after the summer holidays. He stood aloof from Father -Considine and did not wish to see him through the whole of his long day -in the college at Ballinamult.... All the way home he pictured her. -She was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> luring him now as she had always lured him—towards a fairer -vision of the valley.</p> - -<p>He noticed how the summer was again flooding over the fields like a -great river spilling wide. It was a glorious coincidence that she -should be returning to him now, a creature of brightness at a time of -beauty.</p> - -<p>The road seemed short this pleasant afternoon, and the customary -feeling of dusty weariness was not upon him as he leapt lightly off -the bicycle at his mother's door. Mrs. Brennan came out to meet him -eagerly. This was no unusual occurrence now that he had again begun to -ascend the ladder of the high condition she had planned for him. She -was even a far prouder woman now, for, somehow, she had always half -remembered the stain of charity hanging over his uprise in England. -Besides this he was nearer to her, moving intimately through the -valley, a living part of her justification.... Her fading eyes now -looked out tenderly at her son. There seemed to be a great light in -them this afternoon, a great light of love for him.... He was moved -beneath their gaze. And still she continued to smile upon him in a -weak way as within the grip of some strong excitement. He saw when he -entered that his dinner was not set out as usual on the white table in -the kitchen.... She brought him into the sewing-room. And still she -had the same smile trembling upon her lips and the same light in her -eyes.... All this was growing mysterious and oppressive. But his mood -was proof against sad influences. It must be some tale of good fortune -come to their house of which his mother had now to tell.</p> - -<p>"D'ye know what, John? The greatest thing ever is after happening!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Is that a fact, mother?"</p> - -<p>"Though mebbe 'tis not right for me to tell you and you all as one as a -priest, I may say. But sure you're bound to hear it, and mebbe a little -knowledge of the kind might not be amiss even to one in your exalted -station. And then to make it better, it concerns two very near friends -of yours, Mr. Ulick Shannon and Miss Rebecca Kerr, I thank you!"</p> - -<p>John Brennan's mind leaped immediately to interest. Were they gone back -to one another, and after what he had thought to-day? This was the -question his lips carried inwardly to himself.</p> - -<p>"I don't know how I can tell you. But Father O'Keeffe was at school -to-day in a great whet. He made a show of her before the children, Mrs. -Wyse and Miss McKeon, of course, giving him good help. He dismissed -her, and told her to go about her business. He'll mebbe speak of her -publicly from the altar on Sunday."</p> - -<p>"And what is it, mother, what—?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, she's going to have a misfortune, me son. She's going to be a -mother, God bless us all! and not married or a ha'porth!"</p> - -<p>"O God!"</p> - -<p>"But sure she put in for nothing else, with her going up and all that -to Dublin to have her dresses made, instead of getting them done nice -and quiet and modest and respectable be me. I may tell you that I was -more than delighted to hear it."</p> - -<p>"Well now, and the—"</p> - -<p>John was biting his lips in passion, but she took another view of it as -she interrupted him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Ah, you may well ask who <i>he</i> is, who but that scoundrel Ulick -Shannon, that I was never done asking you not to speak to. You were -young and innocent, of course, and could not be expected to know what I -know. But mebbe you'll avoid him now, although I think he won't be long -here, for mebbe Father O'Keeffe'll run him out of the parish. Maybe -not though, for his uncle has bags of money. Indeed I wouldn't put it -apast him if <i>he</i> was the lad encouraged him to this, for the Shannons -were always blackguards in their hearts.... But it'll be great to hear -Father O'Keeffe on Sunday. I must be sure and go to his Mass. Oh, it'll -be great to hear him!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I suppose it will be great to hear him."</p> - -<p>John spoke out of the gathering bitterness of his heart.</p> - -<p>"I wonder what'll become of her now. I wonder where'll she go. Oh, to -Dublin, I suppose. She was always fond of it."</p> - -<p>His mother was in a very ecstasy of conjecture as to the probable -extent of Rebecca's fate. And this was the woman who had always -expressed a melting tenderness in her actions towards him. This was his -mother who had spoken now with all uncharitableness. There was such -an absence of human pity in her words as most truly appalled him.... -Very quickly he saw too that it was upon his own slight connection with -this tragic thing her mind was dwelling. This was to him now a token, -not of love, but rather of enormous selfishness.... Her eyes were upon -him still, watering in admiration with a weak gleam.... The four walls -seemed to be moving in to crush him after the manner of some medieval -torture chamber.... Within them, too, was beginning to rise a horrid -stench as of dead human things.... This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> ghastliness that had sprung -up between mother and son seemed to have momentarily blotted out the -consciousness of both. They stared at one another now with glassy, -unseeing eyes.</p> - -<p>After three Rebecca took her lonely way from the school. Neither Mrs. -Wyse nor Monica McKeon had a word for her at parting. Neither this -woman, who was many times a mother, nor this girl who might yet be a -mother many times. They were grinning loudly and passing some sneer -between them, as they moved away from one another alone.</p> - -<p>Down the valley road she went, the sunlight dazzling her tired eyes. -A thought of something that had happened upon this day last year came -with her remembrance of the date. It was the first anniversary of some -slight, glad event that had brought her happiness, and yet what a day -it was of dire happening? Just one short year ago she had not known the -valley or Ulick or this fearful thing.... There were friends about her -on this day last year and the sound of laughter, and she had not been -so far distant from her father's house. And, O God! to think that now -she was so much alone.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she became aware that there was some one running by her side -and calling "Miss Kerr! Miss Kerr!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, Janet Comaskey!" she said, turning. "Is it you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Miss Kerr. I want to tell you that I was talking to God last -night, and I was telling Him about you. He asked me did I like you, and -I said I did. 'And so do I,' said He. 'I like Miss Kerr very much,' He -said, 'for she's very nice, very, very nice.'"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> - -<p>Rebecca had never disliked this queer child, but she loved her now, and -bending down, warmly kissed her wild face.</p> - -<p>"Thanks, miss. I only wanted to tell you about God," said Janet, -dropping behind.</p> - -<p>Rebecca was again alone, but now she was within sight of the house of -Sergeant McGoldrick. It seemed to be dozing there in the sunlight. She -began to question herself did those within already know ...? Now that -the full publicity of her condition seemed imminent an extraordinary -feeling of vanity was beginning to take possession of her. She took off -her dust-coat and hung it upon her arm. Thus uncloaked she would face -the eyes of Mrs. McGoldrick and her daughters, Euphemia and Clementina, -and the eyes, very probably, of John Ross McGoldrick and Neville -Chamberlain McGoldrick....</p> - -<p>But when she entered the house she experienced the painful stillness of -a tomb-like place. There was no one to be seen. She went upstairs with -a kind of faltering in her limbs, but her head was erect and her fine -eyes were flashing.... Even still was she soaring beyond and beyond -them. Her eye was caught by a note pinned upon her door. It seemed very -funny and, despite her present condition of confusion and worry, she -smiled, for this was surely a melodramatic trick that Mrs. McGoldrick -had acquired from the character of her reading.... Still smiling, she -tore it open. It read like a proclamation, and was couched in the very -best handwriting of Sergeant McGoldrick.</p> - -<blockquote><p>"Miss Kerr,</p> - -<p>Rev. Louis O'Keeffe, P.P., Garradrimna, has given<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> notice that, -on account of certain deplorable circumstances, we are to refuse -you permission to lodge with us any longer. This we hasten to -do without any regret, considering that, to oblige you at the -instigation of Father O'Keeffe, we broke the Regulation of the -Force, which forbids the keeping of lodgers by any member of that -body. We hereby give you notice to be out of this house by 6 p.m. -on this evening, May —, 19—, having, it is understood, by that -time packed up your belongings and discharged your liabilities to -Mrs. McGoldrick. Father O'Keeffe has, very magnanimously, arranged -that Mr. Charles Clarke is to call for you with his motor and take -you with all possible speed to the station at Kilaconnaghan.</p> - -<p class="right">Sylvester McGoldrick (Sergeant, R.I.C.)."</p></blockquote> - -<p>The official look of the pronouncement seemed only to increase -its gloomy finality, but the word "magnanimously," fresh from the -dictionary at the Barrack, made her laugh outright. The offense she had -committed was unnamed, too terrible for words. She was being sentenced -like a doomed Easter rebel.... Yet, even still, she was not without -some thought of the practical aspect of her case. She owed thirty -shillings to Mrs. McGoldrick. This would leave her very little, out of -the few pounds she had saved from her last instalment of salary, with -which to face the world. This, of course, if Ulick did not come.... -And here was her dinner, set untidily in the stuffy room where the -window had not been opened since the time she had left it this morning -in confusion. And the whole house was quiet as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> grave. She never -remembered to have heard it so quiet at any other time. It seemed as -if all this silence had been designed with a studied calculation of -the pain it would cause. There was no kindness in this woman either, -although she too was a mother and had young daughters. It appeared so -greatly uncharitable that in these last terrible moments she could -not cast from her the small and pitiful enmity she had begun upon the -evening of Rebecca's arrival in the valley. She would not come even -now and help her pack up her things, and she so weary?... But it was -easily done. The few articles that had augmented her wardrobe since -her coming to the valley would go into the basket she had used to -carry those which were barely necessary for her comfort when she went -to that lonely cottage in Donegal.... The mean room was still bare as -when she had first come to it. She had not attempted to decorate it. In -a pile in one corner stood the full series of <i>Irish School Weeklies</i> -and <i>Weldon's Ladies' Journals</i> she had purchased since her coming -here. She had little use for either of these publications now, little -use for the one that related to education or the other that related to -adornment.</p> - -<p>There came a feverish haste upon her to get done with her preparations -for departure, and soon they were completed. She had her trunk corded -and all ready. She had no doubt that Ulick would meet her upon The -Road of the Dead at 5.30, the hour she had named in the letter of this -morning. It was lucky she had so accurately guessed her possible time -of departure, although somehow she had had no notion this morning of -leaving so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> soon. But already it was more than 4.30 by her little -wristlet watch. She put on her best dress, which had been left out on -the bed, and redid her hair. It was still the certain salvage from the -wreck she was becoming. Ulick or any other man, for all he had ruined -her, must still love her for that hair of gold. It needed no crown at -all, but a woman's vanity was still hers, and she put on a pretty hat -which Ulick had fancied in Dublin. She had worn it for the first time -last summer in Donegal, and it became her better than any hat she had -ever worn.... What would they say if they saw her moving about in this -guise, so brazenly as it seemed, when she might be spoken of from the -altar on Sunday?</p> - -<p>Now fell upon her a melancholy desire to see the chapel. There was yet -time to go there and pray just as she had thought of praying on her -first evening on coming to Garradrimna. She took a final glance at the -little, mean room. It had not been a room of mirth for her, and she -was not sorry to leave it—there was the corded trunk to tell the tale -of its inhospitality. She took the money for Mrs. McGoldrick from her -purse and put it into an envelope.... Going downstairs she left it upon -the kitchen table. There was no one to be seen, but she could hear the -scurrying of small feet from her as if she were some monstrous and -forbidden thing.</p> - -<p>As she went up the bright road there was a flickering consciousness -in her breast that she was an offense against the sunlight, but this -feeling fled away from her when she went into the chapel and knelt down -to pray. Her mind was full of her purpose, and she did not experience -the distraction of one single, selfish thought. But when she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> put her -hands up to her face in an attitude of piety she felt that her face was -burning.</p> - -<p>It was a day for confessions, but there were few people in the chapel, -and those not approaching the confessionals. The two young curates, -Father Forde and Father Fagan, were moving about the quiet aisles, -each deeply intent upon the reading of his office. They were nearer -the altar than to her, but for all the air of piety in which they -seemed to be enveloped, they detected her presence immediately and -simultaneously. Soon they began to extend their back and forward pacing -to include her within the range of their sidelong vision.... By the -time she had got half way around her little mother-of-pearl rosary -they were moving past her and towards one another at her back. She was -saying her poor prayers as well as she could, but there they were with -their heads working up and down as they looked alternately at her and -at their holy books.... Just as she got to the end of the last decade -she was conscious that they had come together and were whispering -behind her.... It was not until then that she saw the chapel for what -it stood in regard to her. It was the place where, on Sunday next, mean -people would smirk in satisfaction as they sat listening in all their -lack of charity and fulness of pride.... The realization brought the -pulsing surge of anger to her blood and she rose to come away. But when -she turned around abruptly there were the two curates with their eyes -still fixed upon her.... She did not meet their looks full straight, -for they turned away as if to avoid the contamination of her as she ran -from the House of God.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> - -<p>When John Brennan reached a point in his disgust where further -endurance was impossible he broke away from the house and from his -mother. He went out wildly through the green fields.</p> - -<p>But he would see her. He would go to her, for surely she had need of -him now.... If Ulick did not come.... And there was much in his manner -and conversation of the previous night to make it doubtful.... If he -did not take her away from this place and make her his own to protect -and cherish, there was only one course left open.... He knew little of -these things, for he knew little of the ways of life, but instinctively -he felt that Rebecca would now cling to Ulick and that Ulick would be a -great scoundrel if he spurned her from him. And what, he asked himself, -would he, John Brennan, do in that case?</p> - -<p>No answer would spring directly to his thoughts, but some ancient, -primeval feeling was stirring in his heart—the answer that men have -held to be the only answer from the beginning of the world. But that -was a dreadful thing which, in its eddying circles of horror, might -compass his own end also.</p> - -<p>But, maybe the whole story was untrue. He had heard his mother speak -many a time after the same fashion, and there was never one case of the -kind but had proved untrue. Yet it was terrible that no answer would -come flashing out from his wild thoughts, and already he had reached -The Road of the Dead.</p> - -<p>His wandering eyes had at last begun to rest upon a wide, green field. -He saw the wind and sun conspiring to ripple the grass into the -loveliest little waves. He had loved this always, and even the present -state of his mind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> did not refuse the sensation of its beauty. He went -and leaned across the field gate to gaze upon it.</p> - -<p>He turned suddenly, for there was a step approaching him along the -road. Yes, surely it was she. It was Rebecca Kerr herself coming -towards him down The Road of the Dead.... She was smiling, but from the -dark, red shadows about her eyes it was easy to see that she had quite -recently been crying.</p> - -<p>"Good evening, John Brennan!" she said.</p> - -<p>"Good evening, Miss Kerr!"</p> - -<p>There was a deep touch of concern, turning to anxiety, almost a rich -tenderness in his words. She heard them for what they were, and there -came to her clearly their accents of pity.... For the moment neither -seemed capable of finding speech.... Her eyes were searching The Road -of the Dead for the man she expected to meet her here. But he was not -coming. In the silence that had fallen between them John Brennan had -clearly glimpsed the dumb longing that was upon her.... He felt the -final gloom that was moving in around her ... yet he could not find -speech.</p> - -<p>"I'm going away from the valley," said Rebecca.</p> - -<p>He made some noise in his throat, but she could hear no distinct word.</p> - -<p>"It was not <i>you</i> I expected to meet here this evening. It is so -strange how we have met like this."</p> - -<p>"I just came out for a walk," he stammered, at a loss for something -better to say.</p> - -<p>"I'm glad we have met," she said, "for this is the last time."</p> - -<p>It was easy to see that her words held much meaning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> for herself and -him.... He seemed to be nearer the brink as her eyes turned from him -again to search the road.</p> - -<p>"He will not come," she said, and there was a kind of wretched -recklessness in her tones. "I know he will not come, for that -possibility has never been." She grew more resigned of a sudden. She -saw that John Brennan too was searching the road with his eyes.... Then -he knew the reason why she was going away.</p> - -<p>He was such a nice boy, and between his anxious watching now for her -sake he was gazing with pity into her eyes.... He must know Ulick too -as a man knows his friend, and that Ulick would not come to her in this -her hour of trial.... The knowledge seemed the more terrible since it -was through John Brennan it had come; and yet it was less terrible -since he did not disdain her for what she had done. She saw through his -excuse. He had come this way with the special purpose of seeing her, -and if he had not met her thus accidentally he must inevitably have -called at the house of Sergeant McGoldrick to extend his farewell. She -was glad that she had saved him this indignity by coming out to her -own disappointment.... She was sorry that he had again returned to his -accustomed way of thinking of her, that he had again departed from the -way into which she had attempted to direct him.</p> - -<p>And now there loomed up for her great terror in this thought. Yet she -could read it very clearly in the way he was looking so friendly upon -her.... Why had he always looked upon her in this way? Surely she had -never desired it. She had never desired him. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> Ulick she had -longed for always. It was Ulick she had longed for this evening, and -it was John Brennan who had come.... Yes, how well he had come? It was -very simple and very beautiful, this action of his, but in its simple -goodness there was a fair promise of its high desolation. It appeared -that she stood for his ruin also, and, even now, in the mounting -moments of her fear, this appeared as an ending far more appalling.... -She was coming to look at her own fate as a thing she might be able to -bear, but there was something so vastly filled with torture in this -thought.... Whenever she would look into the eyes of the child and make -plans for its little future she would think of John Brennan and what -had happened to him.</p> - -<p>She felt that they had been a long time standing here at this gate, by -turns gazing anxiously up and down the road, by turns looking vacantly -out over the sea of grass. Time was of more account than ever before, -for was it not upon this very evening that she was being banished from -the valley?</p> - -<p>"I must go now," she said; "<i>he</i> will never come."</p> - -<p>He did not answer, but moved as if to accompany her.... She grew -annoyed as she observed his action.</p> - -<p>"No, no, you must not come with me now. You must not speak with me -again. I have placed myself forever beyond your friendship or your -thought!"</p> - -<p>As she extended her hand to him her heart was moved by a thousand -impulses.</p> - -<p>"Good-by, John Brennan!" she said simply.</p> - -<p>"Good-by, Rebecca!" said he at last, finding speech by a tremendous -effort.... And without another word they parted there on The Road of -the Dead.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> - -<p>Outside the garden gate of Sergeant McGoldrick Charlie Clarke was -waiting for her with his motor-car. Her trunk had been put in at the -back. This was an unholy job for a saintly chauffeur, but it was Father -O'Keeffe's command and his will must be done. When the news of it had -been communicated to him he had said a memorable thing:</p> - -<p>"Well, now, the quare jobs a religious man has sometimes to do; but -maybe these little punishments are by way of satisfaction for some -forgotten and far-distant sin!"</p> - -<p>Rebecca understood his anxiety to have her off his hands as she saw him -jump in behind the wheel at her approach. She got in beside her poor -trunk, and presently the car would be ready to start. There was not -a trace of any of the McGoldrick family to be seen.... But there was -a sudden breaking through the green hedge upon the other side of the -road, and Janet Comaskey stood beside the car. Rebecca was surprised by -the sudden appearance of the little, mad girl at this moment.</p> - -<p>"Miss Kerr, Miss Kerr!" she called. "I got this from God. God told me -to give you this!"</p> - -<p>The car started away, and Rebecca saw that the superscription on the -letter she had been handed was in the pronounced Vere Foster style of -Master Donnellan. Doubtless it was some long-winded message of farewell -from the kind-hearted master, and she would not open it now. It would -be something to read as she moved away towards Dublin.</p> - -<p>Just now her eyes were being filled by the receding pageant of the -valley, that place of all earth's places which had so powerfully -arrayed its villainy against her....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> And to think that he had not -come.... It was the Valley of Hinnom.... Yes, to think that he had not -come after all she had been to him, after all the love of her heart -she had given him. No word could ever, ever pass between them again. -They were upon the very brink of the eternity of separation. She knew -now that for all the glory in which she had once beheld him, he must -shrivel down to the bitter compass of a little, painful memory. Oh, -God! to think he had not replied to her letter, and the writing of it -had given her such pain.</p> - -<p>They were at the station of Kilaconnaghan. Charlie Clarke had not -spoken all through the journey, but now he came up to her indignantly, -as if very vexed for being compelled to speak to her at all, and said: -"The fare is one pound!"</p> - -<p>The words smote her with a little sense of shock. She had been -expecting something by way of climax. She was very certain in her -consciousness that the valley would not let her slip thus quietly -away.—A pound for the journey, although it was Father O'Keeffe who -had engaged the car.—She must pay this religious robber a huge price -for the drive. There rushed through her mind momentarily a mad flash -of rebellion. The valley was carrying its tyranny a little too far.... -She would not pay.... But almost immediately she was searching for a -note in her purse.... There were so very few of them now. Yet she could -not leave the valley with any further little stain upon her. They would -talk of a thing like this for years and years.</p> - -<p class="space-above">With a deadly silence hanging over him and fearful thoughts coming into -his mind Myles Shannon had kept<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> himself and his nephew Ulick at work -all through the day. After tea in the lonely dining-room he fetched -in his inky account books, which had been neglected for many a month. -His nephew would here have work to occupy him for the remainder of the -evening and probably far into the night. Ulick was glad of the task, -for his mind was very far from being at ease.</p> - -<p>Then Mr. Shannon took £100 from the old-fashioned bureau in the parlor, -which held, with the other things, all his papers and accounts, -and while the evening was yet high went down towards the house of -Sergeant McGoldrick to see Rebecca Kerr. Around a bend of the road he -encountered Charlie Clarke on his way back from Kilaconnaghan, where he -had been delayed upon bazaar business.</p> - -<p>The saintly chauffeur at once put on the brakes. This was Mr. Myles -Shannon and some one worth speaking to. He bowed a groveling salute.</p> - -<p>"You're out pretty late?" said Mr. Shannon.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes!" And then he went on to describe his work of the evening. -He felt inclined to offer his condolence to Mr. Shannon in a most -respectful whisper, but thought better of it at the last moment.</p> - -<p>"And no one knows where she has gone?"</p> - -<p>"No one. She has disappeared from the valley."</p> - -<p>"She went away very suddenly."</p> - -<p>"Yes, Father O'Keeffe saw that, in the public interest, she should -disappear after this fashion. The motor was a help, you know."</p> - -<p>Charlie Clarke offered to drive Mr. Shannon to his home. No word passed -between them as they drew up the avenue to the lonely house among the -trees.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the train, moving on towards Dublin, Rebecca Kerr had just opened -the letter from Master Donnellan. It contained a £5 note.... This was -like a cry of mercy and pardon for the valley.... The rich fields of -Meath were racing by.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> - -<p>There was a curious hush about the lake next evening, although the -little cottage of Hughie Murtagh was swept by winds which stirred -mournfully through all the bright abundance of early summer. Even the -orange-blossoms of the furze seemed to put on an aspect of surrender. -There was no challenge in their color now; they looked almost white -against a somber sunset. John Brennan moped about among the fir-trees. -He came to a stand-still by one that had begun to decay and which was -even more mournful in its failure to contribute another plumed head to -the general effect of mourning. But it seemed to shake enraged at this -impotence in its poor foundation over the deserted warren, from which -Shamesy Golliher had long since driven the little rabbits towards that -dark Chicago of slaughter which was represented to them by Garradrimna.</p> - -<p>The same color of desolation was upon the reeds which separated -him from the water. The water itself had, beneath its pretense of -brightness upon the surface, the appearance of ooze, as if it had come -washing over the slime of dead things.</p> - -<p>It was here that John Brennan had come to wait for Ulick Shannon, and, -as he waited, his mood became that of his surroundings.... He fell to -running over what had happened to him. Alternately, in the swirl of his -consciousness, it appeared as the power of the valley and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> as the Hand -of God. Yet, whatever it might be in truth, this much was certain. It -had reduced his life to ruins. It was a fearful thing, and he shuddered -a little while he endeavored to produce a clear picture of it for the -chastisement as well as the morbid excitement of his imagination.</p> - -<p>But there came instead a far different picture, which seemed to have -the effect of lifting for a moment the surrounding gloom. He saw -Rebecca Kerr again as upon many an afternoon they had met. For one -brave moment he strove to recover the fine feeling that had filled -him at those times. But it would not come. Something had happened, -something terrible which soiled and spoiled her forever.</p> - -<p>For love of her he had dreamed even unto the desire of defeating his -mother's love. And yet there was no triumph in his heart now, nothing -save defeat and a great weariness. Neither his mother nor Rebecca Kerr -were any longer definite hopes upon which his mind might dwell.... -His thoughts were running altogether upon Ulick Shannon. It was for -Ulick he waited now in this lonely, wind-swept place, like any villain -he had ever seen depicted upon the cover of a penny dreadful in -Phillips's window when he was a boy. He now saw himself fixed in his -own imagination after this fashion. Ulick Shannon would soon come. -There was no doubt of this, for a definite appointment had been made -during the day. He had remained at home from the college in Ballinamult -to bring it about. Soon they would be endeavoring to enter what must -be the final and tragic bye-way of their story. And it must be all so -dreadfully interesting, this ending he had planned.... Now the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> water -came flowing towards him more rapidly as if to hurry the tragedy. It -came more thickly and muddily and with long, billowy strides as if -it yearned to gather some other body still holding life to its wild -breast. Its waters kept flowing as if from some wide wound that ached -and would not be satisfied; that bled and called aloud for blood -forever.</p> - -<p>Now also the evening shadows were beginning to creep down the hills and -with them a deeper hush was coming upon the wild longing of all things. -Yet it was no hush of peace, but rather the concentration of some -horrible purpose upon one place.</p> - -<p>"I am going away on Friday," Ulick had written in one of the two notes -that had been exchanged between them by the messenger during the day, -"and I would like to see you for what must, unfortunately, be the last -time. I am slipping away unknown to my uncle or to any one, and it is -hardly probable that I will be seen in these parts again."</p> - -<p>At length he beheld the approach of Ulick down the long Hill of -Annus.... His spirit thrilled within him and flamed again into a white -flame of love for the girl who was gone.... And coming hither was the -man who had done this thing.... The thickest shadows of the evening -would soon be gathered closely about the scene they were to witness.... -The very reeds were rustling now in dread.</p> - -<p>The lake was deep here at the edge of the water.... And in the -rabbit-warren beneath his feet were the heavy pieces of lead piping -he had transported in the night. He had taken them from his father's -stock of plumber's materials, that moldy, unused stock which had so -long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> lain in the back yard and which, in a distant way, possessed an -intimate connection with this heaped-up story.... In a little instant -of peculiar consciousness he wondered whether it would be pliable -enough.... There were pieces for the legs and pieces for the arms which -would enfold those members as in a weighty coffin.... And hidden nearer -to his hand was the strangely-shaped, uncouth weapon his father had -used many a time with such lack of improvement upon the school slates -and with which one might kill a man.... The body would rest well down -there beneath the muddy waters.... There would be no possibility of -suspicion falling upon him, for the story of Rebecca Kerr's disgrace -and Ulick Shannon's connection with it had already got about the -valley.... He had been listening to his mother telling it to people all -day.... Ulick's disappearance, in a way self-effacing and unnamed, was -hourly expected. This opportunity appeared the one kind trick of Fate -which had been so unkind to the passionate yearnings of John Brennan.</p> - -<p>But Ulick Shannon was by his side, and they were talking again -as friends of different things in the light way of old.... Their -talk moved not at all within the shadows of things about to happen -presently.... But the shadows were closing in, and very soon they must -fall and lie heavily upon all things here by the lake.</p> - -<p>"Isn't it rather wonderful, Brennan, that I should be going hence -through the power of a woman? It is very strange how they always manage -to have their revenge, how they beat us in the long run no matter how -we may plume ourselves on a triumph that we merely fancy. Although -we may degrade and rob them of their treasure,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> ours is the final -punishment. Do you remember how I told you on that day we were at the -'North Leinster Arms,' in Ballinamult, there was no trusting any woman? -Not even your own mother! Now this Rebecca Kerr, she—"</p> - -<p>The sentence was never finished. John Brennan had not spoken, but his -hand had moved twice—to lift the uncouth weapon from the foot of -the tree and again to strike the blow.... The mold of unhappy clay -from which the words of Ulick had just come was stilled forever. The -great cry which struggled to break from the lips resulted only in a -long-drawn sigh that was like a queer swoon. The mournful screech of a -wild bird flying low over the lake drowned the little gust of sound.... -Then the last lone silence fell between the two young men who had once -been most dear companions.</p> - -<p>No qualms of any kind came to the breast of John Brennan. He had -hardened his heart between the leaping flames of Love and Hate, and -there was upon him now the feeling of one who has done a fine thing. -He was in the moment of his triumph, yet he was beginning to be amazed -by his sudden power and the result of his decision.... That he, John -Brennan, should have had it in him to murder his friend.... But no, it -was his enemy he had murdered, the man who had desecrated the beauty of -the world.... And there was a rare grandeur in what he had done. It was -a thing of beauty snatched from the red hands of Death.</p> - -<p>Yet as he went about his preparations for submerging the body he felt -something akin to disgust for this the mean business of the murder.... -Here was where the beauty that had been his deed snapped finally from -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>existence in his consciousness and disappeared from him.</p> - -<p>Henceforth gray thought after gray thought came tumbling into his -mind. Ulick had not been a bad fellow. He had tried to be kind to -him—all the motor-drives and the walks and talks they had had. Even -the bits of days and nights spent together in Garradrimna.... And how -was Ulick to know of his affection for Rebecca Kerr? There had never -been the faintest statement of the fact between them; his whole manner -and conversation and the end for which he was intended forbade any -suspicion of the kind. In fact to have had such a doubt would have -been a sin in the eyes of many a Catholic.... The legs and arms were -well weighted now.... This might not have happened if his mother had -been attended in the right spirit of filial obedience.... But with -the arrogance of youth, which he now realized for the first time, he -had placed himself above her opinion and done what he had desired at -the moment. And why had he done so?... She would seem to have had -foreboding of all this in the way she had looked upon him so tenderly -with her tired eyes many a time since his memorable home-coming last -summer. She had always been so fearfully anxious.... Here must have -been the melancholy end she had seen at the back of all dreaming.... He -could feel that sad look clearly, all dimmed by dark presentiments.</p> - -<p>The body was a great weight. He strove to lift it in his arms in such a -way that his clothes might not be soiled by the blood.... His face was -very near the pale, dead face with the red blood now clotting amongst -the hair.... He was almost overpowered by his burden as he dragged it -to the water's edge.... It was a very fearful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> thing to look at just as -the water closed over it with a low, gurgling sound, as if of mourning, -like the cry of the bird in the moment the murder had been done.</p> - -<p>As he staggered back from the sighing reeds he noticed that the ground -was blood-drenched beneath the tree.... But he was doing the thing most -thoroughly. In a frenzy of precautionary industry he began to hack away -the earth with the slating implement very much as Shamesy Golliher -might hack it in search of a rabbit.</p> - -<p>Later he seemed to put on the very appearance of Shamesy himself as, -with bent body, he slouched away across the ridge of the world. He too -had just effected a piece of slaughter and Garradrimna seemed to call him.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> - -<p>When he came out upon the valley road he was no longer the admirable -young man he had been less than a year since. He was a broken thing, -and he was stained by another's blood. He was marked eternally by what -he had done, and there was upon him a degradation unspeakable. He was -an offense against existence and against the gathering, blessed gloom -of the quiet evening.... He had murdered one who had been his friend, -and it was a thing he might never be able to forget. The body, with -all the lovely life so recently gone from it, he had weighted and sunk -beneath the surface of the lake.... It was down there now, a poor, dead -thing among the ooze of dead things from which the water had taken its -color and quality. The wild spirit that had been Ulick Shannon, so -contradictory in its many aspects, was now soaring lightly aloft upon -the wings of clean winds and he, John Brennan, who had effected this -grand release, felt the weights still heavy about his heart.</p> - -<p>He came on a group of children playing by the roadside. It seemed -as if they had been driven across his path to thwart him with their -innocence. He instantly remembered that other evening when he had been -pained to hear them express the ugly, uncharitable notions of their -parents regarding a child of another religion. Now they were playing -merrily as God had intended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> them to play, and religion, with its -tyranny of compulsion towards thoughts of death and sin, seemed distant -from them, and distant was it from him too. His mind was empty of any -thought. Would no kindly piece of imagination come down to cool his -spirit with its grace or lift from his heart the oppression of the -leaden weights he had bound about the body of Ulick Shannon?... At last -he had remembrance of his mother. It had been borne in upon him during -some of his lonely cycle-rides to and from Ballinamult that things -should not be, somehow, as they were. He was moving along exalted ways -while his mother labored in lonely silence at her machine.... Where -was the money coming from? Such an unproductive state as his required -money for its upkeep. His father was no toiler, but she was always -working there alone in the lonely room. Her hands were grown gnarled -and hard through her years of labor.... Just presently she was probably -discussing a dismal matter of ways and means with some woman of the -valley, saying as she had said through the long years:</p> - -<p>"Thank God and His Blessed Mother this night, I still have me -hands. Aye, that's what I was just saying to Mrs. So and So this -morning—Thank God I still have me hands!"</p> - -<p>Thus she was going on now, he imagined, as he had always heard her, a -pathetic figure sitting there and looking painfully through the heavy, -permanent mist that was falling down upon her eyes. And yet it was -not thus she really was at this moment. For although it was a woman -who held her company, there was no mood of peace between them. It was -Marse Prendergast who was with her, and she was proceeding busily with -her eternal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> whine. Mrs. Brennan was now disturbed in her mind and -fearful of the great calamity that might happen. While she had bravely -maintained the money in the little chest upstairs there had lingered, -in spite of every affliction, a sense of quietness and independence. -But now she was without help and as one distraught. Of late this -gibbering old woman had obtained a certain power over her, and a -considerable portion of the once proud Mrs. Brennan had fallen finally -away. Although, at unaccountable moments, her strong pride would spring -up to dazzle the people of the valley, she did not now possess that -remarkable imperviousness which had so distinguished her attitude -towards life. Now she was in a condition of disintegration, unable -to maintain an antagonism or hide a purpose. The old ruined woman, -the broken shuiler of the roads, was beginning to behold the ruins of -another woman, the ruins of Mrs. Brennan, who had once been so "thick" -and proud.</p> - -<p>"So you won't hearken to me request?"</p> - -<p>"I can't, Marse dear. I have no money to give you!"</p> - -<p>This was a true word, for the little store upstairs had gone this way -and that. Tommy Williams had had to be given his interest, and although -people might think that John was getting his education for charity, no -one knew better than she the heavy fees of the college in Ballinamult. -Besides, he must keep up a good appearance in the valley.</p> - -<p>But when Marse Prendergast made a demand she knew no reason and could -make no allowance.</p> - -<p>"Well, Nan, me dear, I must do me duty. I must speak out when you can't -bribe me to be silent. I must do a horrid piece of business this night. -I must turn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> a son against his mother. Yes, that must be the way of it -now, a son turned for good against his mother. For surely there could -be no pardon in his grand, holy eyes for what you were once upon a -time. But let me tell you this, that I'd have acquainted him anyhow, -for I'd not have gone to me grave with that sin on me no matter what. -They say it isn't right to offer a son to God where there's after being -any big blemish in the family, and that if you do a woful misfortune or -a black curse comes of it. And sure that was the quare, big blemish in -your family, Nan Byrne, the quarest blemish ever was."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan began to cry. She seemed to have come at last to the end -of all her long attempt to brazen things out.... Marse Prendergast was -not slow to observe this acceptance of defeat, and saw that now surely -was her time to be hard and bitter. She was growing so old, a withered -stump upon the brink of years, and there was upon her an enormous -craving for a little money. People were even driven, by her constant -whine for this thing and that, to say how she had a little store of her -own laid by which she gloated over with a wicked and senile delight. -And for what, in God's name, was she hoarding and she an old, lone -woman with the life just cross-wise in her?... And it was always Mrs. -Brennan whom she had visited with her singular and special persecution.</p> - -<p>"I suppose now you think you're the quare, clever one to be going on -with your refusals from day to day. I suppose you think I don't know -that you have a <i>chesht</i> full of money that you robbed from poor Henry -Shannon, God be good to him, when he used to be coming running to see -you, the foolish fellow!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p> - -<p>"As God's me judge, Marse Prendergast, I haven't e'er a penny in the -house. I'm in debt in Garradrimna this blessed minute, and that's as -sure as you're there!"</p> - -<p>"Go on out of that with your talk of debts, and you to be sending your -son John through his college courses before all our eyes like any fine -lady in the land. And think of all the grand money you'll be getting -bye and bye in rolls and cartloads!"</p> - -<p>"Aye, with the help of God!"</p> - -<p>Even in the moment of her torment Mrs. Brennan could not restrain her -vanity of her son.</p> - -<p>"And to think of all that being before you now and still you keep up -your mean refusals of the little thing I ask," said the old woman with -the pertinacious unreasonableness of age.</p> - -<p>"I haven't got the money, Marse, God knows I haven't."</p> - -<p>"God knows nothing, Nan Byrne, only your shocking villainy. And 'tis -the great sin for you surely. And if God knows this, it is for some one -else to know your sin. It is for your son John to know the kind of a -mother that he loves and honors."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan had heard this threat on many an occasion yet even now -the repetition of it made her grow suddenly pale.... An expression -of sickliness was upon her face seen even through the shadowed -sewing-room. Always this thought had haunted her that some time John -might come to know.</p> - -<p>"Long threatening comes at last!" was a phrase that had always held for -her the darkest meaning. She could never listen to any woman make use -of it without <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>shuddering violently. Marse Prendergast had threatened -so often and often.</p> - -<p>"Ah, no, Nan Byrne, this is something I could never let pass. And all -the long days I saw you contriving here at the machine, and you so -anxious and attentive, sure I used to be grinning to myself at the -thoughts of the bloody fine laugh I'd be having at you some day. I -used, that's God's truth!"</p> - -<p>It seemed terrible to be told the story of this hate that had been -so well hidden, now springing up before her in a withering blast of -ingratitude and being borne to her understanding upon such quiet -words.... She sighed ever so slightly, and her lips moved gently in the -aspiration of a prayer.</p> - -<p>"O Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" was what she said.</p> - -<p>The pious ejaculation seemed to leap at once towards the accomplishment -of a definite purpose, for immediately it had the effect of moving -Marse Prendergast towards the door.</p> - -<p>"I'm going now!"</p> - -<p>The words were spoken with an even more chilling quietness. Mrs. -Brennan made a noise as if to articulate something, but no words would -come from her.</p> - -<p>"And let you not be thinking that 'tis only this little thing I'm going -to tell him, for there's a whole lot more. I'm going to tell him <i>all</i> -I know, <i>all that I didn't tell you</i> through the length of the years, -though, God knows, it has been often burning me to tell.... You think, -I suppose, as clever as you are, that the child was buried in the -garden. Well, that's not a fact, nor the color of a fact, for all I've -made you afraid of it so often.... Grace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> Gogarty had no child of her -own for Henry Shannon. <i>Ulick Shannon is your own child that was sold -be your ould mother for a few pound!</i>"</p> - -<p>"That's a lie for you, Marse Prendergast!"</p> - -<p>"'Tis no lie at all I'm telling you, but the naked truth. I suppose -neither of them lads, Ulick nor John, ever guessed the reason why they -were so fond of one another, but that was the reason; and 'tis I used -to enjoy seeing them together and I knowing it well. Isn't it curious -now to say that you're the mother of a blackguard and the mother of the -makings of a priest?... Mebbe you'd give me the little bit of money -now? Mebbe?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brennan did not answer. Big tears were rolling down her cheeks -one after the other.... Her heart had been rent by this sudden flash -of information. Even the last remaining stronghold of her vanity had -been swept away. That she, who had claim in her own estimation to be -considered the wise woman of the valley, could not have long since -guessed at the existence of a fact so intimate.... Her heart was -wounded, not unto death, but immortally.... Her son! Ulick Shannon her -son! O Mother of God!</p> - -<p class="space-above">John Brennan was still in his agony as he saw the long-tongued shuiler -coming towards him down the road. She was making little journeys into -the ditches as she came along. She was gathering material for a fire -although every bush was green.... She was always shivering at the -fall of night. The appearance of the children had filled him with -speculations as to where he might look for some comfort.... Could it be -derived from the precepts of religion translated into acts of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> human -kindness? Momentarily he was confused as he attempted to realize some -act of goodness to be done here and now. He was unable to see.</p> - -<p>Old Marse Prendergast, coming towards him slowly, was the solitary -link connecting his mind with any thought. To him she appeared the -poor old woman in need of pity who was gathering green sticks from the -hedge-rows to make her a fire which would not kindle. He remembered -that morning, now some time distant, when he had helped her carry home -a bundle of her sticks on his way from Mass. It had appeared to him -then, as it did now, a Christ-like action, but his mother had rebuked -him for it. Yet he had always wished his mother to take the place of -Mary when he tried to snatch some comfort from the Gospel story. Soon -he was by her side speaking as kindly as he could.... Great fear was -already upon him.</p> - -<p>"God bless you, me little Johneen, me little son; sure 'tis yourself -has the decent, kind heart to be taking pity upon the old. Arrah now! -You're alone and lonely this evening, I notice, for your friend is gone -from you. It bees lonely when one loses one's comrade. Ah, 'tis many a -year and more since I lost me comrade through the valley of life. Since -Marks Prendergast, the good husband of me heart and the father of me -children, was lost on me. Sure he was murdered on me one St. Patrick's -Day fair in Garradrimna. He was ripped open with a knife and left there -upon the street in his blood for me to see.... That's the way, that's -the way, me sweet gosoon; some die clean and quiet, and some go away in -their blood like the way they came."</p> - -<p>Had she devoted much time and skill to it she could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> not have produced -a more dire effect upon John than by this accidental turn of her -talk.... The scene by the lakeside swam clearly into his eyes again.</p> - -<p>"I suppose <i>your</i> good comrade is gone away?"</p> - -<p>"Whom, what?"</p> - -<p>"Ulick Shannon, to be sure. I suppose he's after slipping away be this -time anyway."</p> - -<p>"Aye, he's gone away."</p> - -<p>"That was what you might call the nice lad. And it was no wonder at all -that you were so much attached to one another. Never a bit of wonder at -all.... Sure you were like brothers."</p> - -<p>John was so solicitous in maintaining his silence that he did not -notice the old woman's terrible sententiousness.... He went on pulling -green sticks from the hedge and placing them very carefully by the side -of those she had already gathered.</p> - -<p>"Just like brothers. That's what ye were, just like brothers. He, he, -he!"</p> - -<p>Although he did not detect the note of laughter in it that was hollow -and a mockery, he was nevertheless appalled by what should appear as -a commendation of him who was gone.... He felt himself shaking even -as the leaves in the hedgerows were being shaken by the light wind of -evening.</p> - -<p>"Like brothers, <i>avic machree</i>."</p> - -<p>Even still he did not reply.</p> - -<p>"Like brothers, I say, and that's the whole story. For ye were -brothers. At least you were of the one blood, because ye had the same -woman for the mother of ye both."</p> - -<p>Certainly she was raving, but her words were having<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> an unusual effect -upon him. He was keeping closer to the hedge as if trying to hide his -face.</p> - -<p>"To-night, me fine gosoon, I'm going to do a terrible thing. I'm going -to tell you who your mother is, and then you'll know a quare story. -You'll know that Ulick Shannon, good luck to him wherever he's gone, -was nothing less than your own brother.... It is she that is after -forcing me on to it be her penurious and miserly ways. I didn't want to -tell ye, John! I say, I didn't want to tell ye!"</p> - -<p>Her old, cracked voice trailed away into a high screech. John Brennan -was like a man stunned by a blow as he waited for her to speak the rest -of the story.</p> - -<p>"Ulick Shannon's father, Henry Shannon, was the one your mother loved. -She never cared for your father, nor he for her. So you might say you -are no love child. But there was a love child in it to be sure, and -that child was Ulick Shannon. Your mother was his mother. He was born -out of wedlock surely, but he happened handy, and was put in the place -of Grace Gogarty's child that died and it a weeshy, young thing.... It -was your grandmother that sold him, God forgive her, if you want to -know, for I was watching the deed being done.... Your mother always -thought the bastard was murdered in the house and buried in the garden. -I used to be forever tormenting her by making her think that only it -was me could tell. There was no one knew it for certain in the whole -world, only me and them that were dead and gone. So your mother could -not have found out from any one but me, and she might never have found -out only for the way she used to be refusing me of me little dues.... -But I can tell you that she found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> out this evening how she was the -mother of Ulick Shannon, and that you, the beloved son she cherished -in her heart and put on in all her pride to be a priest of God, was a -near blood relation of the boy she was never done but running down. The -boy that she, above all others, with her prate and gab made a drunkard -of in the first place, and then rushed on, be always talking of the -like about him, to do great harm to this girl. But sure it was myself -that could not blame him at all, for it was in him both ways, the poor, -unfortunate gosoon!"</p> - -<p>There was no reason to doubt the old shuiler's story, with such -passionate vehemence did it fall from her. And its coherence was very -convincing. It struck him as a greater blow which almost obliterated -his understanding. In the first moment he could stand apart from it -and look even blindly it appeared as the swift descent of Divine -vengeance upon him for what he had just done.... He moved away, his -mind a bursting tumult, and without a sight in his eyes.... The mocking -laughter of Marse Prendergast rang in his ears. Now why was she -laughing at him when it was his mother who was her enemy?</p> - -<p>He was walking, but the action was almost unnoticed by him. He was -moving aimlessly within the dark, encircling shadow of his doom.... Yet -he saw that he was not far distant from Garradrimna.... The last time -he had been there at the period of the day he had been in company with -Ulick Shannon. It was what had sprung out of those comings together -that was now responsible for this red ending.... He remembered also -how the port wine had lifted him out of himself and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> helped him to see -Rebecca Kerr.... The windows were squinting through the gloom as he -went the road.</p> - -<p>There was stronger drink in Garradrimna and pubs. of greater intensity -than McDermott's. There was "The World's End," for instance, that -tavern so fantastically named by the Hon. Reginald Moore in memory of -an inn of the same name that had struck his fancy in England.... The -title now seemed particularly appropriate.</p> - -<p>It was towards this place his feet were moving. In another spell -of thought which surprised him by the precaution it exhibited, he -remembered that his father would not be there; for, although it had -been Ned Brennan's famous haunt aforetime, he had been long ago -forbidden its doors. It was in this, one of the seven places of -degradation in Garradrimna, he was now due to appear.</p> - -<p>He went very timidly up to the back-door, which opened upon a little, -secluded passage. He ordered a glass of whiskey from the greasy barmaid -who came to attend him.... He felt for the money so carefully wrapped -in tissue-paper in his waistcoat pocket. It was a bright gold sovereign -that his mother had given him on the first day of his course at -Ballinamult College to keep against any time he might be called upon to -show off the fact that he was a gentleman. As he unfolded it now, from -the careful covering in which she had wrapped it, it seemed to put on a -tragic significance.... He was fearfully anxious to be in the condition -that had brought him his vision on the night he had slept by the lake.</p> - -<p>He drank the whiskey at one gulp, and it seemed a long time until -the barmaid returned with the change. Sovereigns were marvels of -rare appearance at "The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> World's End." He thanked her and called for -another, paying her as she went. She was remarkably mannerly, for, in -the narrow gloom of the place, she took him to be some rich stranger. -She had seen the color of his money and liked it well.</p> - -<p>The whiskey seemed to possess magical powers. It rapidly restored him -to a mood wherein the distress that was his might soon appear a small -thing. Yet he grew restless with the urgency that was upon him and -glanced around in search of a distraction for his galloping brain.... -He bent down and peered through the little aperture which opened upon -the public bar of "The World's End." In there he saw a man in a heated -atmosphere and enveloped by dense clouds of tobacco-smoke. They were -those who had come in the roads to forget their sweat and labor in the -black joy of porter. Theirs was a part of the tragedy of the fields, -but it was a meaner tragedy. Yet were they suddenly akin to him.... -Through the lugubrious expression on their dark faces a sudden light -was shining. It was the light as if of some ecstasy. A desire fell upon -him to enter into their dream, whatever it might be.... In the wild -whirl that the whiskey had whipped up in his brain there now came a -sudden lull. It was a lull after a great crescendo, as in Beethoven's -music.... He was hearing, with extraordinary clearness, what they were -saying. They were speaking of the case of Ulick Shannon and Rebecca -Kerr. These names were linked inseparably and were going hand in hand -down all the byeways of their talk.... They were sure and certain that -he had gone away. There was not a sign of him in Garradrimna this -evening. That put the cap on his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> guilt surely. Wasn't she the grand -whipster, and she supposed to be showing a good example and teaching -religion to the childer? A nice one to have in the parish indeed! It -was easy knowing from the beginning what she was and the fellow she -struck up with—Henry Shannon's son. Wasn't that enough for you? Henry -Shannon, who was the best blackguard of his time!... Just inside, and -very near to John, a knot of men were discussing the more striking -aspects of the powerful scandal.... They were recounting, with minute -detail, the story of Nan Byrne.... Wasn't it the strangest thing now -how she had managed more or less to live it down? But people would -remember it all again in the light of this thing. What Ulick Shannon -had done now would make people think of what his father had done, and -then they must needs remember her.... And to think that no one ever -knew rightly what had become of the child. Some there were who would -tell you that her sister, Bridget Mulvey, and her mother, Abigail -Byrne, buried it in the garden, and there were those who would tell you -that it was living somewhere at the present time.... Her son John was -not a bad sort, but wasn't it the greatest crime for her to put him on -to be a priest after what had happened to her, and surely no good could -come of it?... And why wouldn't Ned Brennan know of it, and wasn't it -that and nothing else that had made him the ruined wreck of a man he -was? Sure he'd never done a day's good since the night Larry Cully -had lashed out the whole story for his benefit. And wasn't it quite -possible that some one would be bad enough to tell John himself some -time, or the ecclesiastical authorities? What about the mee-aw that had -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>happened to him in the grand college in England that so much had been -heard of? And there was sure to be something else happening before he -was through the college at Ballinamult. A priest, how are ye?</p> - -<p>The whiskey had gone to his head, but, as he listened, John Brennan -felt himself grow more sober than he had ever before been.... So this -was the supplement to the story he had heard a while ago. And now that -he knew the whole story he began to tremble. Continually flashing -across his mind were the words of the man who was dead and silent at -the bottom of the lake—"You could never know a woman, you could never -trust her; you could not even trust your own mother." This was a hard -thing for any man at all to have said in his lifetime, and yet how -full of grim, sad truth did it now appear?... The kind forgetfulness -of his choking bitterness that he had so passionately longed for -would not come to him.... The dregs of his heart were beginning to -turn again towards thoughts of magnanimity as they had already done -in the first, clear spell of thought after his deed. He had then gone -to gather sticks for the old woman, a kind thing, as Jesus might have -done in Nazareth.... The change of the sovereign was in his hand and -his impulse was strong upon him. He could not resist. It seemed as if -a strong magnet was pulling a light piece of steel.... He had walked -into the public bar of "The World's End." Around him was a sea of -faces, laughing, sneering, drinking, sweating, swearing, spitting. He -was calling for a drink for himself and a round for the shop.... Now -the sea of faces was becoming as one face. And there was a look upon it -which seemed made up of incredulity and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>contempt.... This was replaced -by a different look when the pints were in their hands.... They were -saying: "Good health, Mr. Brennan!" with a sneer in their tones and a -smile of flattery upon those lips which had just now been vomiting out -the slime of their minds.</p> - -<p>There was another and yet another round. As long as he could remain on -his feet he remained standing drinks to them. There was a longing upon -him to be doing this thing. And beyond it was the guiding desire to be -rid of every penny of the sovereign his mother had given him to help -him appear as a gentleman if he met company.... Now it seemed to soil -him, coming as it did from her. Curious that feeling after all she had -done for him, and she his mother. But it would not leave him.</p> - -<p>The drink he had bought was fast trickling down the many throats that -were burning to receive it. The rumor of his prodigality was spreading -abroad through Garradrimna, and men had gone into the highways and the -byeways to call their friends to the banquet. Two tramps on their way -to the Workhouse had heard of it and were already deep in their pints. -Upon John's right hand, arrived as if by magic, stood Shamesy Golliher, -and upon his left the famous figure of Padna Padna, who was looking up -into his face with admiration and brightness striving hard to replace -the stare of vacancy in the dimming eyes. As he drank feverishly, -fearful of losing any, Shamesy Golliher continuously ejaculated: "Me -sweet fellow, John! Me sweet fellow!" And Padna Padna kept speaking to -himself of the grand thing it was that there was one decent fellow left -in the world, even if he was only Nan Byrne's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> son. Around John Brennan -was a hum of flattery essentially in the same vein.... And it seemed to -him that, in his own mind, he had soared far beyond them.... Outwardly -he was drunk, but inwardly he knew himself to be very near that rapture -which would bring thoughts of Rebecca as he staggered home alone along -the dark road.</p> - -<p>The companions of his Bacchic night had begun to drift away from -him. Ten o'clock was on the point of striking, and he was in such a -condition that he might be upon their hands at any moment. They did not -want Walter Clinton, the proprietor of "The World's End," to be giving -any of them the job of taking him home. The hour struck and the remnant -went charging through the doorways like sheep through a gap. Shamesy -Golliher limped out, leading Padna Padna by the hand, as if the ancient -man had suddenly become metamorphosed into his second childishness.... -"The bloody-looking idiot!" they were all sniggering to one another. -"Wasn't it a hell of a pity that Ned Brennan, his father, and he always -bowseying for drink in McDermott's and Brannagan's, wasn't in 'The -World's End' to-night?"</p> - -<p>John was alone amidst the dregs of the feast. Where the spilt drink -was shining on the counter there was such a sight of glasses as he had -never before seen. There were empty glasses and glasses still standing -with half their drink in them, and glasses in which the porter had not -been touched so drunk had everybody been.</p> - -<p>Walter Clinton came in indignantly and said that it was a shame for -him to be in such a state, and to go home out of that at once before -the peelers got a hold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> of him.... And he went out with difficulty and -down the old road of the elms towards his mother's house in the valley. -He could hear the hurrying, heavy feet of those he had entertained so -lavishly far down before him on the road.... For the moment he was -happy. Before his burning eyes was the form of Rebecca Kerr. Her face -had a look of quiet loveliness. He thought it was like the faces of -the Madonnas in Father O'Keeffe's parlor.... "Rebecca! Rebecca!" he -called to her ever in the agony of his love. "Thy hands, dear Rebecca!" -... She was not soiled now by any earthly sin, for he had purified her -through the miracle of blood. And she was clean like the night wind.</p> - -<p>He was a pitiable sight as he went staggering on, crying out this -ruined girl's name to the night silence of the lonely places.... At -last he fell somewhere in the soft, dewy grass. For a long while he -remained here—until he began to realize that his vision was passing -with the decline within him of the flame by which it had been created. -The winds upon his face and hair were cold, and it seemed that he was -lying in a damp place. His eyes sprang open.... He was lying by the -lakeside and at the place where he had murdered Ulick Shannon.</p> - -<p>He jumped up of a sudden, for his fear had come back to him. With his -mouth wide open and a clammy sweat upon his brow, he started to run -across what seemed a never-ending grassy space.... He broke madly -through fences of thorn and barbed wire, which tore his clothes and his -hands. He stumbled across fields of tillage.... At last, with every -limb shivering, he came near his mother's door.... Presently he grew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> -coldly conscious.... He could hear his father muttering drunkenly -within. He came nearer, striving hard to steady himself and walk erect. -He quickened his step to further maintain his pretense of sobriety. His -foot tripped against something, and he lurched forward. He was caught -in his mother's arms, for, at the sound of his approach, she had opened -the door in resigned and mournful expectation.</p> - -<p>"O Jesus!" she said.</p> - -<p>There were two of them now.</p> - -<p class="center space-above">THE END</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Valley of Squinting Windows, by -Brinsley MacNamara - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VALLEY OF SQUINTING WINDOWS *** - -***** This file should be named 61102-h.htm or 61102-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/1/0/61102/ - -Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/61102-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/61102-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d876034..0000000 --- a/old/61102-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/61102-h/images/logo.jpg b/old/61102-h/images/logo.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1908e29..0000000 --- a/old/61102-h/images/logo.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/61102-h/images/title.jpg b/old/61102-h/images/title.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index bb8031e..0000000 --- a/old/61102-h/images/title.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/61102.txt b/old/61102.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5c7049a..0000000 --- a/old/61102.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8869 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Valley of Squinting Windows, by Brinsley MacNamara - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Valley of Squinting Windows - -Author: Brinsley MacNamara - -Release Date: January 4, 2020 [EBook #61102] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VALLEY OF SQUINTING WINDOWS *** - - - - -Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber's note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -THE VALLEY OF THE -SQUINTING WINDOWS - -BY -BRINSLEY MACNAMARA - -[Illustration: Logo] - -NEW YORK -BRENTANO'S -1920 - - - - -Copyright, 1919, by -BRENTANO'S - -_All rights reserved_ - - - - -To -ONE WHO WAITED -FOR THIS STORY - - -_And the Lord spake unto Moses saying_: - -_Speak unto Aaron saying whosoever he be of thy seed in their -generations that hath any blemish let him not approach to offer the -bread of his God._ - -LEVITICUS xxi. 16-17. - - - - -PREFATORY NOTE - - -In the parlor, as they call it, or best room of every Irish farmhouse, -one may come upon a certain number of books that are never read, laid -there in lonely repose upon the big square table on the middle of the -floor. A novel entitled "Knocknagow" is almost always certain to be -amongst them, yet scarcely as the result of selection, although its -constant occurrence cannot be considered purely accidental. There must -lurk an explanation somewhere about these quiet Irish houses connecting -the very atmosphere with "Knocknagow". A stranger, thinking of some of -the great books of the world, would almost feel inclined to believe -that this story of the quiet homesteads of Ireland must be one of them, -a book full of inspiration and truth and beauty, a story sprung from -the bleeding realities which were before the present comfort of these -homes. Yet for all the expectations which might be raised up in one -by this most popular, this typical Irish novel, it is most certainly -the book with which the new Irish novelist would endeavor to contrast -his own. For he would be writing of life, as the modern novelist's art -is essentially a realistic one, and not of the queer, distant, half -pleasing, half saddening thing which could make one Irish farmer's -daughter say to another at any time within the past forty years: - -"And you'd often see things happening nearly in real life like in -'Knocknagow.' Now wouldn't you?" - -Nearer by a long way than Charles Joseph Kickham to what the Irish -novelist should have been was William Carleton in his great, gloomy, -melodramatic stories of the land. He was prevented by the agrarian -obsession of his time from having the clear vision and wide pity, in -keeping with his vehemence, which might have made him the Irish Balzac. - -Even in Ireland Lever and Lover have become unpopular. They are read -only by Englishmen who still try to perpetuate their comic convention -when they write newspaper articles about Ireland. - -As with Kickham, largely in his treatment of the Irish peasant, Gerald -Griffin in "The Collegians" did not succeed in giving his Irish middle -or "strong farmer" class characters the spiritual energy so necessary -to the literary subject. - -Here are five writers then, who included in their work such exact -opposites as saints and sinners, heroes and _omadhanns_, earnest -passionate men and _broths of bhoys_. And somehow between them, between -those who wrote to degrade us and those who have idealized us, the real -Irishman did not come to be set down. From its fiction, reality was -absent, as from most other aspects of Irish life. - -To a certain extent the realistic method has been employed by the -dramatists of the Irish Literary Movement, but necessarily limited by -the scope and conventions of the stage and by the narrower appeal of -the spoken word in the mouth of an actor. The stage, too, has a way of -developing cults and conventions and of its very nature must display -a certain amount of artificiality, even in the handling of realistic -material. Thus comes a sudden stagnation, a sudden completion always -of a literary movement developed mostly upon the dramatic side, as has -come upon the work of the Abbey Theater. - -It appears rather accidental, but perhaps on the whole to its benefit, -that the dramatic form should have been adopted by J. M. Synge and not -the epical form of the novel. Synge fell with a lash of surprise upon -the Ireland of his time, for the Irish play had been as fully degraded -as the Irish novel. Furthermore the shock of his genius created an -opportunity which made possible the realistic Irish novelist. At the -Abbey Theater they performed plays dealing with subjects which no Irish -novelist, thinking of a public, would have dreamt of handling. Somehow -their plays have come to be known and accepted throughout Ireland. Thus -a reading public for this realistic Irish novel has been slowly created -and the urge to write like this has come to many storytellers. - -Of necessity, as part of the reaction from the work of the feeble -masters we have known, the first examples of the new Irish novel -were bound to be a little savage and pitiless. In former pictures of -Irish life there was heavy labor always to give us the shade at the -expense of the light, in fact at the expense of the truth which is -life itself. In Ireland the protest of the realist is not so much -against Romanticism as against an attempt made to place before us a -pseudo-realism. According as the Irish people resign themselves to the -fact that this is not a thing which should not be done, the work of -the Irish realist will approximate more nearly to the quality of the -Russian novelists, in which there are neither exaggerations of Light -nor of Shade, but a picture of life all gray and quiet, and brightened -only by the beauty of tragic reality. - -It leaves room for interesting speculation, that at a time of political -chaos, at a time when in Ireland there is a great coming and going of -politicians of all brands, dreamers, sages and mystics, the decline -of the Irish Literary Movement on its dramatic side should have given -the realistic Irish novelist his opportunity to appear. The urgent -necessity of reality in Irish life at the moment fills one with the -thought that a school of Irish realists might have brought finer things -to the heart of Ireland than the Hy Brazil of the politicians. - -The function of the Irish novelist to evoke reality has been proved in -the case of "The Valley of the Squinting Windows." Upon its appearance -the people of that part of Ireland with whom I deal in my writings -became highly incensed. They burned my book after the best medieval -fashion and resorted to acts of healthy violence. The romantic period -seemed to have been cut out of their lives and they were full of -life again. The story of my story became widely exaggerated through -gradually increasing venom and my book, which had been well received -by the official Irish Press,--whose reviewers generally read the books -they write about--was supposed by some of my own people to contain the -most frightful things. To the peasant mind, fed so long upon unreal -tales of itself, the thing I had done became identified after the most -incongruous fashion and very curiously with an aspect of the very -literary association from which I had sprung. Language out of Synge's -"Playboy of the Western World" came to my ears from every side during -the days in which I was made to suffer for having written "The Valley -of the Squinting Windows." - -"And saving your presence, sir, are you the man that killed your -father?" - -"I am, God help me!" - -"Well then, my thousand blessings to you!" - -The country as a whole did not dislike my picture of Irish life or say -it was untrue. It was only the particular section of life which was -pictured that still asserted its right to the consolation of romantic -treatment, but in its very attempt to retain romance in theory it -became realistic in practise. It did exactly what it should have done -a great many years ago with the kind of books from which it drew a -certain poisonous comfort towards its own intellectual and political -enslavement. The rest of Ireland was amused by the performance of those -who did not think, with Mr. Yeats, that romantic Ireland was dead and -gone. The realist had begun to evoke reality and no longer did a great -screech sound through the land that this kind of thing should not be -done. A change had come, by miraculous coincidence, upon the soul -of Ireland. It was not afraid of realism now,--for it had faced the -tragic reality of the travail which comes before a healthy national -consciousness can be born. No longer would the realist be described -in his own country as merely a morbid scoundrel or an enemy of the -Irish people. They would not need again the solace of the sentimental -novelist for all the offenses of the caricaturists in Irish fiction, -because, with the wider and clearer vision of their own souls fully -realized, had they already begun to look out upon the world. - -BRINSLEY MACNAMARA. - -Dublin, March 1st, 1919. - - - - -THE VALLEY OF THE SQUINTING WINDOWS - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -Mrs. Brennan took her seat again at the sewing-machine by the window. -She sighed as she turned her tired eyes in search of some inducement -to solace down the white road through the valley of Tullahanogue. The -day was already bright above the fields and groups of children were -beginning to pass through the morning on their way to school. Mrs. -Brennan beheld their passage, yet now as always she seemed to miss the -small beauty of the little pageant. - -"God help them, the poor little things!" she condoled to herself, "and -may He enlighten the unfortunate parents who send them to that quare, -ould, ignorant pair, Master Donnellan and Mrs. Wyse, the mistress. -Musha, sure they're no teachers!" - -From this it might seem that Mrs. Brennan, the dressmaker of the valley -and one well entitled to be giving out an opinion, did not think very -highly of National Education. Yet it was not true that she failed -to regard the lofty fact of education with all a peasant's stupid -reverence, for was she not the mother of John Brennan, who was now -preparing for the priesthood at a grand college in England? A priest, -mind you! That was what you might call something for a woman to be! - -The pride of her motherhood struck a high and resounding note in the -life of the valley. Furthermore, it gave her authority to assert -herself as a woman of remarkable standing amongst the people. She -devoted her prerogative to the advancement of the Catholic Church. She -manifested herself as one intensely interested in its welfare. There -was no cheap religious periodical, from _The Catholic Times_ to _The -Messenger_, that she did not regularly purchase. All these she read to -her husband, Ned Brennan, in the long quiet evenings after the manner -of one discharging a religious duty. - -This was a curious side of her. She kept him in comfort and in ease, -and yet when his body had been contented she must needs apply herself -to the welfare of his soul. For, although he spent many a penny of -her money in the village of Garradrimna, was he not the father of -John Brennan, who was going to be a priest of God? She forgave him -everything on this account, even the coarse and blasphemous expressions -he continually let fly from his mouth the while she read for him the -most holy stories by Jesuit Fathers. - -Just now she had given him two shillings with which to entertain -himself. He had threatened to strike her in the event of her -refusal.... That was why she had been sighing and why the tears were -now creeping into her great tired eyes as she began to set her machine -in motion for the tasks of the day. Dear, dear, wasn't he the cruel, -hard man?... Yet beyond all this thought of him was her bright dream of -the day when, with the few pounds she had saved so secretly from the -wide grasp of his thirst, she must fit him out in a rich suit of black -and go by his side proudly to attend the ordination of their son John. -It was because she so dearly loved her dream that she bore him with -immense patience. - -Also it was because she had been thinking of that grand day and of the -descending splendor of her son that she now commented so strongly upon -the passage of the children to school. She had spoken bitterly to her -own heart, but in that heart of hers she was a bitter woman. - -This was such a sunny, lovely morning. It was the day of the June Races -in the town of Mullaghowen, and most of the valley-dwellers had gone -there. The winding, dusty road through Tullahanogue was a long lane of -silence amid the sunlight. It appeared as an avenue to the Palace of -Dreams. So it was not at all strange that Mrs. Brennan was dreaming -forward into the future and filling her mind with fancies of the past. -She was remembering herself as Nan Byrne, the prettiest girl in the -valley. This was no illusion of idle vanity, for was there not an old -daguerreotype in an album on the table behind her at this very moment -to prove that beauty had been hers? And she had been ruined because -of that proud beauty. It was curious to think how her sister and she -had both gone the same way.... The period of a generation had passed -since the calamity had fallen upon them almost simultaneously. It was -the greatest scandal that had ever happened in these parts. The holy -priest, whose bones were now moldering beneath the sanctuary of the -chapel, had said hard words of her. From the altar of God he had spoken -his pity of her father, and said that she was a bad woman. - -"May God strengthen him, for this is the bitter burden to bear. Philip -Byrne is a decent man for all his daughter Nan is a woman of shame. I -pray you avoid her every one who has the trace of God's purity in his -heart. Let you go not into that house which she has made an abode of -lust, nor allow the fair name of your own house to be blemished by the -contamination of her presence within its walls." - -Yes, it was true that all this had been said of her by the holy father, -and in the very spot beneath which his bones were now at rest. They -were the hard words surely to have issued from the lips of God's -anointed. Even in the fugitive remembrance of them now they seemed to -have left red marks like whip-lash weals across her soul. The burning -hurt of them drove her deeper into remembrance. She had already come to -the full development of her charms when her ambition had also appeared. -It was, in short, to effect the "catch" of one of the strong farmers of -the valley. She entered into conspiracy with her sister and, together, -they laid their plans. Henry Shannon was the one upon whom she had set -her eye and Loughlin Mulvey the one her sister Bridget had begun to -desire. They were both men of family and substance, and hard drinkers -after the fashion of the fields. They often called at the house to -see the sisters. Philip Byrne, whose occupation as head-groom at the -stables of the Moores of Garradrimna often took him away from Ireland, -would always be absent during those visitations. But their mother would -be there, Mrs. Abigail Byrne, ambitious for her daughters, in great -style. It was never known to happen that either of the strong farmers -called to the house without a bottle of whiskey. Mrs. Byrne always -looked favorably upon them for their high decency, and the whiskey was -good whiskey. - -Here in this very room where she now sat remembering it all there -had been such scenes! Her hair had been so thick and brown and there -had been a rare bloom upon her skin as she had sat here alone with -Henry Shannon, talking with him of queer things and kissing his dark, -handsome face. And all through those far, bygone times she used to be -thinking of his grand house and of his broad fields and the way she -would one day assert herself in the joy of such possessions over her -less fortunate sisters of the valley. Yet, ever mixed with her bright -pieces of imagination, there had been such torturing doubts.... Her -sister Bridget had always been so certain of her prey. - -There had been times when Henry Shannon spent the night in the house. -In those nights had been laid the foundations of her shame.... Very, -very clearly did she remember the sickening, dreadful morning she had -come to her mother with the story that she was going to have a child. -How angry the elder woman had been, so lit within her all the wild -instincts of the female against the betrayer of her sex? Why had she -gone so far? Why had she not played her cards like her sister? There -was no fear of her yet although she had got a proper hold of Loughlin -Mulvey.... What was she to do at all? She who had had great ambitions -was to become lower than the lowest in the valley. - -Yet the three of them had conferred together, for all the others were -so angry with her because of her disastrous condition into which she -had allowed herself to slip without having first made certain of Henry -Shannon. The only course left now was to "make a show" of him if he -could not see his way to marry her. - -She could now remember every line of the angry, misspelled letter she -had sent to her whilom lover, and how it had brought him to the house -in a mood of drunken repentance. He presented her with material for a -new dress on the very same night, and, as she laughed and cried over -it in turn, she thought how very curious it was that he should wish to -see her figure richly adorned when already it had begun to put on those -signs of disfigurement which announce the coming of a child. But he was -very, very kind, and all suspicion fell away from her. Before he went -he whispered an invitation to spend a few days with him in Dublin.... -What did it matter now, and it was so kind of him to ask her? It showed -what was in his mind, and therefore no talk of marriage passed between -them. It did not seem necessary. - -Then had followed quickly those lovely days in Dublin, she stopping -with him as "Mrs. Henry Shannon" at a grand hotel. He had given her a -wedding-ring, but while it remained upon her finger it was ever the -little accusing symbol, filling her with an intense conviction of her -sin. - -This great adventure had marked the beginning of her acquaintance with -the world beyond the valley, and, even now, through the gloom of her -mood, she could remember it with a certain amount of gladness coming -back to her mind. But it was queer that the brightest moment of her -life should also have been the moment of darkest disaster.... She -re-created the slight incidents of their quarrel. It was so strange -of him after all the grand kindness he had just been showing her.... -She had returned to the valley alone and with her disgrace already -beginning to be heavy upon her.... She never saw Henry Shannon or spoke -with him again. When she wrote referring distantly to their approaching -marriage and making mention of the wedding-ring, the reply came back -from Mr. Robinson, the solicitor in Garradrimna, who was his cousin and -sporting companion. She knew how they had already begun to talk of her -in the valley for having gone off to Dublin with Henry Shannon, and -now, when an ugly word to describe her appeared there black and plain -in the solicitor's letter, she felt, in blind shame, that the visit -to Dublin had been planned to ruin her. The air of the valley seemed -full of whispers to tell her that she had done a monstrous thing. Maybe -they could give her jail for having done a thing like that, and she -knew well that Henry Shannon's people would stop at nothing to destroy -her, for they were a dark, spiteful crew. They were rich and powerful, -with lawyers in the family, and what chance would she have in law now -that every one was turned against her. So that night she went out when -it was very dark and threw away the wedding-ring. The small, sad act -appeared as the renunciation of her great ambition. - -She remembered with a surpassing clearness the wide desolation of -the time that followed. Loughlin Mulvey had been compelled to marry -her sister Bridget because he had not been clever enough to effect a -loophole of escape like Henry Shannon. Already three months after the -marriage (bit by bit was she now living the past again) the child had -been born to Bridget, and now she herself was waiting for the birth of -her child.... Indeed Bridget need not have been so angry. - -She had been delirious and upon the brink of death, and when, at last, -she had recovered sufficiently to realize the sharpness of her mother's -tongue once more the child had disappeared. She had escaped to England -with all that was left of her beauty. There she had met Ned Brennan, -and there had her son John Brennan been born. For a short while she had -known happiness. Ned was rough, but in his very strength there was a -sense of security and protection which made him bearable. And there was -little John. He was not a bit like her short, wild impression of the -other little child. Her disgrace had been the means of bringing Philip -Byrne to his grave; and, after six or seven years, her mother had died, -and she had returned to the valley of Tullahanogue. It was queer that, -with all her early knowledge of the people of the valley, she had never -thought it possible that some of them would one day impart to him the -terrible secret she had concealed so well while acting the ingenuous -maiden before his eyes. - -Yet they were not settled a month at the cottage in the valley when Ned -came from Garradrimna one night a changed man. Larry Cully, a loafer -of the village, had attacked him with the whole story.... Was this the -kind of people among whom she had brought him to live, and was this -a fact about her? She confessed her share, but, illtreat her how he -would, she could not tell him what had been done with the child. - -Henceforth he was so different, settling gradually into his present -condition. He could not go about making inquiries as to the past of his -wife, and the people of the valley, gloating over his condition, took -no pains to ease his mind. It was more interesting to see him torture -himself with suspicion. They hardly fancied she had told him all. It -was grand to see him drinking in his endeavors to forget the things he -must needs be thinking of. - -Thus had Mrs. Brennan lived with her husband for eighteen years, and no -other child had been born to them. His original occupation of plumber's -laborer found no opportunity for its exercise in the valley, but he -sometimes lime-washed stables and mended roofs and gutters. For the -most part, however, she kept him through her labor at the machine. - -Her story was not without its turn of pathos, for it was strange to -think of her reading the holy books to him in the long, quiet evenings -all the while he despised her for what she had been with a hatred that -all the magnanimous examples of religion could not remove. - -She was thinking over it all now, and so keenly, for he had just -threatened to strike her again. Eighteen years had not removed from -his mind the full and bitter realization of her sin.... They were both -beginning to grow gray, and her living atonement for what she had been, -her son John who was going on for the Church, was in his twentieth -year. Would her husband forgive her when he saw John in the garb of a -priest? She wondered and wondered. - -So deep was she in this thought that she did not notice the entrance -of old Marse Prendergast, who lived in a cabin just across the road. -Marse was a superannuated shuiler and a terror in the valley. The tears -had been summoned to her eyes by the still unchanging quality of Ned's -tone. They were at once detected by the old woman. - -"Still crying, are ye, Nan Byrne, for Henry Shannon that's dead and -gone?" - -This was a sore cut, but it was because of its severity that it had -been given. Marse Prendergast's method was to attack the person from -whom she desired an alms instead of making an approach in fear and -trembling. - -"Well, what's the use in regretting now that he didn't marry ye after -all?... Maybe you could give me a bit of Ned's tobacco for me little -pipe, or a few coppers to buy some." - -"I will in troth," she said, searching her apron pocket, only to -discover that Ned had taken all her spare coppers. She communicated her -regrets to the old woman, but her words fell upon ears that doubted. - -"Ah-ha, the lie is on your lip yet, Nan Byrne, just as it was there -for your poor husband the day he married you, God save us all from -harm--you who were what you were before you went away to England. -And now the cheek you have to go refuse me the few coppers. Ye think -ye're a great one, don't you, with your son at college, and he going -on to be a priest. Well, let me tell you that a priest he'll never be, -your grand son, John. Ye have the quare nerve to imagine it indeed if -you ever think of what happened to your other little son.... Maybe -'tis what ye don't remember that, Nan Bryne.... The poor little thing -screeching in the night-time, and some one carrying a box out into the -garden in the moonlight, and them digging the hole.... Ah, 'tis well I -know all that, Nan Byrne, although you may think yourself very clever -and mysterious. And 'tis maybe I'll see you swing for it yet with -your refusals and the great annoyance you put me to for the means of -a smoke, and I a real ould woman and all. But listen here to me, Nan -Byrne! 'Tis maybe to your grand son, John Brennan, I'll be telling the -whole story some day!" - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Her tongue still clacking in soliloquy, Marse Prendergast hobbled out -of the house, and Mrs. Brennan went to the small back window of the -sewing-room. She gazed wistfully down the long, sloping fields towards -the little lake which nestled in the bosom of the valley. Within the -periods of acute consciousness which came between her sobs she began -to examine the curious edifice of life which housed her soul. An -unaccountable, swift power to do this came to her as she saw the place -around which she had played as a child, long ago, when she had a brow -snow-white and smooth, with nice hair and laughing eyes. Her soul, -too, at that time was clean--clean like the water. And she was wont to -have glad thoughts of the coming years when she had sprung to girlhood -and could wear pretty frocks and bind up her hair. Across her mind had -never fallen the faintest shadow of the thing that was to happen to her. - -Yet now, as she ran over everything in her mind, she marveled not a -little that, although she could not possibly have returned to the -perfect innocence of her childhood state, she had triumphed over -the blight of certain circumstances to an extraordinary extent. She -was surprised to realize that there must have been some strength of -character in her not possessed by the other women of the valley. It had -been her mother's mark of distinction, but the dead woman had used it -towards the achievement of different ends. Ends, too, which had left -their mark upon the lives of both her daughters. - -It struck her now, with another lash of surprise, that it had been -an amazingly cheeky thing to have returned to the valley; but, as -the shining waters of the lake led her mind into the quiet ways of -contemplation, she could not help thinking that she had triumphed well. - -To be living here at all with such a husband, and her son away in -England preparing for the priesthood, seemed the very queerest, -queerest thing. It was true that she held herself up well and had a -fine conceit of herself, if you please. The mothers of the neighborhood -had, for the most part, chosen to forget the contamination that might -have arisen from sending their daughters to a woman like her for their -dresses, and, in consequence, she had been enabled to build up this -little business. She asserted herself in the ways of assertion which -were open to the dwellers in the valley. She attended to her religious -duties with admirable regularity. It was not alone that she fulfilled -the obligation of hearing Mass on Sundays and Holydays, but also on -many an ordinary morning when there was really no need to be so very -pious. She went just to show them that she was passionately devoted to -religion. Yet her neighbors never once regarded her in the light of -a second Mary Magdalene. They entered into competition with her, it -was true, for they could not let it be said that Nan Byrne was more -religious than they, and so, between them, they succeeded in degrading -the Mysteries. But it was the only way that was open to them of showing -off their souls. - -On a Sunday morning the procession they formed was like a flock of -human crows. And the noise they made was a continual caw of calumny. -The one presently absent was set down as the sinner. They were -eternally the Pharisees and she the Publican. Mrs. Brennan was great -among these crows of calumny. It was her place of power. She could give -out an opinion coming home from Mass upon any person at all that would -almost take the hearing out of your ears. She effectively beat down -the voice of criticism against herself by her sweeping denunciations -of all others. It was an unusual method, and resembled that of -Marse Prendergast, the shuiler, from whom it may probably have been -copied. It led many to form curious estimates as to the exact type of -mind possessed by the woman who made use of it. There were some who -described it as "thickness," a rather remarkable designation given to -a certain quality of temper by the people of the valley. But there was -no denying that it had won for her a cumulative series of results which -had built up about her something definite and original and placed her -resolutely in the life of the valley. - -She would often say a thing like this, and it might be taken as a -good example of her talk and as throwing a light as well upon the -conversation of those with whom she walked home the road from the House -of God. A young couple would have done the best thing by marrying at -the right age, and these long-married women with the queer minds would -be putting before them the very worst prospects. Mrs. Brennan would -distinguish herself by saying a characteristic thing: - -"Well, if there's quarreling between them, and musha! the same is sure -to be, the names they'll call one another won't be very nice for the -_pedigree_ is not too _clean_ on either side of the house." - -No word of contradiction or comment would come from the others, for -this was a morsel too choice to be disdained, seeing that it so -perfectly expressed their own thoughts and the most intimate wishes -of their hearts. It was when they got home, however, and, during the -remaining portion of the Sunday, their happy carnival of destructive -gossip, that they would think of asking themselves the question--"What -right had Nan Byrne of all people to be thinking of little slips -that had happened in the days gone by?" But the unreasonableness -of her words never appeared in this light to her own mind. She was -self-righteous to an enormous degree, and it was her particular fancy -to consider all women as retaining strongly their primal degradation. -And yet it was at such a time she remembered, not penitently however, -or in terms of abasement, but with a heavy sadness numbing her every -faculty. It was her connection with a great sin and her love for her -son John which would not become reconciled. - -When she returned to the valley with her husband and her young child -she had inaugurated her life's dream. Her son John was to be her -final justification before the world and, in a most wondrous way, had -her dream begun to come true. She had reared him well, and he was so -different from Ned Brennan. He was of a kindly disposition and, in the -opinion of Master Donnellan, who was well hated by his mother, gave -promise of great things. He had passed through the National School in -some way that was known only to Mrs. Brennan, to "a grand College in -England." He appeared as an extraordinary exception to the breed of -the valley, especially when one considered the characters of both his -parents. - -Mrs. Brennan dearly loved her son, but even here, as in every phase of -her life, the curious twist of her nature revealed itself. Hers was a -selfish love, for it had mostly to do with the triumph he represented -for her before the people of the valley. But this was her dream, and a -dream may often become dearer than a child. It was her one sustaining -joy, and she could not bear to think of any shadow falling down to -darken its grandeur. The least suspicion of a calamity of this kind -always had the effect of reducing to ruins the brazen front of the Mrs. -Brennan who presented herself to the valley and of giving her a kind of -fainting in her very heart. - -Her lovely son! She wiped her tear-stained cheeks now with the corner -of her black apron, for Farrell McGuinness, the postman, was at the -door. He said, "Good-morra, Mrs. Brennan!" and handed her a letter. -It was from John, telling her that his summer holidays were almost at -hand. It seemed strange that, just now, when she had been thinking of -him, this letter should have come.... Well, well, how quickly the time -passed, now that the snow had settled upon her hair. - -Farrell McGuinness was loitering by the door waiting to have a word -with her when she had read her letter. - -"I hear Mary Cooney over in Cruckenerega is home from Belfast again. -Aye, and that she's shut herself up in a room and not one can see a -sight of her. Isn't that quare now? Isn't it, Mrs. Brennan?" - -"It's great, isn't it, Farrell? You may be sure there's something the -matter with her." - -"God bless us now, but wouldn't that be the hard blow to her father and -mother and to her little sisters?" - -"Arrah musha, between you and me and the wall, the divil a loss. What -could she be, anyhow?" - -"That's true for you, Mrs. Brennan!" - -"Aye, and to think that it was in Belfast, of all places, that it -happened. Now, d'ye know what I'm going to tell ye, Farrell? 'Tis the -bad, Orange, immoral hole of a place is the same Belfast!" - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Farrell McGuinness, grinning to himself, had moved away on his red -bicycle, and a motor now came towards her in its envelope of dust down -the long road of Tullahanogue. This was the first hire motor that -had appeared in the village of Garradrimna and was the property of -Charlie Clarke, an excellent, religious man, who had interested himself -so successfully in bazaars and the charities that he had been thus -enabled to purchase it. Its coming amongst them had been a sensational -occurrence. If a neighbor wished to flout a neighbor it was done by -hiring Clarke's car; and Mrs. Brennan immediately thought what a grand -thing it would be to take it on the coming Thursday and make a brave -show with her son John sitting up beside her and he dressed in black. -The dignity of her son, now moving so near the priesthood, demanded -such a demonstration. She hailed Charlie Clarke, and the car came -suddenly to a standstill. The petrol fumes mingling with the rising -dust of the summer road, floated to her nostrils like some incense of -pride. - -"Good morning, Mrs. Brennan!" - -"Good morning, Mr. Clarke!" - -"You're not at the races of Mullaghowen?" - -"Not yet, Mrs. Brennan, but I'm going--and with the Houlihans of -Clonabroney." - -"The Houlihans of Clonabroney, well, well; that's what you might call a -_quality_ drive." - -"Oh, indeed, 'tis almost exclusively to the quality and to the priests -my drives are confined, Mrs. Brennan. I'm not patronized by the beggars -of the valley." - -"That's right, Mr. Clarke, that's right. Keep your car _clean_ at all -costs.... It's what I just stopped you to see if you could drive me -over to Kilaconnaghan to meet my son John on Thursday. He's coming -home." - -"Is that so? Well you may say that's grand, Mrs. Brennan. Oh, indeed, -John is the rare credit to you, so he is. You should be proud of him, -for 'tis the fine beautiful thing to be going on for the Church. In -fact, do ye know what it is, Mrs. Brennan? Only I'm married, I'd be -thinking this very minute of giving up motor, shop, land and everything -and going into a monastery. I would so." - -"Now aren't you the fine, noble-minded man to be thinking of the like?" - -"I am so.... Well, I'll drive you, Mrs. Brennan. On Thursday, you say, -to Kilaconnaghan. The round trip will cost you fifteen shillings." - -"Fifteen shillings?" - -Charlie Clarke had already re-started the car which was again humming -dustily down the road. Mrs. Brennan turned wearily into the sewing-room -and seated herself once more by the machine. She was crushed a little -by the thought of the fifteen shillings. She saw clearly before her the -long procession of the hours of torture for her eyes that the amount -represented. It appeared well that she had not given the few coppers to -old Marse Prendergast, for, even as things stood, she must approach -some of her customers towards the settlement of small accounts to -enable her to spend fifteen shillings in the display of her pride.... -For eighteen years it had been thus with her, this continual scraping -and worrying about money. She wondered and wondered now was she ever -destined to find release from mean tortures. Maybe when her son had -become a priest he would be good to his mother? She had known of -priests and the relatives of priests, who had grown amazingly rich. - -She was recalled from her long reverie by the return of Ned Brennan -from Garradrimna. The signs of drink were upon him. - -"Where's me dinner?" he said, in a flat, heavy voice. - -"Your dinner, is it? Oh dear, dear, 'tis how I never thought of putting -it on yet. I had a letter from John, and sure it set me thinking. God -knows I'll have it ready for you as soon as I can." - -"Aye, John. A letter from John.... Begad.... Begad.... And I wanting me -dinner!" - -"So you'll have it, so you'll have it. Now aren't you the wild, -impatient man? Can't you wait a minute?" - -"I never did see such a woman as you, and I in a complete hurry. Three -slates slipped down off the school roof in the bit of wind the other -night, and I'm after getting instructions from Father O'Keeffe to put -them on." - -"Ah, sure, 'tis well I know how good and industrious you are, Ned. -That's the sixth time this year you've put on the very same slates. -You're a good man, indeed, and a fine tradesman." - -For the moment his anger was appeased by this ironical compliment, -which she did not intend as irony; but at heart he was deeply vexed -because he was going to do this little job. She knew he must be talking -of it for months to come. When the few shillings it brought him were -spent she must give him others and others as a continuous reward for -his vast effort. This she must do as a part of her tragic existence, -while beholding at the same time how he despised her in his heart. - -But, just now, the bitterness of this realization did not assail -her with the full power of the outer darkness, for her mind was lit -brilliantly to-day by the thought of John. And during the hours that -passed after she had fitted out Ned for his adventurous expedition to -the roof she could just barely summon up courage to turn the machine, -so consumed was she by a great yearning for her son. - -The days, until Thursday, seemed to stretch themselves into an age. -But at three o'clock, when Charlie Clarke's white motor drew up at the -door, she was still preparing for the journey. In the room which had -known another aspect of her life she had been adorning herself for long -hours. The very best clothes and all the personal ornaments in her -possession must needs be brought into use. For it had suddenly appeared -to her that she was about to enter into an unique ceremony comparable -only to the ordination of John. - -Searching in an unfrequented drawer of the dressing-table for -hair-pins, she had come upon an old cameo-brooch, one of Henry -Shannon's costly presents to her during the period of their -strange "honeymoon." It was a pretty thing, so massive and so -respectable-looking. It was of that heavy Victorian period to which -her story also belonged. With trembling hands she fastened it upon her -bosom. In a deeper recess of the drawer she came upon a powder puff in -a small round box, which still held some of the aid to beauty remaining -dry and useful through all the years. She had once used it to heighten -her graces in the eyes of Henry Shannon. And now, for all the blanching -trouble through which she had passed, she could not resist the impulses -of the light woman in her and use it to assert her pride in her son. It -must be a part of her decking-out as she passed through the valley in a -motor for the first time, going forth to meet her son. - -She took her seat at last by the side of Charlie Clarke, and passed -proudly down the valley road. Things might have gone as agreeably -as she had planned but for the peculiar religious warp there was -in Charlie. He might have talked about the mechanism of his car or -remarked at length upon the beauty of the summer day, but he must -inevitably twist the conversation in the direction of religion. - -"I suppose," said he, "that it's a fine thing to be the mother of a -young fellow going on for the Church. It must make you very contented -in yourself when you think of all the Masses he will say for you during -your lifetime and all the Masses he will say for the repose of your -soul when you are dead and gone." - -"Aye, indeed, that's a grand and a true saying for you, Mr. Clarke. But -sure what else could one expect from you, and yourself the good man -that goes to Mass every day?" - -"And, Mrs. Brennan, woman dear, to see him saying the Holy Mass, and -he having his face shining with the Light of Heaven!" - -"A beautiful sight, Mr. Clarke, as sure as you're there." - -The car was speeding along merrily, and now it had just passed, with -a slight bump, over the culvert of a stream, which here and there was -playing musically about little stones, and here and there was like bits -of molten silver spitting in the sun. It was a grand day. - -Whether or not the unusual sensation of the throbbing car was too much -for Mrs. Brennan, she was speaking little although listening eagerly to -the words of Charlie Clarke, asking him once or twice to repeat some -sentences she had been kept from hearing by the noise of the engine. -Now she was growing more and more silent, for they had not yet passed -out of the barony of Tullahanogue. She saw many a head suddenly fill -many a squinting window, and men and women they met on the road turn -round with a sneer to gaze back at her sitting up there beside Charlie -Clarke, the saintly chauffeur who went to Mass every day. - -Her ears were burning, and into her mind, in powerful battalions, were -coming all the thoughts that had just been born in the minds of the -others. The powder she had applied to her cheeks was now like a burning -sweat upon her skin. The cameo-brooch felt like a great weight where -it lay upon her bosom heavily. It caught her breath and so prevented -her maintaining conversation with Charlie Clarke. It reminded her -insistently of the dear baby head of John reposing, as in a bower of -tenderness, upon the same place. - -"It must be the grand and blessed thing for a mother to go to -confession to her son. Now wouldn't it be wonderful to think of -telling him, as the minister of God's mercy, the little faults she had -committed before he was born or before she married his father. Now -isn't that the queer thought, Mrs. Brennan?" - -She did not reply, and it took all she could marshal of self-possession -to protect her from tears as the motor hummed into the village of -Kilaconnaghan, where the railway station was. They had arrived well in -advance of the train's time. She passed through the little waiting-room -and looked into the advertisement for Jameson's Whiskey, which was -also a mirror. She remembered that it was in this very room she had -waited before going away for that disastrous "honeymoon" with Henry -Shannon.... This was a better mirror than the one at home, and she -saw that the blaze upon her cheeks had already subdued the power of -the powder, making it unnecessary and as the merest dirt upon her -face.... The cameo-brooch looked so large and gaudy.... She momentarily -considered herself not at all unlike some faded women of the pavement -she had seen move, like malignant specters, beneath the lamplight in -Dublin city.... She plucked away the brooch from her bosom and thrust -it into her pocket. Then she wiped her face clean with her handkerchief. - -Far off, and as a glad sound coming tentatively to her ears, she could -hear the train that was bearing her beloved son home to the valley and -to her. It was nearly a year since she last saw him, and she fancied he -must have changed so within that space of time. Who knew how he might -change towards her some day? This was her constant dread. And now as -the increasing noise of the train told that it was drawing nearer she -felt immensely lonely. - -The few stray passengers who ever came to Kilaconnaghan by the -afternoon train had got out, and John Brennan was amongst them. On the -journey from Dublin he had occupied a carriage with Myles Shannon, -who was the surviving brother of Henry Shannon and the magnate of the -valley. The time had passed pleasantly enough, for Mr. Shannon was -a well-read, interesting man. He had spoken in an illuminating way -of the Great War. He viewed it in the light of a scourge and a just -reckoning of calamity that the nations must pay for bad deeds they -had done. "It is strange," said he, "that even a nation, just like an -individual, must pay its just toll for its sins. It cannot escape, for -the punishment is written down with the sin. There is not one of us who -may not be made to feel the wide sweep of God's justice in this Great -War, even you, my boy, who may think yourself far removed from such a -possibility." - -These were memorable words, and John Brennan allowed himself to fall -into a spell of silence that he might the better ponder them. Looking -up suddenly, he caught the other gazing intently at him with a harsh -smile upon his face. - -So now that they were to part they turned to shake hands. - -"Good-by, Mr. Brennan!" said Myles Shannon to the student. "I wish -you an enjoyable holiday-time. Maybe you could call over some evening -to see my nephew Ulick, my brother Henry's son. He's here on holidays -this year for the first time, and he finds the valley uncommonly dull -after the delights of Dublin. He's a gay young spark, I can tell you, -but students of physic are generally more inclined to be lively than -students of divinity." - -This he said with a flicker of his harsh smile as they shook hands, and -John Brennan thanked him for his kind invitation. Catching sight of -Mrs. Brennan, Mr. Shannon said, "Good-day!" coolly and moved out of the -station. - -To Mrs. Brennan this short conversation on the platform had seemed -protracted to a dreadful length. As she beheld it from a little -distance a kind of desolation had leaped up to destroy the lovely day. -It compelled her to feel a kind of hurt that her son should have chosen -to expend the few first seconds of his home-coming in talking, of all -people, to one of the Shannon family. But he was a young gentleman and -must, of course, show off his courtesy and nice manners. And he did not -know.... But Myles Shannon knew.... His cool "Good-day!" to her as he -moved out of the station appeared to her delicate sensitiveness of the -moment as an exhibition of his knowledge. Immediately she felt that she -must warn John against the Shannons. - -He came towards her at last, a thin young man in black, wearing cheap -spectacles. He looked tenderly upon the woman who had borne him. She -embraced him and entered into a state of rapt admiration. Within the -wonder of his presence she was as one translated, her sad thoughts -began to fall from her one by one. On the platform of this dusty -wayside station in Ireland she became a part of the glory of motherhood -as she stood there looking with pride upon her son. - -The motor had surprised him. He would have been better pleased if -this expense had been avoided, for he was not without knowledge -and appreciation of the condition of his parents' affairs. Besides -the little donkey and trap had always appeared so welcome in -their simplicity, and it was by means of them that all his former -home-comings had been effected. Those easy voyages had afforded -opportunity for contemplation upon the splendor of the fields, but now -the fields seemed to slip past as if annoyed by their faithlessness. -Yet he knew that his mother had done this thing to please him, and how -could he find it in his heart to be displeased with her? - -She was speaking kind words to him, which were being rudely destroyed, -in their tender intonation, by the noise of the engine. She was setting -forth the reasons why she had taken the car. It was the right thing now -around Garradrimna.--The Houlihans of Clonabroney.--Again the changing -of the gears cut short her explanation. - -"That man who was down with you in the train, Mr. Shannon, what was he -saying to you?" - -"Indeed he was kindly inviting me over to see his nephew. I never knew -he had a nephew, but it seems he has lived up in Dublin. He said that -his brother, Henry Shannon, was the father of this young man." - -The feelings which her son's words brought rushing into her mind seemed -to cloud out all the brightness which, for her, had again returned -to the day. Yes, this young man, this Ulick Shannon, was the son of -Henry Shannon and Henry Shannon was the one who had brought the great -darkness into her life.... It would be queer, she thought, beyond -all the queerness of the world, to see the son of that man and her -son walking together through the valley. The things that must be said -of them, the terrible sneer by which they would be surrounded--Henry -Shannon's son and the son of Nan Byrne.... She grew so silent beneath -the sorrow of her vision that, even in the less noisy spaces of the -humming car, the amount of time during which she did not speak seemed a -great while. - -"What is the matter, mother?" said John Brennan. - -"It was how I was thinking that maybe it would be better now if you had -nothing to do with the Shannons." - -"But it was very kind of Mr. Shannon to invite me." - -"I know, I know; but I'd rather than the world it was any other family -at all only the Shannons. They're a curious clan." - -In the painful silence that had come upon them she too was thinking -of the reasons from which her words had sprung. Of how Henry Shannon -had failed to marry her after he had ruined her; of how the disgrace -had done no harm at all to him with his money and his fine farm. Then -there was the burning thought of how he had married Grace Gogarty, the -proudest and grandest girl in the whole parish, and of how this young -man had been born prematurely and, by a curious chance, about the same -time as her own little child. The one thing that she always dreaded -more than any other, in the pain of its remembrance, was the fact that -Henry Shannon had married Grace Gogarty directly after the "honeymoon" -with her in Dublin. Yes, it was hardest of all to think of that, and of -how Grace Gogarty had so held up her head all through the short period -of her wedded life with Henry Shannon. And after his death she had gone -about with such conceited sorrowfulness in her widow's weeds. - -These thoughts had passed through her mind with swift definition, each -one cutting deeper the gap which separated her from the long-dreamt-of -joy of John's home-coming. And her lovely son sitting up beside her had -grown so silent. - -As the car stopped by the house and Ned Brennan came out to meet them, -unshaven and walking doggedly, she felt very certain that a shadow -had settled down upon this particular return of John. The remembrance -of her sin, from which it seemed impossible to escape, made the great -thing she had planned so little and desolate. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -There arose a continual coming and going of John Brennan to and from -the house of his mother through the valley. He was an object of -curiosity and conjecture. The windows would squint at him as he went -past through power of the leering faces behind; men working in the -fields would run to the hedges and gaze after him as he went far down -the road. - -In the evenings black prophets would foregather and say: "Now isn't he -the fine-looking young fellow indeed, with the grand black clothes upon -him; but he'll never be a priest, and that's as sure as you're there, -for his mother is Nan Byrne, and she was a bad woman, God help us all! -'Tis a pity of him, when you come to think of it, for it isn't his -fault, happening as it did before he was born." - -John Brennan was innocent of guile, and so he did not become aware of -the attitude of those among whom he passed. He did not realize that in -his own person he stood as an affront to them, that he was the Levite -standing nearer God than they in their crude condition as clods of the -earth. It was his mother who had created this position for him, for she -had directed his studies towards divinity. If his natural abilities -had won him the promise of any other elevation, it might not have -annoyed them so deeply. But this was something they could not have -been expected to bear, for not one amongst them had a son a priest, -although they believed as implicitly as Mrs. Brennan in the virtue of -religion, and there was always a feeling of intense righteousness upon -them when they remembered her story. - -Yet, although this was the way they looked upon him, they were not -without a certain cringing respect for the realization he represented. -Thus it was that when they spoke to him there was a touch of deference -in their voices although there was a sneer in their hearts. It could -not be expected that he should see them as they really were. Yet -there were odd, great moments when his larger vision enabled him to -behold them moving infinitesimally, in affright, beneath the shadow -of the Divine Hand. He possessed a certain gift of observation, but -it was superficial and of little consequence to his character for it -flourished side by side with the large charity of his heart. - -One morning he encountered old Marse Prendergast upon the road. She -was gathering a few green sticks from the hedge-rows. She seemed to be -always looking for the means of a fire, and, to John Brennan, there -appeared something that touched him greatly in the spectacle of this -whining old woman, from whom the spark of life was so quickly fading, -having no comfort, even on a summer day, but just to be sitting over -a few smoldering sticks, sucking at an old black pipe and breaking -out into occasional converse with herself. She who had given birth -to strong sons and lovely daughters sitting here in her little cabin -alone. Her clutch was gone from her to America, to the streets, and to -the grave. - -John Brennan felt the pity of her, although he did not notice that the -curtsey she gave him from the ditch was an essential portion of her -contempt for the son of Nan Byrne (the cheek of him going on for to be -a priest!), or that when she addressed him as _Mr._ Brennan it was in -derision. - -"And glory be to God, sure we'll soon have to be calling you _Father_ -Brennan!" she repeated, as if silently marveling at the impossibility -of the combination of words. - -He saw her move to accompany him down the road, her old back bent -cruelly beneath the load of the weighty, green branches. He was -touched, for he was not blind to the symbolism for which she stood, and -offered to carry the branches for her, and she, accepting his offer, -called down upon his head the blessing of God. - -As they moved slowly along the road she recounted, in snatches between -her questions regarding his life at college, all the intimate woes -of her life. Her lamentations, as they drew near the cottage of Mrs. -Brennan, attracted the attention of his mother, who saw a sight -filling her eyes which cut her to the bone. She saw her son John, her -hope and pride, conversing with Marse Prendergast, the long-tongued -shuiler who tramped the country with her stories and in quest of more -stories--Marse Prendergast who knew her secret as no other knew it, and -who had so recently reminded her of that knowledge. And he was carrying -her sticks along the public road in the full light of day.... So -powerful was the hurt of her maternal feelings that she almost fainted -sitting there by her machine. - -When John came into the room she looked so pale that he fancied she -must be ill. He inquired as to the causes of her condition, but she -only replied that she would try to tell him when he had taken his -breakfast. - -As he was eating in silence she wondered what at all she could say to -him or how she would attempt to place her view of things before him. -This incident of the morning might be taken as a direct foreshadowing -of what might happen if his foolish charity extended further down -the valley. She did not dare to imagine what things he might be told -or what stories might be suggested to his mind by the talk of the -neighbors. But it was clearly her duty doubly to protect him from such -a possibility. She saw that he had finished his breakfast. - -"That was the quare thing you were doing just now, John? It was the -quarest thing at all, so it was." - -"Queer, mother; what was?" - -"Talking to old Marse Prendergast, son, and she only a woman of the -roads with a bad tongue on her." - -"I only stopped talking with her, mother, so that I might carry her -sticks. She was not able." - -"And she used the fine opportunity, I'll warrant, to drag information -out of you and carry it all through the valley. That's what she was at! -That's what she was at!" - -There was a kind of mournful wail in Mrs. Brennan's tones as if she -saw in John's action of the morning some irretrievable distance placed -between herself and him. The people of the valley loomed ever great as -an army between her and the desire of her heart, and John had just now, -as it were, afforded an opening to the enemy. - -He received a certain amount of hurt from her words, for although -he knew her only as his mother and a good woman who was well nigh -faultless in her practise of the Christian religion, why was it that -this simple action of his, with its slight touch of charity, was -resented by her? Yet he allowed her to proceed without question, -listening always with that high and fine attention which must have been -the attitude of Christ as He listened to His Mother in Galilee. - -She painted a picture of the valley for his consideration. She -proceeded to do this with a great concern moving her, for she was quick -to perceive the change in him since his last holidays. He was a man -now, and it was to his manhood condition she appealed. She began to -tell him, with such a rush of words, the life-histories of those around -him. There was not a slight detail she did not go to great pains to -enlarge, no skeleton she did not cause to jump from its cupboard and -run alive once more through the valley. She painted a new portrait of -every inhabitant in a way that amazed John, who had not known of such -things. - -But over his first feelings of surprise came a great realization of -sadness. For this was his mother who was speaking. Hitherto he had -looked upon her as one untouched by the clayey villainies of earth, a -patient and very noble woman, with tired eyes and busy hands rather -fashioned to confer benedictions than waste themselves in labor. Now -he was listening to one most subtly different, to a woman who had been -suddenly metamorphosed into the likeness of something primeval and -startling. And she was oh! so bitter. - -Mrs. Brennan had no notion of the change that had come upon her. To -herself there still appeared no difference in herself. She was doing -all this for love of her son John, as she had done much for love of him. - -There fell a thick silence between them when she had finished. The -mother and the son were both exhausted, he from listening to her and -she from reading the pedigrees of every one to whom her mind could -possibly extend, including Marse Prendergast, the shuiler, and the -Shannons, who were almost gentlemen like the Houlihans of Clonabroney. - -John Brennan sighed as he said out of the innocence of his heart: - -"It is good, mother, that we are not as the rest of these." - -Mrs. Brennan did not reply. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -In rural Ireland the "bona-fide," or rather _mala-fide_, traveler -constitutes a certain blasphemous aspect in the celebration of -the Sabbath. There are different types of "bona-fide," whose -characteristics may be said to vary in direct proportion to their love -and enthusiasm for porter. The worship of porter, when it has attained -the proportions of a perfect passion, is best described as "the pursuit -of porter in a can." It is the cause of many drunken skirmishes with -the law, and it is interesting to observe such mistaken heroes in the -execution of their plans. - -At a given signal a sudden descent is made upon a pub. A series of -whistles from sentries in various parts of the village has announced -the arrival of the propitious moment. A big tin'can is the only visible -evidence of their dark intention. One almost forgets its betraying -presence in the whirling moment of the brave deed. Then the deed is -done. By some extraordinary process the can that was empty is found to -be filled. It is the miracle of the porter.... When the sergeant and -his colleagues come on the scene some hours later, an empty can with -slight traces of froth upon the sides, "like beaded bubbles winking at -the brim," constitutes the remaining flimsy evidence of the great thing -that has happened. - -The mind of John Brennan was more or less foreign to this aspect of -life amongst the fields. He would be the very last to realize that -such were essential happenings in the life of his native village of -Garradrimna. On his first Sunday at home he went walking, after second -Mass, through the green woods which were the western boundary of the -village. His thoughts were dwelling upon Father O'Keeffe's material -interpretation of the Gospel story. At last they eddied into rest as he -moved there along the bright path between the tall trees, so quiet as -with adoration. - -When he came by that portion of the demesne wall, which lay at the back -of Brannagan's public-house, he heard a scurrying of rabbits among the -undergrowth. In the sudden hush which followed he heard a familiar -voice raised in a tense whisper. - -"Hurry, quick! quick! There's some one in black coming up the path. It -must be Sergeant McGoldrick. The can! the can!" - -His cheeks were suddenly flushed by a feeling of shame, for it was -his father who had spoken. He stood behind a wide beech tree in mere -confusion and not that he desired to see what was going forward. - -His father, Ned Brennan, bent down like an acrobat across the demesne -wall and took the can from some one beneath. Then he ran down through -the undergrowth, the brown froth of the porter dashing out upon his -trousers, his quick eyes darting hither and thither like those of a -frightened animal. But he did not catch sight of John, who saw him -raise the can to his lips. - -It was a new experience for John Brennan to see his father thus -spending the Sabbath in this dark place in the woods, while out in the -young summer day spilled and surged all the wonder of the world.... A -sort of pity claimed possession of him as he took a different way among -the cathedral trees.... His father was the queer man, queer surely, -and moving lonely in his life. He was not the intimate of his son nor -of the woman who was his son's mother. He had never seemed greatly -concerned to do things towards the respect and honor of that woman. And -yet John Brennan could not forget that he was his father. - -Just now another incident came to divert his mood. He encountered an -ancient dryad flitting through the woods. This was Padna Padna, a -famous character in Garradrimna. For all his name was that of the great -apostle of his country, his affinities were pagan. Although he was -eighty, he got drunk every day and never went to Mass. In his early -days he had been the proprietor of a little place and the owner of a -hackney car. When the posting business fell into decline, he had had -to sell the little place and the horse and car, and the purchase money -had been left for his support with a distant relative in the village. -He was a striking figure as he moved abroad in the disguise of a cleric -not altogether devoted to the service of God. He always dressed in -solemn black, and his coat was longer than that of a civilian. His -great hat gave him a downcast look, as of one who has peered into the -Mysteries. His face was wasted and small, and this, with his partially -blinded eyes behind the sixpenny spectacles, gave him a certain -asceticism of look. Yet it was the way he carried himself rather than -his general aspect which created this impression of him. He was very -small, and shrinking daily. His eyes were always dwelling upon his -little boots in meditation. Were you unaware of his real, character, -you might foolishly imagine that he was thinking of high, immortal -things, but he was in reality thinking of drink. - -This was his daily program. He got up early and, on most mornings, -crossed the street to Bartle Donohoe, the village barber, for a shave. -Bartle would be waiting for him, his dark eye hanging critically as -he tested the razor edge against the skin of his thumb. The little -blade would be glinting in the sunlight.... Sometimes Bartle would -become possessed of the thought that the morning might come when, -after an unusually hard carouse on the previous night, he would not be -responsible for all his razor might do, that it might suddenly leap out -of his shivering hand and make a shocking end of Padna Padna and all -his tyranny.... But his reputation as the drunkard with the steadiest -hand in Garradrimna had to be maintained. If he did not shave Padna -Padna the fact would be published in every house. - -"Bartle Donohoe was too shaky to shave me this morning; too shaky, I -say. Ah, he's going wrong, going wrong! And will ye tell me this now? -How is it that if ye buy a clock, a little ordinary clock for a couple -of shillings, and give it an odd wind, it'll go right; but a man, a -great, clever man'll go wrong no matter what way ye strive for to -manage him?" - -If Bartle shaved him, Padna Padna would take his barber over to Tommy -Williams's to give him a drink, which was the only payment he ever -expected. After this, his first one, Padna Padna would say, "Not -going to drink any more to-day," to which Bartle Donohoe would reply -sententiously: "D'ye tell me so? Well, well! Is that a fact?" - -Then, directly, he would proceed to take a little walk before his -breakfast, calling at every house of entertainment and referring -distantly to the fact that Bartle Donohoe had a shake in his hand this -morning. "A shame for him, and he an only son and all!" - -And thus did he spend the days of his latter end, pacing the sidewalks -of Garradrimna, entering blindly into pubs and discussing the habits of -every one save himself. - -He was great in the field of reminiscence. - -"Be the Holy Farmer!" he would say, "but there's no drinking nowadays -tost what used to be longo. There's no decent fellows, and that's a -fact. Ah, they were the decent fellows longo. You couldn't go driving -them a place but they'd all come home mad. And sure I often didn't -know where I'd be driving them, I'd be that bloody drunk. Aye, decent -fellows! Sure they're all dead now through the power and the passion of -drink." - -So this was the one whom John Brennan now encountered amid the green -beauty of the woodland places. To him Padna Padna was one of the -immortals. Succeeding holiday after succeeding holiday had he met the -ancient man, fading surely but never wholly declining or disappearing. -The impulse which had prompted him to speak to Marse Prendergast a few -days previously now made him say: "How are you, old man?" to Padna -Padna. - -The venerable drunkard, by way of immediate reply, tapped upon his -lips with his fingers and then blew upon his fingers and whistled -in cogitation. It was with his ears that he saw, and he possessed an -amazing faculty for distinguishing between the different voices of -different people. - -"John Brennan!" he at length exclaimed, in his high, thin voice. "Is -that John Brennan?" - -"It is, the very one." - -"And how are ye, John?" - -"Very well, indeed, Padna. How are you?" - -"Poorly only. Ah, John, this is the hard day on me always, the Sunday. -I declare to me God I detest Sunday. Here am I marching through the -woods since seven and I having no drink whatever. That cursed Sergeant -McGoldrick! May he have a tongue upon him some day the color of an ould -brick and he in the seventh cavern of Hell! Did ye see Ned?" - -The sudden and tense question was not immediately intelligible to John -Brennan. There were so many of the name about Garradrimna. Padna Padna -pranced impatiently as he waited for an answer. - -"Ah, is it letting on you are that you don't know who I mean, and you -with your grand ecclesiastical learning and all to that. 'Tis your own -father, Ned Brennan, that I mean. I was in a 'join' with him to get a -can out of Brannigan's. Mebbe you didn't see him anywhere down through -the wood, for I have an idea that he's going to swindle me. Did ye see -him, I'm asking you?" - -Even still John did not reply, for something seemed to have caught him -by the throat and was robbing him of the power of speech. The valley, -with its vast malevolence of which his mother had so recently warned -him, was now driving him to say something which was not true. - -"No, Padna, I did not see him!" he at last managed to jerk out. - -"Mebbe he didn't manage to get me drink for me yet, and mebbe he did -get it and is after drinking it somewhere in the shadows of the trees -where he couldn't be seen. But what am I saying at all? Sure if he was -drinking it there before me, where you're standing, I couldn't see him, -me eyes is that bad. Isn't it the poor and the hard case to be blinded -to such an extent?" - -John Brennan felt no pity, so horrible was the expression that now -struggled into those dimming eyes. He thought of a puzzling fact of his -parentage. Why was it that his mother had never been able to save his -father from the ways of degradation into which he had fallen, the low -companions, the destruction of the valley; from all of which to even -the smallest extent she was now so anxious to save her son? - -Padna Padna was still blowing upon his fingers and regretting: - -"Now isn't it the poor and the hard case that there's no decent fellows -left in the world at all. To think that I can meet never a one now, me -that spent so much of me life driving decent fellows, driving, driving. -John, do ye know what it is now? You're after putting me in mind of -Henry Shannon. He was the decentest fellow! Many's the time I drove him -down to your grandmother's place when he wouldn't have a foot under him -to leave Garradrimna. That was when your mother was a young girl, John. -Hee, hee, hee!" - -John could not divine the reasons for the old man's glee, nor did he -perceive that the mind of Padna Padna, even in the darkening stages of -its end, was being lit by a horrible sneer at him and the very fact of -his existence. Instead he grew to feel rather a stir of compassion for -this old man, with his shattered conception of happiness such as it -was, burning his mind with memories while he rode down so queerly to -the grave. - -As he moved away through the long, peaceful aisles of the trees, his -soul was filled with gray questioning because of what he had just seen -of his father and because of the distant connection of his mother with -the incident. Why was it at all that his mother had never been able to -save his father? - -As he emerged from the last circle of the woods there seemed to be a -shadow falling low over the fields. He went with no eagerness towards -the house of his mother. This was Sunday, and it was her custom to -spend a large portion of the Sabbath in speaking of her neighbors. But -she would never say anything about his father, even though Ned Brennan -would not be in the house. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Just now there happened something of such unusual importance in the -valley that Mrs. Brennan became excited about it. The assistant teacher -of Tullahanogue Girls' School, Miss Mary Jane O'Donovan, had left, and -a new assistant was coming in her stead. Miss O'Donovan had always -given the making of her things to Mrs. Brennan, so she spoke of her, -now that she was gone, as having been "a _very_ nice girl." Just yet, -of course, she was not in a position to say as much about the girl who -was coming. But the entry of a new person into the life of the valley -was a great event! Such new things could be said! - -On Monday morning Mrs. Brennan called her son into the sewing-room to -describe the imminent nature of the event. The sense of depression that -had come upon him during the previous day did not become averted as he -listened. - -What an extraordinary mixture this woman who was his mother now -appeared before his eyes! And yet he could not question her in any -action or in any speech; she was his mother, and so everything -that fell from her must be taken in a mood of noble and respectful -acceptance. But she was without charity, and as he saw her in this -guise he was compelled to think of his father and the incident of -yesterday, and he could not help wondering. He suddenly realized that -what was happening presently in this room was happening in every house -down the valley. Even before her coming she was being condemned. It was -beneath the shadow of this already created cloud she would have to live -and move and earn her little living in the schoolhouse of Tullahanogue. -John Brennan began to have some pity for the girl. - -Ned Brennan now appeared at the door leading to the kitchen and -beckoned to his wife. She went at his calling, and John noticed that at -her return some part of her had fallen away. His father went from the -house whistling at a pitch that was touched with delight. - -"Where is my father bound for?" - -"He's gone to Garradrimna, John, to order lead for the roof of the -school. The valley behind the chimney is leaking again and he has to -cobble it. 'Tis the great bother he gets with that roof, whatever sort -it is. Isn't it a wonder now that Father O'Keeffe wouldn't put a new -one on it, and all the money he gets so handy ...?" - -"My father seems to be always at that roof. He used to be at it when I -was going to school there." - -The words of her son came to Mrs. Brennan's ears with a sound of sad -complaint. It caused her to glimpse momentarily all the villainy of Ned -Brennan towards her through all the years, and of how she had borne -it for the sake of John. And here was John before her now becoming -reverently magnified in that part of her mind which was a melting -tenderness. It was him she must now save from the valley which had -ruined her man. Thus was she fearful again and the heart within her -caused to become troubled and to rush to and fro in her breast like -rushing water. Then, as if her whole will was sped by some fearful -ecstasy, she went on to talk in her accustomed way of every one around -her, including the stranger who had not yet come to the valley. - -It was on the evening of this day that Rebecca Kerr, the new assistant -teacher, came through the village of Garradrimna to the valley of -Tullahanogue. Paddy McCann drove McDermott's hackney car down past -the old castle of the De Lacys. It carried her as passenger from -Mullaghowen, with her battered trunk strapped over the well. The group -of spitting idlers crowding around Brannagan's loudly asserted so much -as Paddy McCann and his cargo loomed out of the shadows beneath the -old castle and swung into the amazing realities of the village. It was -just past ten o'clock and the mean place now lay amid the enclosing -twilight. The conjunctive thirsts for drink and gossip which come at -this hour had attacked the ejected topers, and their tongues began to -water about the morsel now placed before them. - -A new schoolmistress, well, well! Didn't they change them shocking -often in Tullahanogue? And quare-looking things they were too, every -one of them. And here was another one, not much to look at either. They -said this as she came past. And what was her name? "Kerr is her name!" -said some one who had heard it from the very lips of Father O'Keeffe -himself. - -"Rebecca Kerr is her name," affirmed Farrell McGuinness, who had just -left a letter for her at the Presbytery. - -"Rebecca what? Kerr--Kerr--Kerr, is it?" sputtered Padna Padna; "what -for wouldn't it be _Carr_ now, just common and simple? But of course -_Kerr_ has a ring of the quality about it. _Kerr_, be God!" - -These were the oracles of Garradrimna who were now speaking of her -thus. But she had no thought of them at all as she glanced hurriedly -at the shops and puzzled her brains to guess where the best draper's -shop might be. She had a vague, wondering notion as to where she might -get all those little things so necessary for a girl. She had a fleeting -glimpse of herself standing outside one of those worn counters she was -very certain existed somewhere in the village, talking ever so much -talk with the faded girl who dispensed the vanities of other days, or -else exchanging mild confidences with the vulgar and ample mistress of -the shop, who was sure to be always floating about the place immensely. -Yes, just there was the very shop with its brave selection from the -fashions of yester-year in the fly-blown windows. - -And there was the Post Office through which her letters to link her -with the outer world would come and go. She quickly figured the old -bespectacled postmistress, already blinded partially, and bent from -constant, anxious scrutiny, poring exultantly over the first letters -that might be sent to "Miss Rebecca Kerr," and examining the postmark. -Then the quality and gender of the writing, and being finally troubled -exceedingly as to the person it could have come from--sister, mother, -brother, father, friend, or "boy." Even although the tall candles of -Romance had long since guttered and gone out amid the ashes of her -mind the assaulting suspicion that it was from "a boy" would drive -her to turn the letter in her hand and take a look at the flap. Then -the temptation that was a part of her life would prove too strong -for her and a look of longing would come into the dull eyes as she -went hobbling into the kitchen to place it over the boiling kettle and -so embark it upon its steamy voyage to discovery. In a few minutes -she would be reading it, her hands trembling as she chuckled in -her obscene glee at all the noble sentiments it might contain. The -subsequent return of the letter to the envelope after the addition of -some gum from a penny bottle if the old sticking did not suffice. Her -interludiary sigh of satisfaction when she remembered that one could -re-stick so many opened envelopes with a penny bottle of gum by using -it economically. The inevitable result of this examination, a superior -look of wisdom upon the withered face when the new schoolmistress, -Rebecca Kerr, came for the first time into the office to ask for a -letter from her love.... But so far in her life she had formed no deep -attachment. - -It was thus and thus that Rebecca Kerr ran through her mind a few -immediate sketchy realizations of this village in Ireland. She had -lived in others, and this one could not be so very different.... -There now was the butcher's stall, kept filthily, where she might -buy her bit of beef or mutton occasionally. She caught a glimpse of -the victualler standing with his dirty wife amid the strong-smelling -meat. The name above the door was that of the publichouse immediately -beside it. A little further on, upon the same side, was the newsagent's -and stationer's, where they sold sweets and everything. It was here -she might buy her notepaper to write to her own people in Donegal, -or else to some of her college friends with whom she still kept up -a correspondence. And here also she might treat herself, on rare -occasions, to a box of cheap chocolates, or to some of the injurious, -colored sweets which always gave her the toothache, presenting the most -of them, perhaps, to some child to whom she had taken a fancy. - -By little bits like these, which formed a series of flashes, she saw -some aspects of the life she might lead here. Each separate flash left -something of an impression before it went out of her mind. - -The jingling car swung on past the various groups upon the street, -each group twisting its head as one man to observe the spectacle of -her passing. "That's the new schoolmistress!" "There she is, begad!" -"I heard Paddy McCann saying she was coming this evening!" She was -now in line with the famous house of Tommy Williams, the gombeen-man. -She knew from the look of it that it was here she must buy her few -groceries, for this was the principal house in Garradrimna and, even so -far as she, the octopus of Gombeenism was sure to extend itself. To be -sure, the gombeen-man would be the father of a family, for it is the -clear duty of such pillars of the community to rear up a long string -of patriots. If those children happened to be of school-going age, it -was certain they would not be sent to even the most convenient school -unless the teachers dealt in the shop. This is how gombeenism is made -to exercise control over National Education. Anyhow Rebecca Kerr was -very certain that she must enter the various-smelling shop to discuss -the children with the gombeen-man's wife. - -It was indeed a dreary kind of life that she would be compelled to lead -in this place, and, as she passed the pretty chapel, which seemed to -stand up in the sight of Heaven as excuse for the affront that was -Garradrimna, she had a strange notion how she must go there sometimes -to find respite from the relentless crush of it all. On bitter -evenings, when her mind should ring with the mean tumults of the life -around her, it was there only she might go and, slipping in through the -dim vestibule where there were many mortuary cards to remind her of -all the dead, she would walk quickly to the last pew and, bending her -throbbing head, pour out her soul in prayer with the aid of her little -mother-of-pearl rosary.... They had gone a short distance past the -chapel and along the white road towards the valley. - -"This is the place," said Paddy McCann. - -She got down from the car wearily, and McCann carried her battered -trunk into the house of Sergeant McGoldrick which had been assigned as -her lodging by Father O'Keeffe. He emerged with a leer of expectation -upon his countenance, and she gave him a shilling from her little -possessions. At the door she was compelled to introduce herself. - -"So you are the new teacher. Well, begad! The missus is up in the -village. Come in. Begad!" - -He stood there, a big, ungainly man, at his own door as he gave the -invitation, a squalling baby in his arms, and in went Rebecca Kerr, -into the sitting-room where Mrs. McGoldrick made clothes for the -children. The sergeant proceeded to do his best to be entertaining. She -knew the tribe. He remained smoking his great black pipe and punctuated -the squalls of the baby by spitting huge volumes of saliva which hit -the fender with dull thuds. - -"It's a grand evening in the country," said Sergeant McGoldrick. - -"Yes, a nice evening surely," said Rebecca Kerr. - -"Oh, it was a grand, lovely day in the country, the day. I was out in -the country all through the day. I was collecting the census of the -crops, so I was; a difficult and a critical job, I can tell you!" - -With an air of pride he took down the books of lists and showed her -the columns of names and particulars.... It was stupidly simple. Yet -here was this hulk of a man expanding his chest because of his childish -achievement. He had even stopped smoking and spitting to give space -to his own amazement, and the baby had ceased mewling to marvel in -infantile wonder at the spacious cleverness of her da. - -After nearly half an hour of this performance Mrs. McGoldrick bustled -into the room. She was a coarse-looking woman, whose manner had -evidently been made even more harsh by the severe segregation to -which the wives of policemen are subjected. Her voice was loud and -unmusical, and it appeared to Rebecca from the very first that not even -the appalling cleverness of her husband was a barrier to her strong -government of her own house. The sergeant disappeared immediately, -taking the baby with him, and left the women to their own company. Mrs. -McGoldrick had seen the battered, many-corded trunk in the hall-way, -and she now made a remark which was, perhaps, natural enough for a -woman: - -"You haven't much luggage anyway!" was what she said. - -"No!" replied Rebecca dully. - -Then she allowed her head to droop for what seemed a long while, during -all of which she was acutely conscious that the woman by her side was -staring at her, forming impressions of her, summing her up. - -"I don't think you're as tall as Miss O'Donovan was, and you haven't as -nice hair!" - -Rebecca made no comment of any kind upon this candor, but now that the -way had been opened Mrs. McGoldrick poured out a flood of information -regarding the late assistant of the valley school. She was reduced to -little pieces and, as it were, cremated in the furnace of this woman's -mind until tiny specks of the ashes of her floated about and danced and -scintillated before the tired eyes of Rebecca Kerr. - -As the heavier dusk of the short, warm night began to creep into -the little room her soul sank slowly lower. She was hungry now and -lonely. In the mildest way she distantly suggested a cup of tea, but -Mrs. McGoldrick at once resented this uncalled-for disturbance of her -harangue by bringing out what was probably meant to be taken as the one -admirable point in the other girl's character. - -"Miss O'Donovan used always get her own tea." - -But the desolating silence of Rebecca at length drove her towards the -kitchen, and she returned, after what seemed an endless period, with -some greasy-looking bread, a cup without a handle, and a teapot from -which the tea dribbled in agony on to the tablecloth through a wound in -its side. - -The sickening taste of the stuff that came out of the teapot only added -to Rebecca's sinking feeling. Her thoughts crept ever downward.... At -last there came a blessed desire for sleep-sleep and forgetfulness of -this day and the morrow. Her head was already beginning to spin as she -inquired for her room. - -"Your room?" exclaimed Mrs. McGoldrick in harsh surprise. "Why, 'tis -upstairs. There's only two rooms there, myself and the sergeant's and -the lodger's room--that's yours. I hadn't time this week back to make -the bed since Miss O'Donovan left, but of course you'll do that for -yourself. The sergeant is gone up to the barracks, so I'll have to help -you carry up your box, as I suppose you'll be wanting to get out some -of your things." - -It was a cruelly hard job getting the trunk up the steep staircase, but -between them they managed it. Rebecca was not disappointed by the bare, -ugly room. Mrs. McGoldrick closed the door behind them and stood in an -attitude of expectation. Even in the present dull state of her mind -Rebecca saw that her landlady was, with tense curiosity, awaiting the -opening of the box which held her poor belongings.... Then something of -the combative, selfish attitude of the woman to her kind stirred within -her, and she bravely resolved to fight, for a short space, this prying -woman who was trying to torment her soul. - -She looked at the untidied bed with the well-used sheets.... What -matter? It was only the place whereon the body of another poor tortured -creature like herself had lain. She would bear with this outrage -against her natural delicacy. - -In perfect silence she took off her skirt and blouse and corset. She -let fall her long, heavy hair and, before the broken looking-glass, -began to dally wearily with its luxuriance. This hair was very fair -and priceless, and it was hers who had not great possessions. Her -shining neck and blossomy breasts showed as a pattern in ivory against -the background that it made.... Some man, she thought, would like to -see her now and love her maybe. Beyond this vision of herself she could -see the ugly, anxious face of the woman behind her. She could feel -the discord of that woman's thoughts with the wandering strands of -withering hair. - -No word had passed between them since they came together into the room, -and Mrs. McGoldrick, retreating from the situation which had been -created, left with abruptness, closing the door loudly behind her. - -With as much haste as she could summon, Rebecca took off her shoes and -got her night-gown out of the trunk. Then she threw herself into the -bed. She put out the light and fumbled in her faded vanity bag for her -little mother-of-pearl rosary. There was a strange excitement upon her, -even in the final moments of her escape, and soon a portion of her -pillow was wet with tears. Between loud sobs arose the sound of her -prayers ascending: - -"Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou -amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.... Hail, -Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou.... Hail, -Mary, full of grace...." - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -At tea-time Mrs. Brennan was still talking to John of the girl who was -coming to the valley. Outside the day was still full of the calm glory -of summer. He went to the window and looked down upon the clean, blue -stretch of the little lake.... He had grown weary of his mother's talk. -What possible interest could he have in this unknown girl? He took -a book from a parcel on the table. With this volume in his hand and -reading it, as he might his breviary at some future time, he went out -and down towards the lake. On his way, he met a few men moving to and -from their tasks in the fields. He bade them the time of day and spoke -about the beauty of the afternoon. As they replied, a curious kind of -smile played around their lips, and there was not one who failed to -notice his enviable condition of idleness. - -"Indeed 'tis you that has the fine times!" "Indeed you might say 'tis -you that has the fine times!" "Now isn't the learning the grand thing, -to say that when you have it in your head you need never do a turn with -your hands?" - -Their petty comments had the effect of filling him with a distracting -sense of irritation, and it was some time before he could pick up any -continued interest in the book. It was the story of a young priest, -such as he might expect to be in a few years. Suddenly it appeared -remarkable that he should be reading this foreshadowing of his future. -That he should be seeing himself with all his ideas translated into -reality and his training changed into the work for which he had been -trained. Strange that this thought should have come into his mind with -smashing force here now and at this very time. Hitherto his future had -appeared as a thing apart from him, but now it seemed intimately bound -up with everything he could possibly do. - -He began to see very clearly for the first time the reason for his -mother's anxiety to keep him apart from the life of the valley. Did it -spring directly from her love for him, or was it merely selfish and -contributory to her pride? The whole burden of her talk showed clearly -that she was a proud woman. He could never come to have her way of -looking at things, and so he now felt that if he became a priest it was -she and not himself who would have triumphed.... He was still reading -the book, but it was in a confused way and with little attention. The -threads of the story had become entangled somehow with the threads -of his own story.... Occasionally his own personality would cease to -dominate it, and the lonely woman in the cottage, his mother sitting in -silence at her machine, would become the principal character.... The -hours went past him as he pondered. - -The evening shadows had begun to steal down from the hills. The western -sky was like the color of a golden chalice. Men were coming home weary -from the labor of the fields; cows were moving towards field gates with -wise looks in their eyes to await the milking; the young calves were -lowing for their evening meal. The quiet fir trees, which had slept -all through the day, now seemed to think of some forgotten trust and -were like vigilant sentries all down through the valley of Tullahanogue. - -Suddenly the eyes of John Brennan were held by a splendid picture. The -sweep of the Hill of Annus lay outlined in all the wonder of its curve, -and, on the ridge of it, moving with humped body, was Shamesy Golliher, -the most famous drunkard of the valley. He passed like a figure of -destruction above the valley against the sunset. John smiled, for he -remembered him and his habits, as both were known far and wide. He was -now going towards a certain wood where the rabbits were plentiful. -His snares were set there. The thin, pitiful cry of the entrapped -creature now split the stillness, and the man upon the sweep of the -world began to move with a more determined stride.... John Brennan, his -mind quickening towards remembrance of incidents of his boyhood, knew -that the cunning of Shamesy Golliher had triumphed over the cunning -of the rabbits. Their hot little eager bodies must soon be sold for -eightpence apiece and the money spent on porter in Garradrimna. It was -strange to think of this being the ultimate fate of the rabbits that -had once frisked so innocently over the green spaces of the woods.... -He listened, with a slight turn of regret stirring him, until the last -squeal had been absorbed by the stillness. Then he arose and prepared -to move away from the lake. He was being filled by a deadly feeling of -sadness. Hitherto the continuous adventure of adolescence had sustained -him, but now he was a man and thinking of his future. - -On his way across the sweep of the hill he encountered Shamesy -Golliher. The famous drunkard was laden with the rabbits he had just -taken from the snares. The strength of his thirst had also begun to -attack him, so that by reason of both defects his legs now bent under -him weakly as he walked. Yet his attitude did not suggest defeat, for -he had never failed to maintain his reputation in the valley. He was -the local bard, the satiric poet of the neighborhood. He was the only -inhabitant of the valley who continually did what he pleased, for he -throve within the traditional Gaelic dread of satire. No matter how he -debased himself no man or woman dared talk of it for fear they might be -made the subject of a song to be ranted in the taprooms of Garradrimna. -And he was not one to respect the feelings of those whom he put into -his rimes, for all of them were conceived in a mood of ribald and -malignant glee. - -"Me sound man John, how are ye?" he said, extending a white, nervous -hand. - -"I'm very well, thanks; and how are you, Shamesy?" - -"Ah, just only middling. I don't look the very best. You'll excuse me -not being shaved. But that's on account of the neuralgia. God blast it! -it has me near killed. It has the nerves destroyed on me. Look at me -hand." ... It was the idiosyncrasy of Shamesy Golliher to assert that -drink was no part of his life. - -Immediately he dropped into his accustomed vein. He gazed down the Hill -of Annus and found material for his tongue. There were the daughters of -Hughie Murtagh. They had no brother, and were helping their father in -the fields. - -"Them's the men, them's the men!" said Shamesy, "though glory be to -God! 'twill be the hard case with them when they come to be married, -for sure you wouldn't like to marry a man, now would you? And for -pity's sake will you look at Oweneen Kiernan, the glutton! I hear he -ate five loaves at the ball in Ballinamult; and as sure as you're there -that powerful repast'll have to be made the material for a song." - -A loud laugh sprang from the lips of Shamesy Golliher and floated far -across the lake, and John Brennan was immediately surprised to find -himself laughing in the same way. - -The rimer was still pursuing Oweneen down the field of his mind. - -"Aye, and I thank ye, ye'll see him doing his best after the new -schoolmistress that's coming to us this evening. There's a great -look-out, I can tell you, to see what kind she'll be. Indeed the last -one wasn't much. Grand-looking whipsters, moryah! to be teaching the -young idea. Indeed I wouldn't be at all surprised to see one of them -going away from here sometime and she in the family way, although may -God pardon me for alluding to the like and I standing in the presence -of the makings of a priest!" - -John Brennan felt himself blushing ever so slightly. - -"And who d'ye think was in Garradrimna this evening? Why Ulick Shannon, -and he a big man. Down to stop with his uncle Myles he is for a -holiday. He wasn't here since he was a weeshy gosoon; for, what d'ye -think, didn't his mother and father send him away to Dublin to be -nursed soon after he was born and never seemed to care much about him -afterwards; but they were the quare pair, and it was no good end that -happened to themselves, for Henry Shannon and the girl he married, -Grace Gogarty, both died within the one year. He in the full pride of -his red life, and she while she was gallivanting about the country -wearing mourning for him and looking for another husband that she never -got before she went into the clay. Well, to make a long story short, -Myles Shannon looked after the orphan, paying for his rearing and his -education, and having him live as a gentleman in Dublin--until now -he's a great-looking fellow entirely, and going on, I suppose, for -Doctoring, or the Law, or some other profitable devilment like that. -The Shannons were always an unlucky family, but maybe Ulick'll break -the black curse, although I don't know, for he's the very spit and -image of his father and able to take his drink like a good one, I can -tell ye. This evening he came into McDermott's. There was no one there -but meself, it being the high evening, so says he to me: - -"'What'll ye have?' - -"'Begad, Mr. Shannon,' says I, 'I'll have a pint. And more power to -ye, sir!' says I, although I was grinning to meself all the time, for -I couldn't help thinking that he was only the son of Henry Shannon, -one of the commonest blackguards that ever disgraced this part of the -country. You didn't know him, but your mother could tell you about him. -You might swear your mother could tell you about him!" - -John Brennan did not notice the light of merriment which overspread the -face of Shamesy Golliher, for he was looking down towards the hush of -the lake, and experiencing a certain feeling of annoyance that this -young man should be becoming gradually introduced to him in this way. -But Shamesy was still speaking: - -"He stood me four pints and two glasses, and nothing would do him when -he was going away but he should buy me a whole glass of whiskey. He's -what you might call a gay fellow, I can tell you. And God save us! -isn't it grand to be that way, even though you never earned it, and -not have to be getting your drink like me be nice contriving among the -small game of the fields?" - -They parted in silence, Shamesy Golliher going eastward towards -Garradrimna and John Brennan in the opposite direction and towards -his mother's house. His mind had begun to slip into a condition of -vacancy when an accident happened to turn it again in the direction of -religion. As he came out upon the road he passed a group of children -playing between two neighboring houses. The group was made up of the -children of two families, the O'Briens and the Vaughans. It was said of -Mrs. Vaughan that although she had been married by Father O'Keeffe, and -went to Mass every second Sunday, she still clung to the religion into -which she had been born. Now her eldest child, a pretty, fair-haired -boy, was in the midst of the O'Briens' children. Their mother was what -you might call a good woman, for, although she had the most slovenly -house along the valley road, she went to Mass as often as Mrs. Brennan. -They were making the innocent child repeat phrases out of their prayers -and then laughing and mocking him because he could not properly -pronounce the long words. They were trying to make him bless himself, -but the hands of little Edward could not master the gestures of the -formula, and they were jeering at him for his ill-success. When he -seemed just upon the verge of tears they began to ask him questions in -the answers to which he would seem to have been well trained aforetime, -for he repeated them with glibness and enjoyment. - -"What religion are ye?" - -"I'm a little black Protestant." - -"And where will ye go when ye die?" - -"I'll go to hell." - -"What's hell?" - -"A big place bigger than the chapel or the church, with a terrible, -grand fire in it." - -"And what is it full of?" - -"It's full of little fellows like me!" - -This was the melancholy piece of catechism John Brennan was constrained -to hear as he went past. - -It added the last wave of sadness to the gray mood which had been -descending upon him by degrees since the beginning of the day.... He -stood upon the road and listened for anything in the nature of a sound -which might connect his mind with a thought that had some brightness. -Although only a few days had elapsed since his return his ears were -already beginning to redevelop that delicate perception of slight -sounds which comes to one in the quiet places. He now heard a car come -through Garradrimna and move a short distance down the valley road. -That, he thought, should be Paddy McCann driving the new mistress to -her lodging in the house of Sergeant McGoldrick. - -The small realization held occupation of his mind as he went into the -house of his mother. He was surprised to find that it was past ten. -Still lonely as he went to his room, he thought once more of the kind -invitation of Mr. Myles Shannon. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Myles Shannon had ever borne a passionate grudge against Mrs. Brennan. -He had loved his brother Henry, and he felt that she, of all people, -had had the most powerful hand in instituting the remorse which had -hurried him to his doom. Mrs. Brennan, on the other hand, believed -firmly that Henry Shannon would have married her, and made of her -a decent woman, but for the intervention of his brother Myles. -Furthermore, she believed darkly in her heart that the subtle plan -of the disastrous "honeymoon" had originated in the brain of Myles, -although in this she was wrong. She thought of Henry as being never of -that sort. He was wild and mad, with nothing too hot or too heavy for -him, but he was not one to concoct schemes. So, when Henry died, Mrs. -Brennan had thought well to transmit her hatred of the Shannon family -to his brother Myles. - -Myles Shannon lived a quiet life there in his big house among the trees -upon the side of Scarden, one of the hills which overlooked the valley. -In lonely, silent moments he often thought of his brother Henry and of -the strange manner in which he had burned out his life. With the end -of his brother before him always as a deterrent example, he did not -interest himself in women. He interested himself in the business of -his cattle and sheep all through each and every day of the year. He -did not feel the years slipping past him as he went about his easy, -contented life, watching, with great interest, his beef and mutton grow -up in the fields. - -The cattle in particular stood for the absorbing interest and the one -excitement of his life. He looked upon his goings and comings to and -from the markets at Dublin and at Wakefield in England as holiday -excursions of great enjoyment. - -It was during one of his trips to England that he had met Helena Cooper -at some hotel in Manchester. He was one to whom the powers of Romance -had remained strangers, yet now, when they at last came into his life, -it was with a force that carried away all the protection of his mind. -He wanted some one to fill the loneliness of the big house on Scarden -Hill, and so he set his heart upon Helena Cooper. - -He returned to the valley a different man. Quite suddenly he began to -have a greater interest in his appearance, and it was noticed that -he grew sentimental and became easy in his dealings. It began to be -whispered around that, even so late in life, almost at the close of -the middle period which surely marks the end of a man's prime, Myles -Shannon had fallen in love and was about to be married. - -It was a notable rumor, and although it was fifteen years since the -death of Henry Shannon, Mrs. Brennan, as one having a good reason to be -interested in the affairs of the Shannon family, became excited. - -"Indeed it was high time for him to think of it," she said to a -neighbor one Sunday morning, "before he turned into a real ould -blackguard of a bachelor--and who d'ye say the girl is?" - -"Why, then, they say she's an English lady, and that she's grand and -young." - -Mrs. Brennan was a great one for "ferreting-out" things. Once she -had set her mind upon knowing a thing, there was little possibility -of preventing her. And now she was most anxious to know whom Myles -Shannon was about to marry. So when she saw the old bent postmistress -taking the air upon the valley road later on in the day she brought her -into the sewing-room and, over a cup of tea, proceeded to satisfy her -curiosity. - -"There must be letters?" she said after they had come round to a -discussion of the rumored marriage. - -"Oh, yes, indeed. There's letters coming and going, coming and going," -the old lady wheezed. "A nice-looking ould codger, isn't he, to be -writing letters to a young girl?" - -"And how d'ye know she's young?" - -"How do I know, is it, how do I know? Well, well, isn't that my -business? To know and to mind." - -"You're a great woman." - -"I do my duty, that's all, Mrs. Brennan, as sure as you're there. And -d'ye imagine for a moment I was going to let Myles Shannon pass, for -all he's such a great swank of a farmer? She _is_ a young girl." - -"Well, well?" - -"There's no reason to misdoubt me in the least, for I saw her photo and -it coming through the post." - -"A big, enlarged photo, I suppose?" - -"Aye, the photo of a young girl in her bloom." - -"I suppose she's very nice?" - -"She's lovely, and 'tis what I said to myself as I looked upon her -face, that it would be the pity of the world to see her married to a -middling ould fellow like Myles Shannon." - -"And I suppose, now, that she has a nice name?" - -"Aye. It is that. And what you might call a grand name." - -A long pause now fell between the two women, as if both were -endeavoring to form in their minds some great resolve to which their -hearts were prompting them. The old postmistress delivered her next -speech in a whisper: - -"Her name is Helena Cooper, and her address is 15 Medway Avenue, -Manchester!" - -The two women now nudged one another in simultaneous delight. Mrs. -Brennan ran the direction over and over in her mind as if suddenly -fearful that some dreadful stroke of forgetfulness might come to -overthrow her chance of revenge upon her false, dead lover through the -great injury she now contemplated doing to his brother.... She made -an excuse of going to the kitchen to put more water upon the teapot -and, when she went there, scribbled the name and address upon the wall -beside the fireplace. - -When she returned to the sewing-room the old postmistress was using -her handkerchief to hide the smile of satisfaction which was dancing -around her mouth. She knew what was just presently running through -Mrs. Brennan's mind, and she was glad and thankful that she herself -was about to be saved the trouble of writing to Miss Cooper.... Her -hand was beginning to be quavery and incapable of writing a hard, -vindictive letter. Besides that Mr. Shannon was an influential man in -the district, and the Post Office was not above suspicion. She was -thankful to Mrs. Brennan now, and said the tea was nice, very nice. - -Yet, immediately that the information, for which she had hungered since -the rumor of Myles Shannon's marriage began to go the rounds, was in -her keeping, Mrs. Brennan ceased to display any unusual interest in -the old, bespectacled maid. Nor did the postmistress continue to be -excited by the friendly presence of Mrs. Brennan, for she, on her part, -was immensely pleased and considered that the afternoon had attained -to a remarkable degree of success.... From what she had read of her -productions passing through the post, she knew that Mrs. Brennan was -the woman who could write the strong, poisonous letter. Besides, who -had a better right to be writing it--about one of the Shannon family? - -Soon she was going out the door and down the white road towards -Garradrimna.... Now wasn't Mrs. Brennan the anxious and the prompt -woman; she would be writing to Miss Cooper this very evening?... As -she went she met young couples on bicycles passing to distant places -through the fragrant evening. The glamor of Romance seemed to hang -around them. - -"Now isn't that the quare way for them to be spending the Sabbath?" she -said to herself as she hobbled along. - -The Angelus was just beginning to ring out across the waving fields -with its sweet, clear sound as Mrs. Brennan regained the sewing-room -after having seen her visitor to the door, but, good woman though she -was, she did not stop to answer its holy summons. Her mind was driving -her relentlessly towards the achievement of her intention. The pen -was already in her hand, and she was beginning to scratch out "a full -account," as she termed it, of Mr. Myles Shannon for the benefit of -Miss Helena Cooper, whoever she might be. Through page after page she -continued her attack while the fire of her hate was still burning -brightly through her will. - -It had been her immemorial custom to send full accounts abroad whenever -one of the valley dwellers made attempts at assertion, but not one of -the Shannons had so far offered her such a golden opportunity. For the -moment she was in her glory. - -She announced herself as a good friend of this girl, whose name she -had only heard just now. She wrote that she would not like to see Miss -Cooper deceived by a man she had no opportunity of knowing in his real -character, such as Mr. Shannon. - -Now it was a fact that Myles, unlike his brother Henry, had not been -a notable antagonist of the Commandments. It was true, of course, -that he was not distinguished for the purity of his ways when he went -adventuring about the bye-ways of Dublin after a day at the cattle -market, and people from the valley, cropping up most unexpectedly, had -witnessed some of his exploits and had sent magnified stories winging -afar. But he had ruined no girl, and was even admirable in his habits -when at home in his lonely house among the trees. - -This, however, was not the Mr. Shannon that Mrs. Brennan set down in -her letter to Helena Cooper. It was rather the portrait of his brother -Henry, the wild libertine, that she painted, for, in the high moments -of her hate, she was as one blinded by the ecstasy that had come upon -her. The name of Shannon held for her only one significance, and, for -the moment, it was an abysmal vision which dazzled her eyes. - -Soon there came a communication from Miss Cooper to Mr. Shannon -which had the effect of nipping his green romance while it was still -young.... It asked him was this true and was that true?... The easy, -sentimental way he had looked upon the matter was suddenly kindled -into a deeper feeling, and he thought of having the girl now at all -costs.... He wrote a fine reply in justification. It was a clear, -straight piece of writing, and, although it pained him greatly, he was -compelled to admit that the statements about which Miss Cooper wished -to be satisfied were no more than the truth in relation to a certain -member of the Shannon family. But they related to his dead brother -Henry and not to him.... He prayed the forgiveness of forgetfulness -for the dead.... He volunteered the production of convincing proof for -every statement here made in regard to himself. - -But the old lady at the Post Office had something to say in the matter. -She had read Miss Cooper's letter, and as she now read the letter of -Mr. Shannon she knew that should it reach her this girl must be fully -satisfied as to his character, for his was a fine piece of pleading.... -But she could not let Mrs. Brennan have all the secret satisfaction for -the destruction of his love-affair. The bitter woman in the valley had -done the ugly, obvious part of the work, but she was in a position to -hurry it to secret, deadly completion.... So that evening the letter, -which it had given Myles Shannon such torture to write, was burned at -the fire in the kitchen behind the Post Office.... He wrote to Helena -Cooper again and yet again, but the same thing happened.... His third -letter had turned purely pathetic in its tone. The old lady said to -herself that it made her laugh like anything. - -At last he fell to considering that her affection for him could not -have been very deep seeing that she had allowed it to be so strongly -influenced by some poisonous letter from an anonymous enemy.... Yet -there were moments when he knew that he could never forget her nor -escape, through all the years he might live, from the grand dream her -first tenderness had raised up in his heart. In its immediate aspect -he was a little angry that the rumor of a contemplated marriage on his -part should have gone abroad. But he had almost triumphed over this -slight feeling of annoyance when there came to him, some month later, -the "account" that had been written about him to Miss Cooper without -a word of comment enclosed.... The old lady at the office had seen to -that, for the letter accompanying it as far as Garradrimna had gone the -way of Mr. Shannon's letters.... This had made her laugh also with its -note of wonder as to why he had made no attempt to explain.... If only -he would say that the statements made against him were all mere lies. -Of course she did not believe a word of them, but she wished him to say -so in a letter to her.... The Post Office was saved from suspicion by -this second bit of destruction, although it had done its work well. - -The bare, scurrilous note caused a blaze of indignation turning to -hatred to take possession of his soul which had hitherto been largely -distinguished by kindly influences. He had his suspicions at once that -it was the work of Mrs. Brennan. - -There was a letter of hers locked in a bureau in the parlor with other -things which had been the property of his dead brother Henry. They were -all sad things which related intimately to the queer life he had led. -This old faded letter from Nan Byrne was the one she had written asking -him for Christ's sake to marry her, now that she felt her misfortune -coming upon her.... A hard look came into his eyes as he began to -compare the weak handwriting. Yes, it was hers surely, beyond a shadow -of doubt.... He locked this thing which had so changed the course of -his life with the things of his brother. - -It was queer, he thought, that she, of all people, who should be prone -to silence, had thought fit, after the passage of so many years, to -meddle with dead things in the hope of ending other dreams which, -until now, had lived brightly. He continued to brood himself into -bitter determinations. He resolved that, as no other girl had come -greatly into his life before the coming of Helena Cooper, no other one -must enter now that she was gone. She was gone, and must the final -disaster of his affections narrow down to a mere piece of sentimental -renunciation? Strange, contradictory attitudes built themselves up in -his mind. - -Out of his brooding there grew before him the structure of a plan. This -woman had besmirched his brother, helping him towards the destruction -of his life, for it was in this light, as a brother, he had viewed the -matter always; and now, in her attempt to besmirch himself, she had -spoiled his dream. He had grown angry after the slow fashion which was -the way of his thought, but his resolve was now sure and deliberate. - -There was her son! He had just gone to some kind of college in England -to prepare for the priesthood, and the antecedents of a priest must be -without blemish. It was not the youth's fault, but his mother was Nan -Byrne, and some one must pay.... And why should she desire to bring -punishment of any kind upon him for his brother's sin with her? He had -loved his brother, and it was only natural to think that she loved her -son. And through that love might come the desolation of her heart. To -allow the blossom to brighten in her eye and then, suddenly, to wither -it at a blast. To permit this John Brennan to approach the sacred -portals of the priesthood and then to cause him to be cast adrift. - -The thought of how he might put a more delicate turn to the execution -of his plan had come to him as he journeyed down from Dublin with John -Brennan. He knew that his nephew, Ulick, had lived the rather reckless -student life of Dublin. Just recently he had been drawing him out. But -he was no weakling, and it was not possible that any of those ways -might yet submerge him. However, his influence acting upon a weaker -mind might have effect and produce again the degenerate that had not -fully leaped to life in him. If he were brought into contact with John -Brennan it might be the means of effecting, in a less direct way, the -result which must be obtained. - -It was with this thought simmering in his brain that Myles Shannon had -invited John Brennan to the friendship and company of his nephew. When -he had spoken of the Great War it was the condition of his own mind -that had prompted the thought, for it was filled with the impulse of -destruction. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -It is on his passage through the village of Garradrimna that we may -most truly observe John Brennan, in sharp contrast with his dingy -environment, as he goes to hear morning Mass at the instigation of -his mother, whose pathetic fancy fails to picture him in any other -connection. It is a beautiful morning, and the sun is already high. -There is a clean freshness upon all things. The tall trees which form -a redeeming background for the uneven line of the ugly houses on the -western side of the street are flinging their rich raiment wildly -upon the light breeze where it floats like the decorative garments of -a ballet dancer. The light winds are whipping the lightness of the -morning. - -The men of drink are already stirring about in anticipation. -Hubert Manning is striking upon the door of Flynn's, the grocery -establishment, which, in the heavy blindness of his thirst, he takes to -be one of the seven publichouses of Garradrimna. He is running about -like some purged sinner, losing patience at last hard by the Gate of -Heaven. In the course of her inclusive chronicles his mother had told -John Brennan the life history of Hubert Manning. For sixty odd years -he had bent his body in hard battle with the clay, until the doubtful -benefit of a legacy had come to change the current of his life. The -fortune, with its sudden diversion towards idleness and enjoyment, had -caused all the latent villainy of the man, which the soil had subdued, -to burst forth with violence. He was now a drunken old cur whom -Sergeant McGoldrick caused to spend a fortune in fines. - -"Just imagine the people who do be left the money!" said Mrs. Brennan, -as she told the story. - -John Brennan passes on. He meets the bill-poster, Thomas James. His -dark, red face displays an immense anxiety. He is going for his first -pint with a pinch of salt held most carefully in his hand. His present -condition is a fact to be deplored, for he was famous in his time and -held the record in Garradrimna for fast drinking of a pint. He could -drink twenty pints in a day. Hence his decline and the pinch of salt -now held so carefully in his hand. This is to keep down the first pint, -and if the operation be safely effected it is quite possible that the -other nineteen will give him no trouble. - -Coming in the valley road are Shamesy Golliher and Martin Connell. -In the distance they appear as small, shrinking figures, moving in -abasement beneath the Gothic arches of the elms. They represent the -advance guard of those who leave the sunlit fields on a summer morning -to come into the dark, cavernous pubs of Garradrimna. - -On the side of the street, distant from that upon which John Brennan -is walking, moves the famous figure of Padna Padna, slipping along -like some spirit of discontent and immortal longing, doomed forever to -wander. He mistakes the student for one of the priests and salutes him -by tipping his great hat lightly with his little fore-finger. - -And here comes yet another, this one with speed and determination in -his stride, for it is Anthony Shaughness, who has spent three-fourths -of his life running away from Death. - -"Will you save a life; will you save a life?" he whispers wildly, -clutching John by the arm. "I have a penny, but sure a penny is no -good, sir; and I want tuppence-ha'penny to add to it for the price of a -pint; but sure you won't mind when it's to save my life! I know you'll -give it to me for the love of God!" - -This is a very well-known request in the mouth of Anthony Shaughness, -and John Brennan has attended it so very often during the past few -years as to deserve a medal for life-saving. Yet he now takes the -coppers from his small store of pocket-money and gives them to the -dipsomaniac, who moves rapidly in the direction of "The World's End." - -There is presently an exciting interlude. They are just opening up at -Brannagan's as he goes past. The sleepy-looking barmaid has come to the -newly-opened door, and makes an ungraceful gesture in gathering up her -ugly dishevelled hair. A lout of a lad with a dirty cigarette in his -mouth appears suddenly. They begin to grin at one another in foolish -rapture, for it is a lovers' meeting. Through the doorway at which they -stand the smell of stale porter is already assaulting the freshness -of the morning. They enter the bar surreptitiously and John Brennan -can hear the swish of a pint in the glass in which it is being filled. -The usual morning gift, he thinks, with which this maiden favors this -gallant lover of a new Romance.... There comes to him suddenly the idea -that his name has been mentioned in this dark place just now.... He -goes on walking quickly towards the chapel. - - -The plan which Myles Shannon had originated was not lacking in -subtlety. He foresaw a certain clash of character, between his nephew -and the son of Nan Byrne, which must become most interesting as he -watched it out of his malevolence. He could never, never, forget what -she had done.... And always, beyond the desolation which appeared from -concentration of his revengeful intentions, he beheld the ruins of her -son. - -He often thought it puzzling how she should never have imagined that -some one like him might be tempted to do at some time what he was -now about to do. It seemed remarkable beyond all else that her mind -should possess such an opaque oneness of purpose, such an extraordinary -"thickness," to use the term of the valley. - -Yet this was a quality peculiar to the gentle hush of the grassy -places. It seemed to arise from the removal of an intelligent feeling -of humanity from the conduct of life and the replacement of it by a -spitefulness that killed and blinded. It was the explanation of many -of the tragedies of the valley. Like a malignant wind, it warped the -human growth within the valley's confines. It was what had happened to -Mrs. Brennan and, because of the action he was taking in regard to her, -what was now about to happen to Myles Shannon. He seemed to forget, as -he went about his vengeance, that subtlety is akin to humor, and that -humor, in its application to the satiric perception of things, is the -quality which constantly heals the cut it has made. He might certainly -leave the mark of his vengeance upon Mrs. Brennan, but there was the -danger of the weapon recoiling upon himself and his kinsman. It was a -horrible plan indeed, this, of setting one young man to ruin another. -It was such a conflict, with such an anticipated ending, as had shaped -itself inevitably out of the life of the valley. Where life was an -endless battle of conflicting characters and antagonized dispositions -it seemed particularly meet that a monumental conflict should at last -have been instituted. - - -Ulick Shannon was finding the valley very little to his mind. But for -the intervention of his uncle he was several times upon the point of -returning to Dublin. Although it was for a rest he had come the place -was too damnably dull. Garradrimna was an infernal hole! Yet he went -there often, and it was remarkable that his uncle said never a word -when he arrived home from the village, several nights, in a condition -that was not one of absolute sobriety. On the contrary, he seemed to -take a certain joyful interest in such happenings. His uncle often -spoke of the young man, John Brennan, whom he desired him to meet, and -it was surprising that this young man had not made the visit he had -promised to the house among the trees. - -Myles Shannon was beginning to be annoyed by the appearance of this -slight obstruction in the path of his plan. Had Mrs. Brennan forbidden -the friendship he had proposed? It was very like her indeed, and of -course she had her reasons.... But it would never do to let her triumph -over him now, and he having such a lovely plan. He would go so far as -to send his nephew to call at her house to make the acquaintance of -Nan Byrne's son. It would be queer surely to see him calling at that -house and inquiring for John Brennan when his father had gone there -aforetime to see John Brennan's mother. But how was Ulick to know and -view from such an angle this aspect of his existence? - -Yet, after all, the meeting of John Brennan and Ulick Shannon happened -quite accidentally and upon such a morning as we have seen John in -Garradrimna. - -Ulick had gone for a walk around that way before his breakfast. He was -not feeling particularly well as he paused at the end of the valley -road to survey the mean street of Garradrimna, down which he had -marched last night with many a wild thought rushing into his mind as -the place and the people fell far beneath his high gaze. - -His quick eye caught sight of something now which seemed a curiously -striking piece in the drab mosaic of his morning. It was a little party -of four going towards the chapel. The pair in front could possibly be -none other than the bridegroom and his bride. It was easy to see that -marriage was their purpose from the look of open rapture upon their -faces. The bridesmaid and the best man were laughing and chatting gaily -as they walked behind them. They seemed to be having the best of it. - -Ulick thought it interesting to see this pair moving eagerly towards -a mysterious purpose.... He was struck by the fact that it was a most -merciful thing that all men do not lift the veil of life so early as he -had done.... The harsh, slight laugh which came from him was like the -remembered laughter of a dead man. - -Now that his eyes were falling, with an unfilled look, upon the street -along which the four had gone he began to see people who had been -looking out move away from the squinting windows and a few seconds -later come hurriedly out of their houses and go towards the chapel. - -The poor, self-conscious clod, who had dearly desired to marry the girl -of his fancy quietly and with no prying eyes, amid the fragrance of -the fine June morning, had, after all, succeeded only in drawing about -him the leering attention of all the village. There were ever so many -people going towards the chapel this morning. The lot was large enough -to remind one of a Sunday congregation at either Mass, this black drove -now moving up the laneway. Ulick Shannon went forward to join it. - -Coming near the chapel he encountered a young man in black, who wore -the look of a student. This must be John Brennan, he thought, of whom -his uncle had so repeatedly spoken. He turned and said: - -"Good morning! I'm Ulick Shannon, and I fancy you're Brennan, the chap -my uncle has talked of so often. He has been expecting you to call at -Scarden House." - -They shook hands. - -"Yes, I'm John Brennan, and I'm delighted to meet you. I have not -forgotten your uncle's kind invitation." - -Together they entered the House of God.... Father O'Keeffe was already -engaged in uniting the couple. Distantly they could hear him mumbling -the words of the ceremony.... All eyes were upon the priest and the -four people at the altar.... Suddenly Ulick giggled openly, and John -Brennan blushed in confusion, for this was irreverence such as he had -never before experienced in the presence of sacred things. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -Next day Ulick Shannon made a call upon John Brennan and invited him -for a drive. Outside upon the road Charlie Clarke's motor was snorting -and humming. Ulick had learned to drive a car in Dublin, and had now -hired Mr. Clarke's machine for the day. - -"You see," he said airily, "that I have dispensed with the -sanctimonious Charlie and am driving myself. Meaning no respect to you, -Brennan, one approach to a priest is as much as I can put up with at a -time." - -Mrs. Brennan had come to the window, which looked out upon the little -garden wicket by which they were standing.... Her eyes were dancing and -wild thoughts were rushing into her mind.... Here, at last, was the -achieved disaster and the sight her eyes had most dreaded to see--her -son and the son of Henry Shannon talking together as brothers. - -An ache that was akin to hunger seemed to have suddenly attacked her. -Her lips became parched and dry and her jaws went through the actions -of swallowing although there was nothing in her mouth. Then she felt -herself being altogether obliterated as she stood there by the window. -She was like a wounded bird that had broken itself in an attempt to -attain to the sunlight beyond.... And to think that it had fallen at -last, this shadow of separation from her lovely son. John came to the -door and called in: - -"I'm going for a drive in the motor with Mr. Shannon, mother." - -These were his very words, and they caused her to move away towards -the sewing-room with the big tears gathering into her eyes. From her -seat she saw her son take up his proud position by the side of Ulick -Shannon. There was something for you, now! Her son driving in a motor -car with a young man who was going on to be a doctor, in the high noon -of a working day, all down through the valley of Tullahanogue. If only -it happened to be with any other one in the whole world. What would -all the people say but what they must say?... She saw the two students -laughing just before the car started as if some joke had suddenly -leaped into being between them. - -Ned Brennan came into the room. He had been making an effort to do -something in the garden when the car had distracted him from his task. -Well, that was what you might call a grand thing! While he was here -digging in his drought, his son, I thank ye, going off to drive in a -motor with a kind of a gentleman. His mind went swiftly moving towards -a white heat of temper which must be eventually cooled in the black -pools of Garradrimna. He came into the room, a great blast of a man in -his anger, his boots heavy with the clay of the garden. - -"Well, be the Holy Farmer! that's the grand turn-out!... But sure -they're a kind of connections, don't you know, and I suppose 'tis only -natural?" - -Great God! He had returned again to this, and to the words she feared -most of all to hear falling from his mouth. - -"A curious attraction, don't you know, that the breed of the Byrnes -always had for the breed of the Shannons. Eh, Nan?" - -Mrs. Brennan said nothing. It had been the way with her that she felt -a certain horror of Ned when he came to her in this state, but now she -was being moved by a totally different feeling. She was not without a -kind of pity for him as she suddenly realized once more how she had -done him a terrible and enduring injury.... As he stood there glowering -down upon her he was of immense bulk and significance. If he struck her -now she would not mind in the least. - -"And they're like one another too, them two chaps, as like as brothers. -And mebbe they are brothers. Eh, Nan, eh; what happened the child -you had for Henry Shannon? It died, did it? Why 'tis only the other -night that Larry Cully came at me again about it in Garradrimna. 'I -see you have your sons home about you,' says he, 'and that must be -the great comfort to a man, your son John,' says he, 'and your son -Ulick. Maybe ye never heard tell,' says he, 'that Grace Gogarty's child -died young and that Henry Shannon bought his other son from his other -mother-in-law to prevent it being a rising disgrace to him. Bought it -for a small sum,' says he, 'and put it in the place of his lawful son, -and his wife never suspected anything until the day she died, poor -woman; for she was to be pitied, having married such a blackguard.' Is -that true, is it, Nan?" - -Oh, Blessed Mother! this was even more terrible than the suspicion -Marse Prendergast had put upon her. It seemed less of a crime that -the little innocent babe should have been murdered in this house -and buried in the garden than that her old, dead mother should have -sold it to Henry Shannon. And how was she to know? Twenty-five years -had passed since that time when she had been at Death's door, nor -realizing anything.... And her mother had never told her.... It would -be strange if she had gone digging at any time for the tiny bones of -the little infant that had never been baptized. People passing the -road might suspect her purpose and say hard things.... But sure they -said hard things of her still after all the years. It was dreadful to -think how any one could concoct a lie like this, and that no one could -forget. Old Marse Prendergast knew well. Deep in her wicked mind, for -twenty-five years, the secret had been hidden. It was a torture to -think of the way she would be hinting at it forever.... And just quite -recently she had threatened to tell John. - -Bit by bit was being erected in her mind the terrible speculation as -to what really was the truth and the full extent of her sin. Yet it -was not a thing she could set about making inquiries after.... She -wondered and wondered did Myles Shannon, the uncle of Ulick, know the -full truth. Why did not her husband drop that grimy, powerful hand? Her -breasts craved its blow now, even as they had yearned long ago for the -fumbling of the little, blind mouth. - -But he was merely asking her for money to buy drink for himself in -Garradrimna. Hitherto this request had always given her pain, but now, -somehow, it came differently to her ears. There was no hesitation on -her part, no making of excuses. She went upstairs to the box which held -her most dear possession--the money she had saved so well through all -the years for the fitting-out of Ned to go proudly with her to attend -the ordination of their son John. She opened the box with the air of -one doing a deliberate thing. The money, which amounted in all to about -five pounds, was still in the form in which she had managed to scrape -it together. In notes and gold and silver, and even copper. Before this -it would have appeared as a sacrilege on her part to have touched a -penny of it, but now she had no thought of this kind. Ned wanted the -money to purchase the means of forgetfulness of the great injury she -had done him. - -She counted thirty pennies, one by one, into the pocket of her apron. -This seemed the least suspicious way of giving it to him, for he had -still no idea that she could have any little store laid by. It was -hardly possible when one considered how much he drank upon her in the -village. - -She came down the stairs in silence, and spoke no word to him as she -handed over the money. His lips seemed to split into a sort of sneer -as he took it from her. Then he went out the door quickly and down the -white road toward Garradrimna. - - -For the admiration and surprise of John Brennan, Ulick Shannon had -been displaying his skill with the wheel. Soon the white, tidy houses -beyond the valley were whizzing past and they were running down the -easy road which led into the village of Ballinamult. They had moved in -a continuous cloud of dust from Tullahanogue. - -Ulick said he was choked with dust as he brought the car to a -standstill outside the "North Leinster Arms." He marched deliberately -into the public bar, and John Brennan followed after with less sure -footsteps, for it was his first appearance in a place of this kind. -There was a little, plump girl standing up on a chair rearranging the -bottles of whiskey and dusting the shelves. - -Ulick would seem to have already visited this tavern, for he addressed -the girl rather familiarly as "Mary Essie." She looked at the young -man impudently as she wheeled around to exhibit herself to the best -advantage. Ulick leaned his elbows upon the low counter and gazed -towards her with his deep, dark eyes. Some quite unaccountable thing -caused John Brennan to blush, but he noticed that the girl was not -blushing. She was more brazenly forcing her body into exhibition. - -Ulick called for a drink, whatever his friend Brennan would have, and -a bottle of Bass for himself. It appeared a little wrong to John that -he should be about to partake of a drink in a pub., for the "North -Leinster Arms" was nothing more than a sufficiently bad public-house. -He had a sudden recollection of having once been given cakes and sweets -in an evil-smelling tap-room one day he had gone with his mother -long ago to Mullaghowen. He thought of the kind of wine he had been -given that day and immediately the name was forced to his lips by the -thought--"Port wine!" - -When the barmaid turned around to fill their drinks the young men had -a view of the curves of her body. John Brennan was surprised to find -himself dwelling upon them in the intense way of his friend. - -Before they left Ulick had many drinks of various kinds, and it was -interesting to observe how he expanded with their influence. He began -to tell "smutty" stories to Mary Essie. She listened with attention. -No blush came into her face, and her glad neck looked brazen.... John -Brennan felt himself swallowing great gulps of disgust.... His training -had led him to associate the female form with the angelic form coming -down from Heaven. Yet here was something utterly different.... A vulgar -girl, with fat, round hands and big breasts, her lips red as a recent -wound in soft flesh, and looking lonely. - -He was glad when they regained the sunlight, yet the day was of such -a character as creates oppression by the very height of its splendor. -Ulick was in such a mood for talk that they had almost forgotten the -luncheon-basket at the back of the car. - -Beyond Ballinamult they stopped again where the ruins of a moldering -Abbey lay quietly surrounded by a circle of furze-covered hills.... -Ulick expanded still further with the meal, yet his discourse still ran -along the old trail. He was favoring his friend with a sketch of his -life, and it seemed to be made up largely of the women he had known -in Dublin. Quite suddenly he said what seemed to John a very terrible -thing: - -"I have learned a lot from them, and let me tell you this--it has been -my experience that you could not trust your own mother or the girl of -your heart. They seem to lack control, even the control of religion. -They do not realize religion at all. They are creatures of impulse." - -Here was a sentiment that questioned the very fact of existence.... -It seemed dreadful to connect the triumph of love and devotion that -was his mother with this consequent suggestion of the failure of -existence.... Together they went across the grassy distance towards -the crumbling ruin wherein the good monks of old had lived and prayed. -And surely, he thought, the great spirit of holiness which had led -men hither to spend their lives in penance and good works could not -have departed finally from this quiet place, nor from the green fields -beyond the rim of furze-covered hills. - -Yet upon his ears were falling the even, convincing tones of Ulick -Shannon, still speaking cynically. - -"Behold," he was saying, "that it is to this place the younger -generation throng on the Sabbath. Around you, upon the ruined and bare -walls, you will observe not pious words, but the coupled names of those -who have come here to sin." - -"And look at this!" he exclaimed, picking from a niche in the wall -a long shin bone of one of the ancient monks, which possessed the -reputed power of cures and miracles. For a moment he examined it with a -professional eye, then handed it to John Brennan. There were two names -scribbled upon it in pencil, and beneath them a lewd expression. Ulick -had only laid hands upon it by the merest accident, but it immediately -gave body to all the airy ideas he had been putting forth. There was -something so greatly irreverent in the appearance of this accidental -piece of evidence that no argument could be put forward against it. It -was terrible and conclusive. - -The evening was far advanced when John Brennan returned home. His -mother and father were seated in the kitchen. His father was drunk, -and she was reading him a holy story, with an immeasurable feeling of -despondence in her tones. John became aware of this as he entered the -house. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Rebecca Kerr had been ill for a few days and did not attend school -until the Monday following her arrival in the valley. There she made -the acquaintance of Mrs. Wyse, the principal of Tullahanogue Girls' -School, and Monica McKeon, the assistant of Tullahanogue Boys' School. -Mrs. Wyse was a woman who divided her energies between the education of -other women's children and the production of children of her own. Year -by year, and with her growing family, had her life narrowed down to -the painful confines of its present condition. She had the reputation -of being a hard mistress to the children and a harsh superior to -her assistants. From the very first she seemed anxious to show her -authority over Rebecca Kerr. - -In the forenoon of this day she was standing by her blackboard at the -east end of the school, imparting some history to her most advanced -class. Rebecca was at the opposite end teaching elementary arithmetic -to the younger children when something in the would-be impressive -seriousness of her principal's tone caused her to smile openly. - -Mrs. Wyse saw the smile, and it lit her anger. She called loudly: - -"Miss Kerr, are you quite sure that that exercise in simple addition is -correct?" - -"Yes, perfectly certain, Mrs. Wyse." - -The chalk had slipped upon the greasy blackboard, making a certain 5 -to appear as a 6 from the distance at which she stood, and it was into -this accidental trap that Mrs. Wyse had fallen. Previous assistants -had studied her ways and had given up the mistake of contradicting her -even when she was obviously in the wrong. But this was such a straight -issue, and Rebecca Kerr had had no opportunity of knowing her. She -came down in a flaming temper from the rostrum. Rebecca awaited her -near approach with a smiling and assured complacency which must have -been maddening. But Mrs. Wyse was not one to admit a mistake. Quick as -lightning she struck upon the complaint that the exercise was beyond -the course of instruction scheduled for this particular standard.... -And here were the foundations of an enmity laid between these two -women. They would not be friends in any fine way through the length of -all the long days they might teach together. - -Thus for Rebecca the first day in the valley school dragged out its -slow length and was dreary and dreadful until noon. Then Monica McKeon -came in from the Boys' School and they took their luncheon together.... -They went on chattering away until the door of the schoolroom was -suddenly darkened by the shadows of two men. The three women arose -in confusion as Master Donnellan called them to the door. There was -a young man standing outside who presented a strong contrast to -the venerable figure of the master. The latter, in his roundabout, -pedagogic way, went on to tell how the stranger had strayed into the -school playground and made himself known. He wished to show him the -whole of the building, and introduced him as "Mr. Ulick Shannon, Mr. -Myles Shannon's nephew, you know." - -The three female teachers took an immediate mental note of the young -man. They saw him as neat and well-dressed, with a half-thoughtful, -half-reckless expression upon his fine face, with its deep-set, -romantic eyes. The few words he spoke during the general introduction -appeared to Rebecca to be in such a gentle voice. There were some -moments of awkward silence. Then, between the five of them, they -managed to say a few conventional things. All the while those great, -deep eyes seemed to be set upon Rebecca, and she was experiencing the -disquieting feeling that she had met him at some previous time in some -other place in this wide world. The eyes of Monica McKeon were upon -both of them in a way that seemed an attempt to search their minds for -their thoughts of the moment. - -Immediately he was gone Mrs. Wyse and Miss McKeon fell to talking of -him: - -"He's the hateful-looking thing; I'd hate him like poison," said Monica. - -"Indeed what could he be and the kind of a father he had? Sure I -remember him well, a quare character," said Mrs. Wyse. - -"I wonder what could have brought him around here to-day of all days -since he came to Scarden?" - -This with her eyes set firmly upon Rebecca. - -Mrs. Wyse was not slow to pick up the insinuation. - -"Oh, looking after fresh girls always, the same as his father." - -"He's not bad-looking." - -"No; but wouldn't you know well he has himself destroyed with the kind -of life he lives up in Dublin? They say he's gone to the bad and that -he'll never pass his exams." - -Every word of the conversation seemed to be spoken with the direct -intention of attacking certain feelings which had already begun to rise -in the breast of Rebecca Kerr.... Her mind was being held fast by the -well-remembered spell of his eyes. - -The afternoon passed swiftly for Mrs. Wyse. She was so engrossed by -thought of this small thing that had happened that she gave wrong dates -in another history lesson, false notes in the music lesson, and more -than one incorrect answer to simple sums in the arithmetic lesson. - -Rebecca was glad when three o'clock and her freedom at last came. Out -in the sunlight she would be able to indulge in certain realizations -which were impossible of enjoyment here in this crowded schoolroom. The -day was still enthroned beneath the azure dome. This was the period -of its languorous yawn when it seemed to dream for a space and gather -strength before it came down from its high place and went into the -long, winding ways of evening. - -There were men engaged in raising sand from a pit by the roadside as -she passed along. A pause in the ringing of their shovels made her -conscious that they had stopped in their labor to gaze after her as she -went.... Her neck was warm and blushing beneath the shadow of her hair. - -Her confusion extended to every portion of her body when she came upon -Ulick Shannon around a bend of the road, book in hand, sauntering along. - -He saluted as she overtook him, and spoke of the pleasant -afternoon.... She hoped he was enjoying his holidays here in the -valley. He seemed to be spending the time very quietly. Reading? -Poetry? Just fancy! _The Daffodil Fields_, by John Masefield. What a -pretty name! Was he devoted to poetry, and was this particular poem a -good one? - -"It is a great tale of love and passion that happened in one of the -quiet places of the world," he told her with a kind of enthusiasm -coming into his words for the first time. - -"One of the quiet places?" she murmured, evidently at a loss for -something else to say. - -"Yes, a quiet place which must have been like this place and yet, at -the same time, most wonderfully different, for no poet at all could -imagine any tale of love and passion springing from the life about us -here. The people of the valley seem to have died before they were born. -I will lend you this poem, if you'd care to have it." - -"Oh, thank you, Mr. Shannon!" she said. - -They had wandered down a lane which led from the high road towards the -peaceful fields beyond the little lake. This lane, he told her, was -called "The Road of the Dead," and would afford her a short cut to her -lodging at Sergeant McGoldrick's. - -For lack of anything else to say, she remarked upon the strangeness of -this name--The Road of the Dead. He said it seemed a title particularly -suitable. He went on to elaborate the idea he had just expressed: - -"Around and about here they are all dead--dead. No passion of any kind -comes to light their existence. Their life is a thing done meanly, -shudderingly within the shadow of the grave. That is how I have been -seeing it for the past few weeks. They hate the occurrence of new -people in their midst. They hate me already, and now they will hate -you. The sight of us walking together like this must surely cause them -to hate us still more." - -She was wondering that his words should hold a sense of consideration -for her, seeing that they had been acquainted only such a short while. - -"This way leads from a graveyard to a graveyard, and they have a -silly superstition that dead couples are sometimes seen walking -here. Particularly dismal also do I consider this picture of their -imagination. The idea of any one thinking us a dead couple!" - -As he said this her blushing cheek showed certainly that life was -strong in her.... Upon the wings of his words grand thoughts had gone -flying through her mind. All day she had been looking forward with -dread to the yellow, sickly, sunlit time after school. And now to think -that the miracle of this romantic young man had happened.... Both grew -silent. Rebecca's eyes were filling with visions and wandering over a -field of young green corn. They were dancing upon the waves of sunlight -which shimmered over all the clean, feathery surface of the field. The -eyes of Ulick were straying from the landscape and dwelling upon her -deeply, upon the curves of her throat and bosom, and upon the gentle -billows of her hair. Over all his face was clouding that mysterious, -murky expression which had come as he gazed upon the little barmaid of -the "North Leinster Arms" a few days previously. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Rebecca wanted some light blouses. Those she possessed had survived -through one summer, and it was all that could be expected of them. So -one day she ran down to Brennan's, during the half hour allowed for -recreation, to leave the order. When she entered the sewing-room Mrs. -Brennan was busy at her machine. Her ever-tired eyes struggled into a -beaming look upon Rebecca. - -The young girl, with her rich body, seemed to bring a clean freshness -into the room. For a moment the heavy smell of the miscellaneous -materials about her died down in the nostrils of Mrs. Brennan. But this -might have arisen from a lapse of other faculties occasioned by her -agreeable surprise. So here was the new teacher who had so recently -occupied her tongue to such an extent. She now beheld her hungrily. - -Rebecca laid her small parcel of muslin upon the table, and became -seated at the request of Mrs. Brennan. - -"That's the grand day, ma'am," said she. - -"'Tis the grand day indeed, miss," said Mrs. Brennan. - -"Not nice, however, to be in a stuffy schoolroom." - -"Indeed you might swear that, especially in such a school as -Tullahanogue, with a woman like Mrs. Wyse; she's the nice-looking -article of a mistress!" - -Rebecca almost bounded in her chair. She had fancied Mrs. Brennan, -from the nature of her occupation, as a gabster, but she had not -reckoned upon such a sudden and emphatic confirmation of her notion. -Immediately she tried to keep the conversation from taking this turn, -which, in a way, might bring it to a personal issue. But Mrs. Brennan -was not to be baulked of her opportunity. - -She began to favor her visitor with a biography of Mrs. Wyse. It was a -comprehensive study, including all her aspects and phases. Her father -and his exact character, and her mother and what she was. Her husband, -and how the marriage had been arranged. How she had managed to gain her -position. Everything was explained with a wealth of detail. - -Rebecca out of the haze into which the garrulous recital had led her, -spoke suddenly and reminded Mrs. Brennan of the passage of the half -hour. Mrs. Brennan quickly fancied that the cause of the girl's lack of -enthusiasm in this outpouring of information might have arisen from the -fact that Mrs. Wyse had forestalled her with a previous attack. Thus, -by a piece of swift transition, she must turn the light upon herself -and upon the far, bright period of her young girlhood. - -Now maybe Miss Kerr would like to look through the album of photos upon -the table. This was a usual extension of feminine curiosity.... Rebecca -opened the heavy, embossed album and began to turn over the pages.... -There was a photo of a young girl near the beginning. She was of -considerable beauty, even so far as could be discerned from this faded -photo, taken in the early eighties. As Rebecca lingered over it, the -face of Mrs. Brennan was lit by a sad smile. - -"She was nice, and who might she have been?" said Rebecca. - -"That was me when I was little and innocent," said Mrs. Brennan. - -Rebecca looked from Mrs. Brennan to the photo, and again from the photo -to Mrs. Brennan. She found it difficult to believe that this young -girl, with the long, brown hair and the look of pure innocence in the -fine eyes, could be the faded, anxious, gossipy woman sitting here at -her labor in this room.... She thought of the years before herself and -of all the tragedy of womanhood.... There was silence between them for -a space. Mrs. Brennan appeared as if she had been overpowered by some -sad thought, for not a word fell from her as she began to untie the -parcel of blouse material her customer had brought. There was no sound -in the wide noontide stillness save the light fall of the album leaves -as they were being turned.... Rebecca had paused again, and this time -was studying the photos of two young men set in opposite pages. Both -were arrayed in the fashions of 1890, and each had the same correct, -stiff pose by an impossible-looking pedestal, upon which a French-gray -globe reposed. But there was a great difference to be immediately -observed as existing between the two men. One was handsome and of such -a hearing as instantly appeals to feminine eyes. It was curious that -they should have been placed in such contiguous contradistinction, for -the other man seemed just the very opposite in every way to the one who -was so handsome. It could not have been altogether by accident, was -Rebecca's thought, and, with the intuition of a woman at work in her, -she proceeded to lay the foundations of a romance.... Mrs. Brennan was -observing her closely, and it grew upon her that she had been destined -to bare her soul to this girl in this moment. - -"That was the nice young man," said Rebecca, indicating the one who, -despite his stiff pose by the pedestal, looked soldierly with his great -mustache. - -"Indeed he was all that," said Mrs. Brennan. "I met him when I was away -off in England. He was a rich, grand young man, and as fond of me as -the day was long; but he was a Protestant and fearful of his people to -change his religion, and to be sure I could not change mine. For the -sake of me holy religion I gave up all thoughts of him and married Ned -Brennan, whose likeness you see on the other page." - -Rebecca lifted her eyes from the album and looked full at Mrs. Brennan. -She wondered how much truth could be in this story. The dressmaker -was a coarse woman and not at all out of place in this mean room. She -imagined the heavy husband of her choice as a suitable mate for her. - -This sudden adoption of the attitude of a kind of martyr did not seem -to fit well upon her. Rebecca could not so quickly imagine her as -having done a noble and heroic thing for which she had not received -sufficient beatification. - -Rebecca was still turning the leaves. She had hurried through this -little pageant of other generations, and was at the last pages. Now -she was among people of the present, and her attention was no longer -held by the peculiarities of the costumes.... Her mind was beginning to -wander. Suddenly she was looking down upon a photo in the older style -and the anachronism was startling. Had it been placed in any other -portion of the album she might not have so particularly noticed it. It -was the likeness of a dark, handsome man on horseback. - -"Who was he?" she said, almost unconsciously. - -A flush passed over the face of Mrs. Brennan, but she recovered herself -by an effort. She smiled queerly through her confusion and said: - -"Indeed 'tis you who ought to know that." - -"How should I know?"--Rebecca was amazed. - -"Don't you know Ulick Shannon?" - -It was now Rebecca's turn to be confused. - -Fancy this woman knowing that she had been talking just once with Ulick -Shannon.... Evidently the tongue of this place had already begun to -curl around her. - -"But this is not Ulick Shannon!" She blushed as she found herself -speaking his name. - -"No, but it is the photo of his dead father, Henry Shannon." - -Mrs. Brennan heaved a great sigh as she said this. She rose from her -seat by the machine and moved towards the place where Rebecca was -bending over the album. She gazed down at the picture of the dead man -with moist eyes.... There was silence between them now for what seemed -a long time. Rebecca became alarmed as she thought that she might have -overstayed the half hour. At the school the priest or the inspector -might have called and found her absent from her post. - -She broke in abruptly upon Mrs. Brennan's fit of introspection, and -gave a few hurried orders about the blouses. - -"Will you be giving me the making of your next new costume?" said Mrs. -Brennan. - -"Well, I'm sorry--I don't think so. You see I have it being made -already in Dublin." - -"In Dublin itself? Well, well! that'll be the great style." - -She felt it as an affront to her reputation that any one who lived in -the neighborhood should patronize other places for their needs. She -took such doings as exhibitions of spite and malice against her. And, -somehow, she could not get rid of the idea now, although this girl -evidently knew nothing of her history. - -She was seeing Rebecca to the door when John Brennan came up the little -path. She introduced him, and told how he was her son and, with vanity -in her tones, that he was going to be a priest. - -"That'll give her something to think of, with her slighting me be -telling how she was having her costume made be another. A woman that's -going to have a son a priest ought to be good enough to make for her, -and she a whipster that's after coming from God knows where." - -The mind of Mrs. Brennan was saying this to itself as she stood there -at her own door gazing in pride upon her son. Rebecca Kerr was looking -up into his face with a laugh in her eyes. He was such a nice young -fellow, she was thinking. John Brennan was blushing in the presence of -this girl and glancing shyly at her hair. - -Suddenly she broke away from them with a laughing word upon her lips, -ran out to the road, and down towards the school. - -"She's a very nice girl, mother." - -"Oh! indeed she's not much, John; and I knew well I wouldn't like her -from the very first I heard tell of her coming." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Large posters everywhere announced the holding of a concert in -Garradrimna. As in many other aspects of life in the village, it was -not given to John Brennan to see their full meaning. He had not even -seen in Thomas James, who posted the bills, a symbolic figure, but only -one whom disaster had overtaken through the pursuit of his passion. For -many a year had Thomas James gone about in this way, foretelling some -small event in the life of Garradrimna. Now it was a race-meeting or a -circus, again an auction or a fair. All the while he had been slipping -into his present condition, and herein lay the curious pathos of him. -For he would never post like this the passing of his own life; he would -never set up a poster of Eternity. - -It was curious to think of that, no poster at all of the exact moment -amid the mass of Time when the Great White Angel would blow his blast -upon the Shining Trumpet to awaken all Earth by its clear, wide ringing -across the Seven Seas. - -John Brennan spoke to his mother of the concert. - -"The cheek of them I do declare, with their concert. People don't find -it hard enough to get their money without giving it to them. Bits of -shop-boys and shop-girls! But I suppose they want new clothes and -costumes for the summer. I'll go bail you'll see them girls with new -hats after this venture." - -"The bills announce that it is for the Temperance Club funds." - -"And them's the quare funds, you might say, and the quare club. Young -fellows and young girls meeting in the one room to get up plays. No -good can come of it." - -"Of course we need not attend if we don't like." - -"Ah, we must go all the same. If we didn't, 'tis what they would say -mebbe that we hadn't the means, and so we must let them know that we -have. It wouldn't be nice to see you away from it." - -"I have no desire to go, mother, I assure you. A quiet evening more or -less will not matter." - -"But sure it'll be a bit of diversion and amusement." - -"Yes, that is exactly what I was thinking, so I didn't see anything -very wrong in going or in supporting those who organized it. But if you -don't care to go, it does not matter." - -"Ah, but wouldn't it be the quare thing to see your mother ignorant and -not having a word to say about what was after passing to any one that -would come in, and they knowing the whole thing? Now what you'll do for -me, John, is this. You'll go into Phillips's this evening and get two -of the most expensive tickets, one for yourself and one for me." - -John Brennan had a momentary realization of the pitiful vanity behind -this speech. He remained thinking while she went upstairs for the price -of the tickets, for that must be her object, he fancied, in ascending -into the upper story. He could hear her moving a trunk and opening it. -The sounds came to him with perfect clearness in the still room and -struck him with a sense of their little mournfulness, even though he -was quite unaware that his mother had secretly begun the destruction -of a bright portion of her life's dream. - -In the evening he went to the village for the tickets. - -"It'll be a grand turn-out," said Jimmy Phillips, as he took in the -money and blinked in anticipation with his one eye. - -"I'm sure," said John, as he left the little shop where you might buy -the daily newspaper and sweets and everything. - -He strolled up the street towards the old castle of the De Lacys. The -local paper, published at Mullaghowen, was never tired of setting down -its fame. The uncouth historians of the village had almost exhausted -their adjectives in relating the exploits of this marauding baron of -the Normans who had here built him a fortress, from which his companies -of conquering freebooters had sallied forth so long ago. Yet, as an -extraordinary mistake on the part of those who concerned themselves so -intimately with the life around them, they had altogether missed the -human side of the crumbling ruin. Of what romances of knighthood it -had once been the scene? Of what visions of delight when fair women -had met cuirassed gallants? Of all that pride which must have reared -itself aloft in this place which was now the resort, by night, of the -most humble creatures of the wild? Not one of them had ever been able -to fancy the thoughts which must have filled the mind of Hugh De Lacy -as he drew near this noble monument of his glory after some successful -expedition against the chieftains of the Pale. - -Through the thin curtain of the twilight John Brennan saw two figures -stealing from the labyrinthine ways which led beneath the castle into -what were known as "The Cells." These were dark, narrow places in which -two together would be in close proximity, and it was out from them that -this man and this woman were now stealing. He could not be certain of -their identity, but they looked like two whom he knew.... And he had -heard that Rebecca Kerr was going to sing at the concert, and also -that Ulick Shannon was coaching the Garradrimna Dramatic Class in the -play they were to produce, which was one he had seen at the Abbey -Theater.... A curious thrill ran through him which was like a spasm of -pain. Could it be this girl and this young man who had spoken with such -disgusting intimacy of the female sex in the bar of the "North Leinster -Arms" in Ballinamult ...? They went by a back way into the Club, where -the rehearsals were now going forward. - - -John Brennan was sitting stiffly beside his mother in the front -seats. Around and about him were people of renowned respectability, -who had also paid two shillings each for their tickets. The seven -publicans of Garradrimna were there, some with their wives, some with -their wives and daughters, and some with their wives and daughters -and sisters-in-law. The Clerk of the Union continually adjusting and -re-adjusting his lemon-colored gloves. The old bespectacled maid from -the Post Office sitting near the gray, bullet-headed postmaster, -whose apoplectic jowl was shining. They were keeping up a continual -chatter and buzz and giggle before the rise of the curtain. The jaws -of the ancient postmistress never ceased to work, and those hot words -of criticism and scorn which did not sizzle outwardly from her lips -dropped inwardly to feed the fire of her mind, which was a volcano in -perpetual eruption. - -Mrs. Brennan sat in silence by the side of her son, in the pride of his -presence, glad that he and she were here. She was as fine as any of -them, for she kept fine raiment for such occasions. In the first place -as an advertisement for her craft of dressmaker, and, secondly, to -afford a cloak for her past, even as those among whom she sat cloaked -their pasts in heavy garments of pride. Her attention was concentrated -not so much upon the performance she was about to witness as upon the -audience assembled to witness it. To her the audience was the concert, -and, although she was speaking no word, she was as nervously observant -as the old postmistress. She was concerned by the task before her, for -would she not be in honor bound to "go over" all that passed to any one -who might happen into the sewing-room next day, and lay everything bare -with a searching and deadly analysis for her son John? Thus was she not -distracted by the chattering and giggling, but perfectly at ease while -her mind worked nimbly within the limits of its purpose. - -The mind of John Brennan was not enjoying the same contentment. He was -a little excited by the presence of Rebecca Kerr on a seat adjacent. -She had a place on the program, and was awaiting her time to appear. -His eye was dwelling upon her hair, which lifted gracefully from her -white neck in a smooth wave of gold. It was the fairest thing in this -clouded place of human fumes, and the dear softness from which it -sprang such a recess of beauty. - -The concert had at last begun. Harry Holton, the comic, was holding the -stage and the audience was in convulsions. Harry Holton was a distant -disciple of Harry Lauder. Having heard the funny Scotchman upon the -gramophone he rather fancied that it was he who should have been Harry -Lauder. In course of time, he had grown to think that it was Lauder and -not himself who was doing the impersonation. His effort to be broadly -Scotch, while the marks of the son of Erin were so strong upon him, was -where, all unseen, his power to move towards laughter really lay. Yet -the audience rocked its sides in crude mirth at this crude exhibition, -and each man asked his neighbor was it not the funniest damned thing? -The seven sleek publicans of Garradrimna threatened to explode.... John -Brennan saw big beads of perspiration rise upon the comedian's brow and -gleam in the sickly glare of the lamplight. Beyond the excitement, from -behind the scenes, came a new sound--the popping of a cork--and through -a chink in the back cloth he saw Ulick Shannon take his drink from -the bottle.... Had Rebecca Kerr seen that as well as he or----. But -his speculation was cut short by the exit of the comedian after many -encores, amidst tumultuous applause. - -Next came Agnes McKeon, a near relation of Monica's and the -schoolmistress of Ballinamult. Her big spectacles gave her the look of -her profession, and although she sang well in a pleasing contralto, she -appeared stiff and unalluring in her white dress, which was starched to -a too strong resplendence. John heard two old maids with scraggy necks -remarking, not upon the power of Miss McKeon's voice, but upon the -extraordinary whiteness of her dress, and saying it was grand surely, -but they anxiously wondered were all her garments as clean for they -were ready to credit her with extreme slovenliness of habit. - -The play was the notable event of the evening. Although the work of a -famous Abbey playwright, it had been evidently re-written for Harry -Holton, who was the principal character. It was purely a Harry Holton -show. Dramatic point and sequence were sacrificed to give scope to -his renowned abilities. The other players would seem to have merged -themselves to give him prominence. But the ladies had not merged their -natural vanity. One in particular, who was supposed to represent an old -woman of Ireland, wore an attractive dress which was in the prevailing -fashion. It was the illiterate pronunciation of even the simplest words -which chiefly amused John Brennan. Herein might be detected the touch -of Ulick Shannon, who, in coaching the production, had evidently added -this means of diversion for his own amusement. John fancied that his -friend must be enjoying it hugely in there behind the scenes. - -When the play had been concluded by Harry Holton giving a few steps -of a dance, John Brennan saw Rebecca moving towards the stage. He -observed the light grace with which she went to the ordeal. Here was no -self-consciousness, but instead that easy quietness which is a part of -dignity.... It was Ulick Shannon who held aside the curtain allowing -her to pass in upon the stage. - -"Well now, isn't that one the brazen thing?" - -This was the expression of opinion which came clearly from out the -whispering and giggling. It was an unpardonable offense to appear in -public like this without a certain obvious fluttering and fear which -it was one of Garradrimna's most notable powers to create. It was a -great flout. Even his mother was moved to nudge him, so unusual was the -method of this strange girl, appearing in public before the place into -which she had come to earn a living. - -But she was singing. Rebecca Kerr was singing, and to John Brennan -this was all he wished to know. He trembled as he listened and grew -weary with delight. He became nervous, as before some unaccountable -apprehension, and turned to his mother. She was looking quizzically -at the girl on the stage. But the stage to him was now a sort of haze -through which there moved ever little dancing specks. - -The concert was over and his mind had not yet returned to realization. -Rebecca had not come from behind the scenes. He moved with his mother -out into the night, and, as they went, glanced around the corner of the -hall. He saw Rebecca Kerr and Ulick Shannon standing within the shadow -of the surrounding wood. He spoke no word to his mother as they went -down the road towards the house in the valley. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -As if from the excitement of the concert, John Brennan felt weary next -morning. He had been awake since early hours listening to the singing -of the birds in all the trees near the house. The jolly sounds came to -him as a great comfort. Consequently it was with an acute sensation -of annoyance that there crowded in upon his sense of hearing little -distracting noises. Now it was the heavy rumble of a cart, again -the screech of a bicycle ridden by Farrell McGuinness on his way to -Garradrimna for the letters of his rounds; and, continually, the hard -rasp of nailed boots upon the gravel of the road. - -His mother was moving about in the sewing-room beneath. He could hear -the noise made by her scissors as, from time to time, she laid it down -and picked it up again, while, mingled with these actions, occasionally -came up to him the little, unmusical song of the machine. His father -was still snoring. - -Last night Rebecca Kerr had shone in his eyes.... But how exactly had -she appeared before the eyes of Garradrimna and the valley? After what -manner would she survive the strong blast of talk? The outlook of his -mother would be representative of the feeling which had been created. -Yet he felt that it would be repugnant to him to speak with his mother -of Rebecca Kerr. There would be that faded woman, looking at him with -a kind of loving anxiety which seemed always to have the effect of -crushing him back relentlessly towards the realities of the valley and -his own reality. After his thoughts of last night and this morning he -hated to face his mother. - -When at last he went down into the room where she sat sewing he had -such an unusual look in his eyes as seemed to require the solace of an -incident to fill it. If he had expected to find a corresponding look -upon his mother's face he was disappointed. It seemed to wear still the -quizzical expression of last night, and a slight curl at the corners -of her mouth told that her mind was being sped by some humorous or -satirical impulse. - -"Whatever was the matter with you last night, John?" she asked. - -She did not give him time to frame an answer, but went on: - -"And I dying down dead to talk to you about the concert, I could not -get you to speak one word to me and we coming home." - -He noticed that she was in good heart, and, although it was customary -with him to be pleased to see his mother in a mood of gladness, he -could not enter into laughter and gossip with her now. - -But she could not be silent. This small expedition into the outer world -of passing events was now causing her mind to leap, with surprising -agility, from topic to topic.... Yet what was striking John more than -her talk, and with a more arresting realization, was, that although -the hour of his Mass-going was imminent, she was not reminding him or -urging him to remembrance of the good custom.... At last he was driven -by some scruple to remind her of the time, and it was her answer that -finally amazed him: - -"Ah, sure you mightn't go to-day, John. You're tired and all to that, I -know, and I want to tell you.... He! he! he! Now wasn't it the funniest -thing to see the schoolmistress of Ballinamult and the schoolmistress -of Tullahanogue and they up upon the one stage with Harry Holton's -dramatics making sport for a lot of grinning idiots? Like a couple of -circus girls they were, the brazen things! Indeed Miss Kerr is the -bold-looking hussy, with not a bit of shame in her at all. But sure -we may say she fell among her equals, for there wasn't much class -connected with it anyhow." - -"I think Ulick Shannon was knocking about the stage." - -The words strayed, without much sense of meaning or direction, out of -the current of his musing, but they produced a swift and certain effect -upon Mrs. Brennan. Her eyes seemed to cloud suddenly behind her glasses. - -"Aye ... I wonder who was the girl he went off with through the wood as -we came out. Never fear it was the new schoolmistress." - -She said this with a curious, dead quietness in her tones, and when she -had spoken she seemed instantly sorry that the words had slipped from -her lips.... It seemed a queer thing to say to her son and he going on -to be a priest. - -John thought it very strange that she too should have observed this -incident, which he had imagined must have been hidden from all eyes -save his own. He now wondered how many more must have seen it as he -tried to recall the sensations with which it had filled him.... But -beyond this remarkable endeavor of his mind his mother was again -speaking: - -"If you went now, you'd be in time for half-past eight Mass." - -He did not fail to notice the immediate change which had taken place in -her, and wondered momentarily what could have been its sudden cause. -He was beginning to notice of late that she had grown more and more -subject to such unaccountable fits. - -In his desire to obey her he was still strong, but, this morning, as he -walked along to Garradrimna he was possessed by a certain feeling of -annoyance which seemed to strain the bond that stretched between them. - -In the chapel he knelt beside Charlie Clarke, like the voteens around -them, with a lifeless acquiescence in the ceremony. He was here not -because his heart was here, but merely because his mother had wished -it. When his lips moved, in mechanical mimicry of the priest, he felt -that the way of the hypocrite must be hard and lonely. - -When he came out, upon the road he was confused to find himself face -to face with Rebecca Kerr. It seemed a trick of coincidence that he -should meet her now, for it had never happened on any other morning. -Then he suddenly remembered how his mother had kept him late from -"eight o'clock" by her talk of the concert, and it was now Miss Kerr's -school-going time.... She smiled and spoke to him. - -She looked handsome as she moved there along the road from the house -of Sergeant McGoldrick to the Girls' School of Tullahanogue. She was -in harmony with the beauty of the morning. There had been a dull pain -upon his mind since he had last seen her, but already it was gone. - -Although the concert might appear as the immediate subject to which -their minds would turn, this was not so. They began to talk of places -and things away from Garradrimna. - -She spun for his amusement many little yarns of the nuns who conducted -the college where she had been trained. He told her stories of the -priests who taught in the English college where he was being educated -for the priesthood. They enlarged upon the peculiarities of monastic -establishments. - -"And you're going to be a priest?" she said, looking up into his face -suddenly with dancing eyes. - -Such a question had never before been put to him in exactly this way. - -"I am.... At least, I think so.... Oh, yes!" he faltered. - -She laughed in a ringing, musical way that seemed to hold just the -faintest trace of mockery in its tones, but it seemed, next instant, -to be only by way of preface to another conventual tale which she -proceeded to tell. - -Through the period of this story they did not notice that they were -being stared at by those they were meeting upon the road.... As she -chatted and laughed, his eyes would be straying, in spite of him, to -that soft place upon her neck from which her hair sprang upward. - -It was with painful abruptness that she said: "Good morning, Mr. -Brennan!" and went into the old, barrack-like school. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -When John regained the house he saw that his father's boots had -disappeared from their accustomed place beside the fire. No doubt he -had gone away in them to Garradrimna. He had not met him on the road, -but there was a short way across the fields and through the woods, a -backward approach to three of the seven publichouses along which Ned -Brennan, some rusty plumber's tool in his hand and his head downcast, -might be seen passing on any day. - -He did not go straight into the sewing-room, for the door was closed -and he could hear the low murmur of talk within. It must be some -customer come to his mother, he thought, or else some one who had -called in off the road to talk about the concert. Immediately he -realized that he was wrong in both surmises, for it was the voice -of Marse Prendergast raised in one of its renowned outbursts of -supplication. - -"Now I suppose it's what you think that you're the quare, clever woman, -Nan Byrne, with your refusing me continually of me little needs; but -you'd never know what I'd be telling on you some day, and mebbe to your -grand son John." - -"Sssh--sssh--sure I'll get it for you when he goes from the kitchen." - -This last was in a low tone and spoken by his mother. - -"Mebbe it's what you're ashamed to let him see you giving to me. -That's a grand thing now, and I knowing what I know!" - -"Can't you be easy now and maybe 'tis a whole shilling I'll be giving -you in a few minutes." - -This was altogether too generous of his mother. It gave scope to Marse -Prendergast to exercise her tyranny. Her threat was part of the begging -convention she had framed for herself, and so it did not move him -towards speculation or suspicion. His mind drifted on to the enjoyment -of other thoughts, the girl he had just walked with down the valley, -the remembered freshness of the morning road. He came out to the door. -The little kitchen garden stretched away from his feet. An abandoned -spade stood up lonely and erect in the middle of the cabbage-plot. -Around it were a few square feet of freshly-turned earth. It was the -solitary trace of his existence that his father had left behind.... As -the mind of John Brennan came to dwell upon the lonely spectacle of the -spade the need for physical exertion grew upon him. - -He went out into the little garden and lifted the rude implement of -cultivation in his hand. He had not driven it many times into the soft -clay of the cabbage-bed when a touch of peace seemed to fall upon him. -The heavy burden that had occupied his mind was falling into the little -trench that was being made by the spade. - -He had become so interested in his task that he had not heard his -mother go upstairs nor seen Marse Prendergast emerge from the house -some moments later. - -The old shuiler called out to him in her high, shrill voice: - -"That's right, John! That's right! 'Tis glad myself is to see you doing -something useful at last. Digging the cabbage-plot, me sweet gosoon, -and your father in Garradrimna be this time with his pint in his hand!" - -Mrs. Brennan had followed her to the door, and her cruelty was stirred -to give the sore cut by reviving the old dread. - -"That's the lad! That's the lad! But mind you don't dig too far, for -you could never tell what you'd find. And indeed it would be the quare -find you might say!" - -He laughed as she said this, for he remembered that, as a child she -had entertained him with the strangest stories of leprecauns and their -crocks of gold, which were hidden in every field. The old woman passed -out on the road, and his mother came over to him with a pitiful look of -sadness in her eyes. - -"Now, John, I'm surprised at you to have a spade in your hand before -Marse Prendergast and all. That's your father's work and not yours, and -you with your grand education." - -The speech struck him as being rather painful to hear, and he felt as -if he should like to say: "Well, what is good enough for my father -ought to be good enough for me!" But this, to his mother, might have -looked like a back-answer, a piece of impertinence, so he merely -stammered in confusion: "Oh, sure I was only exercising and amusing -myself. When this little bit is finished I'm going down to have a read -by the lake." - -"That's right, John!" she said in a flat, sad voice, and turned back to -her endless labor. - -He stopped, his hands folded on the handle-end of the spade, and fell -into a condition of dulness which even the slightest labor of the body -brings to those unaccustomed to it. All things grew so still of a -sudden. There seemed to come a perfect lull in the throbbing, nervous -realization of his brain from moment to moment.... He felt himself -listening for the hum of his mother's machine, but it was another -sound that came to him--the desolating sound of her lonely sobbing. -She was crying to herself there now in the sewing-room and mourning -forever as if for some lost thing.... There were her regular sobs, -heavy with an eternal sadness as he listened to them. Into such acute -self-consciousness had his mood now moved that he could not imagine -her crying as being connected with anything beyond himself. He was -the perpetual cause of all her pain.... If only she would allow him, -for short spaces, to go out of her mind they might both come into the -enjoyment of a certain freedom, but sometimes the most trivial incident -seemed to put her out so. This morning she had been in such heart and -humor, and last night so interested in the concert, and here now she -was in tears. It could not have been the visit of Marse Prendergast -or her talk, for there was nobody so foolish, he thought, as to take -any notice of either. It must have been the digging and the fact that -people passing the road might see him. Now was not that foolish of her, -for did not Father O'Keeffe himself dig in his own garden with his own -two blessed hands ...? But he must bend in obedience to her desire, and -go walking like a leisured gentleman through the valley. He was looking -forward to this with dread, for, inevitably, it must throw him back -upon his own thoughts. - -As he came down past the school he could hear a dull drone from among -the trees. The school had not yet settled down to the business of the -day, and the scholars were busy with the preparation of their lessons. -John stopped by the low wall, which separated its poor playground from -the road, to gaze across at the hive of intellect. Curious that his -mother should now possess a high contempt for this rude academy where -he had been introduced to learning. But he had not yet parted company -with his boyhood. He was remembering the companions of his schooldays -and how this morning preparation had been such a torture. Still moving -about the yard before his formal entrance to the school, was Master -Donnellan. As John Brennan saw him now he appeared as one misunderstood -by the people of the valley, and yet as one in whom the lamp of the -intellect was set bright and high. But beyond this immediate thought -of him he appeared as a man with overthrown ambitions and shattered -dreams, whose occasional outbursts of temper for these reasons had -often the effect of putting him at enmity with the parents of the -children. - -Master Donnellan was a very slave of the ferrule. He had spent his -brains in vain attempts to impart some knowledge to successive -generations of dunces of the fields. It had been his ambition to be -the means of producing some great man whose achievements in the world -might be his monument of pride. But no pupil of his in the valley -school had ever arisen as a great man. Many a time, in the long summer -evenings, when the day would find it hard to disappear from Ireland, -he would come quietly to the old school with a step of reverence, -and going into the moldy closet, where all the old roll-books and -register-books were kept, take them down one by one and go searching -through the lists of names. His mind would be filled with the ringing -achievements of men who had become notable in the world.... Not a -trace of any of those famous names could he find here, however far he -might search in all the musty books until the day had faded.... Then -he would rely upon his memory in a further aspect of his search. He -had not even produced a local great man. In his time no priests had -come out of the valley. There was a strange thing now--no priests, and -it was a thing that was always said by angry mothers and fathers when -they called at the valley school to attack him for his conduct towards -their children--"And you never to have made a priest or a ha'porth!" -It was not the unreasonableness of their words that annoyed him, but -rather the sense of impotence with which they filled him.... If only it -would happen that he could say he had produced one famous man. A priest -would be sufficiently fine to justify him in the eyes of the valley. It -was so strange that, although he had seen many young men move towards -high attainment, some fatality had always happened to avert his poor -triumph. He thought of young Brennan as his present hope and pride. - -John went on towards the lake. When he came to the water's edge he -was filled with a sense of peace. He sat down beneath one of the fir -trees and, in the idleness of his mood, began to pick up some of the -old dried fir-cones which were fallen beneath. They appeared to him -as things peculiarly bereft of any sap or life. He gathered until he -had a handful and then cast them from him one by one on the surface of -the water. It seemed a surprising thing that the small eddies which -the light splashes of them made rolled distantly to the shores of the -little lake. He began to wonder would his life come to be like that--a -small thing to be flung by the Hand of Fate and creating its little -ripple to eddy to the far shores of Time. - -"Me sound man, John!" - -It was the voice of Shamesy Golliher coming from behind a screen of -reeds where he had been fishing. - -"'Tis a warm day," he said, pushing back his faded straw hat from his -brow, "Glory be to the Son of God!" - -This was a pious exclamation, but the manner of its intonation seemed -to make it comical for John Brennan laughed and Shamesy Golliher -laughed. - -"Now isn't them the clever, infernal little gets of fishes? The divil -a one can I catch only the size of pinkeens, and I wanting to go to -Garradrimna with a hell of a thirst!" - -"And is that all you have troubling you?" said John. - -"Is that all? Begad if it isn't enough after last night. If the priests -knew all the drink that bees drunk at concerts in aid of Temperance -Halls you wouldn't see a building of that kind in the country. - -"Now down with me last night to the concert with me two lovely -half-pints of malt. Well, to make a long story short, I finished one -of them before I went in. I wasn't long inside, and I think it was -while Harry Holton was singing, when who should give me a nudge only -Hubert Manning: 'Are ye coming out, Shamesy?' says he. He had two -bottles of stout and a naggin, and we had them finished before Harry -Holton had done his first song. I was striving for to crush back into -me place when who should I knock against only Farrell McGuinness? -He had a lot of bottles in his pocket. He seemed to have about four -dozen of stout on his person, according to the noise he made: 'For the -honor of Jases,' says he, 'will you not spill me porter?' But then -when he saw it was me he had in it: 'Come to hell oura this,' says he, -'into the night air.' I was so glad to see that he hadn't broken his -bottles, I introduced th'other half pint. Sure he nearly swallowed -it, bottle and all. Then we fell to at the porter, and such a bloody -piece of drinking never was seen. And it wasn't that we had plenty of -drink of our own, but strange people were coming running through the -wood putting half-pints and naggins into our mouths just as if we were -little sucking childer. I fell a corpse under a tree about eleven. I -don't know how long I was insensible, but when I came to I had a quare -feeling that I was in Hell or some place. I wasn't able to move an -inch, I was that stiff and sick.... Somewhere near me I could hear two -whispering and hugging in the darkness. They were as close as ever they -could be. I couldn't stir to get a better look for fear they'd hear me. -But there was quare goings on I can tell you, things I wouldn't like to -mention or describe. Whisper, I'm near sure it was Ulick Shannon and -the schoolmistress, Miss Kerr, or whatever the hell her name is----." - -Shamesy's sickening realism was brought to an abrupt end by the ducking -of his cork, which had been floating upon the surface of the water. -There was a short moment of joyous excitement and then a dying perch -lay on the grass by the side of John Brennan. - -He viewed with sorrow that clean, shining thing wriggling there beneath -the high heavens. Its end had come through the same pitiful certainty -as that of the rabbits which had aforetime contributed to the thirst of -Shamesy, who presently said with delight: - -"Now I have the correct number. I can sell them for sixpence in 'The -World's End,' and you'd never know the amount of good drink that -sixpence might bring." - -He prepared to take his departure, but ere he went across the hill he -turned to John and said: - -"That was the fine walk you were doing with Ulick Shannon's girl this -morning! She was in great form after last night." - -He said it with such a leer of suggestion as cast John, still blushing, -back into his gloom. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -Last night and this morning, what Shamesy Golliher had told him of -last night and said of the walk with Rebecca this morning--all this -was now recurring clearly to his mind, although Shamesy had long since -disappeared across the sweep of the hill on his way to Garradrimna. - -Mrs. Brennan had so recently reminded her son of his coming exaltation -that the suggestion was now compelling him beyond the battle of his -thought to picture himself as a priest ordained. Yet an immense gulf of -difference still separated him from the condition of Father O'Keeffe, -for instance. His thought had been further helped to move this way by -the sudden appearance of Father O'Keeffe riding along The Road of the -Dead. - -John did not see the man as he really was. Yet it was the full reality -of him that was exercising a subconscious influence upon his mind and -helping, with other things, to turn his heart away from the priesthood. - - -Father O'Keeffe came directly from that class so important in -Ireland--the division of the farmer class which has come to be known as -"The Grabbers." The word "grabber" had not been invented to describe a -new class, but rather to denote the remarkable character of a class -already in existence. That was their innermost nature, these farmers, -to be close-fisted and to guard with an almost savage tenacity those -possessions to which they had already attained. It was notable also -that they were not too careful or particular as to the means they -employed to come into possession. This was the full answer to the -question why so many of them put a son on for the Church. It was a -double reason, to afford a means of acquiring still further and to be -as an atonement in the sight of Heaven for the means they had used in -acquiring thus far. This at once appeared amazingly true if one applied -it to the case of Father O'Keeffe, who could on occasion put on such a -look of remoteness from this world, that it was difficult to set about -analyzing him by any earthly standard. Yet, among all the _pedigrees_ -she had read for him, as a notable example in Mrs. Brennan's crowd -of examples, had continually appeared and re-appeared this family of -O'Keeffe. His mother had always endeavored to fix firmly in his mind -the wonder of their uprise. It was through the gates of the Church -that the O'Keeffes had gone to their enjoyment. No doubt they had -denied themselves to educate this Louis O'Keeffe who had become P.P. of -Garradrimna, but their return had been more than satisfying. There was -now no relation of his to the most distant degree of blood who did not -possess great comfort and security in the land. - -At bottom Father O'Keeffe was still a man of the clay and loved the -rich grass and the fine cattle it produced. He had cattle in every -quarter of the parish. Men bought them and saw to their fattening -and sold them for him, even going so far as adding the money to -his account in the bank. He had most discreetly used a seeming -unworldliness to screen his advance upon the ramparts of Mammon. Citing -the examples of Scripture, he consorted with notable, though suddenly -converted, sinners, and, when some critic from among the common people -was moved to speak his mind as one of the converted sinners performed -a particularly unscrupulous stroke of business, he was immediately -silenced by the unassailable spectacle of his parish priest walking -hand in hand with the man whose actions he was daring to question. The -combination was of mutual benefit; the gombeen man, the auctioneer and -the publican were enabled to proceed with their swindle of the poor by -maintaining his boon companionship. - -Thus, while publicly preaching the admonishing text of the camel and -the rich man and the needle's eye, Father O'Keeffe was privately -engaged in putting himself in such a condition that the task of -negotiating the needle's eye might be as difficult to him as the camel. -He went daily for a walk, reading his office, and returned anxiously -scanning stock exchange quotations and letters from cattle salesmen in -Dublin. But in spite of this he was a sportsman, and thought nothing of -risking a ten-pound note upon a horse or a night's card-play. - -When he first came to the parish his inclinations were quickly -determined. In the whirl of other interests cards had fallen into -disuse in Garradrimna. They had come to be considered old-fashioned, -but now suddenly they became "all the rage." Old card-tables were -rediscovered and renewed, and it was said that Tommy Williams was -compelled to order several gross of playing cars--for, what the -"elite" of the parish did, the "commonality" must needs follow and do. -Thus was a public advantage of doubtful benefit created; for laboring -men were known to lose their week's wages to the distress of their -wives and children.... At the "gorgeous card-plays" never an eyelid was -lifted when Father O'Keeffe "renayged." - -These took place in the houses of shopkeepers and strong farmers, and -were cultivated to a point of excessive brilliance. Ancient antagonists -of the tongue met upon this new field, and strategic attempts were made -to snatch Father O'Keeffe as a prize of battle. Thus was an extravagant -sense of his value at once created and, as in all such cases, the worst -qualities of the man came to be developed. His natural snobbishness, -for one thing, which led him to associate a great deal with the gilded -youth of Garradrimna--officials of the Union and people of that kind -who had got their positions through every effort of bribery and -corruption. At athletic sports or coursing matches you would see him -among a group of them, while they smoked stinking "Egyptian" cigarettes -up into his face. - -Yet it must not be thought that Father O'Keeffe neglected the ladies. -In evenings in the village he might be seen standing outside the worn -drapery counters back-biting between grins and giggles with the women -of the shops. This curious way of spending the time had once led an -irreverent American to describe him as "the flirtatious shop-boy of -Garradrimna." - -His interest in the female sex often led him upon expeditions beyond -the village. Many a time he might be seen riding his old, fat, white -horse, so strangely named, "King Billy," down some rutted boreen on -the way to a farmer's house where there were big daughters with weighty -fortunes. Those were match-making expeditions when he had come to tell -them of his brother Robert O'Keeffe and his broad acres.... While "King -Billy" was comforting himself with a plentiful feed of oats, he would -be sitting in the musty parlor with the girl and her mother, taking -wine and smoking cigars, which were kept in every house since it had -come to be known that Father O'Keeffe was fond of them. He generally -smoked a good few at a sitting, and those he did not consume he carried -away in his pocket for future use in his den at the Presbytery. - -"Isn't Father O'Keeffe, God bless him, the walking terror for cigars?" -was all the comment ever made upon this extraordinary habit. - -Robert O'Keeffe, in the intentions of his brother, was a much-married -man, for there was not a house in the parish holding a marriageable -girl into which Father O'Keeffe had not gone to get him a match. He had -enlarged upon the excellence of his brother, upon his manners and ways -and the breadth of his fields. - -"He's the grand, fine man, is Robert," he would say, by way of giving a -final touch to the picture. - -Upon those whose social standing was not a thing of any great certitude -this had always a marked effect towards their own advantage and that -of Father O'Keeffe. It gave them a certain pride in their own worth to -have a priest calling attentively at the house and offering his brother -in marriage. It would be a gorgeous thing to be married to a priest's -brother, and have your brother-in-law with power in his hands to help -you out of many a difficulty. He never inquired after the cattle their -fathers were grazing free of charge for him until he would be leaving -the house. - - -John Brennan followed the black figure upon the white horse down all -The Road of the Dead until Father O'Keeffe had disappeared among the -trees which surrounded the Schools of Tullahanogue, where he was making -a call. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -John now saw Ulick Shannon coming towards him across the Hill of Annus. -It was strange that he should be appearing now whose presence had just -been created by the Rabelaisian recital of Shamesy Golliher. As he -came along boldly his eyes roamed cheerfully over the blue expanse of -water and seemed to catch something there which moved him to joyous -whistling. John Brennan felt a certain amount of reserve spring up -between them as they shook hands.... For a moment that seemed to -lengthen out interminably the two young men were silent. The lake was -without a ripple in the intense calm of the summer day.... Suddenly it -reflected the movement of them walking away, arm in arm, towards the -village. - -It was high noontide when they reached Garradrimna. The Angelus was -ringing. Men had turned them from their various occupations to bend -down for a space in prayer. The drunkards had put away the pints from -their mouths in reverence. The seven sleek publicans were coming to -their doors with their hats in their hands, beating their breasts in -a frenzy of zeal and genuflecting. Yet, upon the appearance of the -students, a different excitement leaped up to animate them. They began -to hurry their prayers, the words becoming jumbled pell mell in their -mouths as they cleared a way for their tongues to say to one another -the thing they wanted to say of the two young men. - -By their God, there was John Brennan and Ulick Shannon coming into -Garradrimna in the middle of the day. To drink, they at once supposed. -Their tongues had been finding fine exercise upon Ulick Shannon for -a considerable time, but it was certainly a comfort to have the same -to say of John Brennan. A clerical student coming up the street with -a Dublin scamp. That was a grand how-d'ye-do! But sure they supposed, -by their God again, that it was only what she deserved (they were -referring to Mrs. Brennan). - -Her mention at once brought recollection of her story, and it came to -be discussed there in the heat of the day until the lonely woman, who -was still crying probably as she sat working by her machine in the -little house in the valley, became as a corpse while the vultures of -Garradrimna circled round it flapping great wings in glee. - -The students strode on, reciting the Angelus beneath their breaths with -a devotion that did not presently give place to any worldly anxiety. -They were doing many things now, as if they formed a new personality -in which the will and the inclination of each were merged. They turned -into McDermott's, and it seemed their collective intention from the -direction they took upon entering the shop to take refuge in the -retirement of the particular portion known as Connellan's office. It -was the place where Mick Connellan, the local auctioneer, transacted -business on Fridays. On all other days it was considered the more -select and secluded portion of this publichouse. But when they entered -it was occupied. Padna Padna, the ancient drunkard, was sitting by the -empty grate poking the few drawn corks in it as if they were coals. He -was speaking to himself in mournful jeremiads, and after the fashion of -one upon whom a great sorrow has fallen down. - -"Now what the hell does he want with his mission, and it too good we -are? A mission, indeed, for to make us pay him money every night, and -the cosht of everything, drink and everything. He, he, he! To pay the -price of a drink every night to hear the missioners denounce drink. Now -that's the quarest thing ever any one heard. To go pay the price of -a drink for hearing a man that doesn't even know the taste of it say -that drink is not good for the human soul. Begad Father O'Keeffe is the -funny man!" - -After this fashion did Padna Padna run on in soliloquy. He had seen -many a mission come to bring, in the words of the good missioners, "a -superabundance of grace to the parish," and seen it go without bringing -any appreciable addition of grace to him or any change in his way of -life. It seemed a pity that his tradition had set Padna Padna down as -a Christian, and would not allow him to live his life upon Pagan lines -and in peace. The struggle which continually held occupation of his -mind was one between Christian principles and Pagan inclinations. He -now began whispering to himself--"The Book of God! The Book of God! A -fellow's name bees written in the Book of God!" ... So absorbed was he -in his immense meditation that he had hardly noticed the entry of the -students. But as he became aware of their presence he stumbled to his -feet and gripping John Brennan by the arm whispered tensely: "Isn't -that a fact, young fellow, that one's name bees down there always, and -what one does, and that it's never blotted out?" - -"It is thus we are told," said John, speaking dogmatically and as if he -were repeating a line out of the Bible. - -Padna Padna, as he heard these words and recognized the voice of -their speaker, put on what was really his most gruesome expression. -He stripped his shrunken gums in a ghastly little smile, and a queer -"Tee-Hee!" issued from his furrowed throat.... Momentarily his concern -for Eternity was forgotten in a more immediate urgency of this world. -He gripped John still more tightly and in a higher whisper said: "Are -ye able to stand?" - -It was a strange anti-climax and at once betrayed his sudden descent -in the character of his meditation, from thinking of what the Angel -had written of him to his immortal longing for what had determined the -character of that record regarding immortality. - -"Yes, I'll stand," said Ulick, breaking in upon John Brennan's reply to -Padna Padna and pushing the bell. - -Mr. McDermott himself, half drunk and smelling of bad whiskey, came in -and soon the drinks were before them. New life seemed to come pushing -into the ancient man as he took his "half one." He looked up in blind -thankfulness into their faces, his eyes running water and his mouth -dribbling like that of a young child.... His inclinations were again -becoming rapidly Pagan.... From smiling dumbly he began to screech with -laughter, and moved from the room slowly tapping his way with his short -stick.... He was going forth to fresh adventures. Spurred on by this -slight addition of drink he would be encouraged to enter the other six -publichouses of Garradrimna, and no man could tell upon what luck he -might happen to fall. So fortunate might his half-dozen expeditions -prove that he would probably return to the house of the good woman who -was his guardian, led by Shamesy Golliher, or some other one he would -strike up with in the last dark pub, as if he were a toddling infant -babbling foolish nonsense about all the gay delights which had been his -of old. The mad drives from distant villages upon his outside car, his -passengers in the same condition as himself--a state of the wildest -abandon, and dwelling exultingly in that moment wherein they might make -fitting models for a picture by Jack B. Yeats. - -Ulick and John were now alone. The day outside was hot and still upon -the dusty street, but this office of Connellan's was a cool place like -some old cellar full of forgotten summers half asleep in wine.... They -were entering still deeper into the mood of one another.... Ulick had -closed the door when Padna Padna had passed through, tapping blindly -as he moved towards the far places of the village. He would seem to -have gone for no other purpose than to publish broadcast the presence -of Ulick Shannon and John Brennan together in McDermott's, and they -drinking. For now the door of Connellan's office was being opened and -closed every few minutes. People were calling upon the pretense of -looking for other people, and going away leaving the door open wide -behind them so that some others might come also and see for themselves -the wonderful thing that was happening.... Padna Padna was having such -a time as compared favorably with the high times of old. A "half-one" -of malt from every man he brought to see the sight was by no means -a small reward. And so he was coming and going past the door like a -sentry on guard of some great treasure which increased in value from -moment to moment. He was blowing upon his fingers and tapping his lips -and giggling and screeching with merriment down in his shivering frame. - -And most wonderful of all, the two young men who were creating all -this excitement were quite unconscious of it.... They were talking a -great deal, but each, as it were, from behind the barricade of his -personality, for each was now beginning for the first time to notice -a peculiar thing. They were discovering that their personalities were -complementary. John lacked the gift, which was Ulick's, of stating -things brilliantly out of life and experience and the views of those -modern authors whom he admired. On the other hand, he seemed to possess -a deeper sense of the relative realities of certain things, a faculty -which sprang out of his ecclesiastical training and which held no -meaning for Ulick, who spoke mockingly of such things. Ulick skimmed -lightly over the surface of life in discussing it; John was inclined to -plow deeply. - -Suddenly a desire fell upon John to hear Ulick discuss again those -matters he had talked of at the "North Leinster Arms" in Ballinamult. -It was very curious that this should be the nature of his thoughts -now, this inclination towards things which from him should always -have remained far distant and unknown.... But it may have been that -some subtle impulse had stirred in him, and that he now wished to -see whether the outlook of Ulick had changed in any way through his -rumored friendship with Rebecca Kerr. Would it be a cleaner thing and -purified through power of that girl? He fondly fancied that no thought -at all could be soiled within the splendid precinct of her presence. - -Josie Guinan, the new barmaid of McDermott's, came in to attend them -with other and other drinks. Her bosom was attractive and ample, -although her hair was still down upon her back in rich brown plaits.... -She dallied languorously within the presence of the two young men.... -Ulick began to tell some of the stories he had told to Mary Essie, and -she stood even as brazenly enjoying them with her back to the door -closed behind her. Then the two came together and whispered something, -and a vulgar giggle sprang up between them. - -And to think that this was the man to whom Rebecca Kerr might be giving -the love of her heart.... If John had seen as much of life as the other -he would have known that Ulick was the very kind of man who, at all -times, has most strongly appealed to women. Yet it was in this moment -and in this place that he fell in love with Rebecca.... He became -possessed of an infinite willingness to serve and protect her, and it -was upon the strength of his desire that he arose. - -Through all this secret, noble passage, Ulick remained laughing as at -some great joke. He, too, was coming into possession of a new joy, for -he was beginning to glimpse the conflagration of another's soul. Out -of sheer devilment, and in conspiracy with Josie Guinan, he had caused -John Brennan's drink, the small, mild measure of port wine, to be dosed -with flaming whiskey. Even the wine in the frequency of its repetition -had already been getting the better of him. They had been hours -sitting here, and outside the day was fading. - -John began to stutter now in the impotence of degradation which was -upon him. His thoughts were all burning into one blazing thought. The -small room seemed suddenly to cramp and confine his spirit as if it -were a prison cell.... And Ulick was still smiling that queer smile of -his with his thick red lips and sunken eyes. - -He sprang towards the door and, turning the handle, rushed out into the -air.... Soon he was fleeing as if from some Unknown Force, staggering -between the rows of the elms which stretched all along the road into -the valley. It had rained a shower and the strong, young leaves held -each its burden of pearly drops. A light wind now stirred them and like -an aspergillus they flung a blessing down upon him as he passed. And -ever did he mutter her name to himself as he stumbled on: - -"Rebecca Kerr, Rebecca Kerr, I love you, Rebecca, I love you surely! -Oh, my dear Rebecca!" - -She was moving before him, with her hair all shining through the -twilight. - -"Oh, dear Rebecca! I love you! Oh, my dear!" - -He turned The Road of the Dead and down by the lake, where he lay -in the quiet spot from which Ulick Shannon had taken him away to -Garradrimna. There he remained until far on in the evening, when his -mother, concerned for his welfare, came to look for him. She found him -sleeping by the lake. - -She had no notion of how he had passed the evening. Her imagination -was, after all, only a very small thing and worked rigorously within -the romantic confines of the holy stories which were her continual -reading. When she had awakened him she asked a characteristic question: - -"And I suppose, John, you're after seeing visions and things have -appeared to you?" - -"Yes, mother, I have seen a vision, I think," he said, as he opened -his eyes and blinked stupidly at the lake. He was still midway between -two conditions, but he was not noticeable to her, who could not have -imagined the like. - -These were the only words he spoke to her before he went to bed. - -Back in McDermott's a great crowd thronged the public bar. Every man -seemed to be in high glee and a hum of jubilation hung low between -them. A momentous thing had happened, and it was of this great event -they were talking. _John Brennan had left the house and he was -reeling._ Men from the valley foregathered in one group and, as each -new-comer arrived, the news was re-broken. It was about the best thing -that had ever happened. The sudden enrichment of any of their number -could not have been half so welcome in its importance. - -Padna Padna and Shamesy Golliher were standing in one corner taking sup -for sup. - -"Damn it, but it was one of the greatest days ever I seen in -Garradrimna since the ould times. It was a pity you missed of it," said -Padna Padna. "If you were to see him!" - -"Sure I'm after seeing him, don't I tell ye, lying a corpse be the -lake." - -"A corpse be the lake. He, he, he! Boys-a-day! Boys-a-day!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -Mrs. Brennan, although she pondered it deeply, had made no advance -towards full realization of her son's condition by the lakeside. Yet -John felt strangely diffident about appearing before her next morning. -It seemed to him that another attack had been made upon the bond -between them. But when at last he came into the sewing-room she was -smiling, although there was a sinking feeling around his heart as he -looked upon her. Yet this would pass, he hoped, when they began to talk. - -The children were going the road to school, and it was the nature -of Mrs. Brennan that she must needs be making comment upon what was -passing before her eyes. - -"God help the poor, little girls," she cried, "sure 'tis the grand -example they're being set by that new one, Miss Kerr, with her quare -dresses and her light ways. They say she was out half the night after -the concert with Ulick Shannon, and that Mrs. McGoldrick and the -Sergeant are in terror of their lives for fear of robbers or the likes, -seeing that they have to leave the door on the latch for her to come in -at any time she pleases from her night-walking. And the lad she bees -with that's after knocking about Dublin and couldn't be good anyway. -But sure, be the same token, there's a touch of Dublin about her too. -How well she wouldn't give me the making of her new dress? But I -suppose I'm old-fashioned in my cut. Old-fashioned, how are ye; and I -buying _Weldon's Ladies' Journal_ every week? But of course she had to -go to Dublin to be in the tip of the fashion and see what they wear in -Grafton Street in the lamplight. She had to get an outfit of immodest -fol-the-dols to be a disgrace in the chapel every Sunday, and give -room to the missioners when they come to say things that may have an -injurious effect upon poor dressmakers like myself who strive to earn a -living as decently as we can." - -This harangue was almost unnoticed by John Brennan. It was a failing -of his mother to be always speaking thus in terms of her trade. He -knew that if Miss Kerr had come here with her new dress, fine words -and encomiums would now be spoken of her in this room. But it was his -mother who was speaking--and he was thinking of the girl who had filled -his vision. - -And his mother was still talking: - -"That Ulick Shannon, I hate him. I wish you wouldn't let yourself be -seen along with him. It is not good for you, _avic machree_. Of course -I know the kind of talk you do be having, son. About books and classes -and the tricks and pranks of you at college. Ah, dear, I know; but I'd -rather to God it was any other one in the whole world. I'm fearing in -me heart that there's a black, black side to him. It's well known that -he bees always drinking in Garradrimna, and now see how he's after -striking up with the schoolmistress one. Maybe 'tis what he'd try to -change you sometime, for as sure as you're there I'm afraid and afraid. -And to think after all I have prayed for you through all the years, -upon me two bare knees in the lonely nights, if an affliction should -come." - -"What affliction, mother? What is it?" - -He came nearer, and gazing deep into her face saw that there were tears -in her eyes. Her eyes were shining like deep wells. - -"Ah, this, son. If it should ever come that you did not think well to -do me wish, after all I have done--" - -She checked herself of a sudden, and it was some moments before John -replied. He, too, was thinking of Ulick Shannon. There was a side to -his friend that he did not like. Yesterday he had not liked him. There -were moments when he had hated him. But that mood and the reason for -it seemed to have passed from him during the night. It was a far thing -now, and Ulick Shannon was as he had been to John, who could not think -ill of him. Yet it was curious that his mother should be hinting at -things which, if he allowed his mind to dwell upon them at all, must -bring back his feelings of yesterday.... But he felt that he must speak -well of his friend. - -"Ah, sure there is nothing, mother. You are only fancying queer things. -At college I have to meet hundreds of fellows. He's not a bad chap, and -I like speaking to him. It is lonely here without such intercourse. He -realizes keenly how people are always talking of him, how the smallest -action of his is construed and constructed in a hundred different ways, -until he's driven to do wild things out of very defiance to show what -he thinks of the mean people of the valley and their opinion of him--" - -"They're not much, I know--" - -"But at heart, I think, he's somehow like myself, and I can't help -liking him." - -"All the same he shouldn't be going with a girl and, especially, a -little chit of a schoolmistress like this one, for I can't stand her." - -Why did she continue to hammer so upon the pulse of his thought?... -With bowed head he began to drift out of the room. Why had she driven -him to think now of Rebecca Kerr?... He was already in the sunlight. - -To-day he would not go towards the lake, but up through the high green -fields of Scarden. He was taking _The Imitation of Christ_ with him, -and, under the shade of some noble tree, it was his intention to turn -his thoughts to God and away from the things of life. - -It seemed grand to him, with a grandeur that had more than a touch of -the color of Heaven, to be ascending cool slopes through the green, -soft grass and to be looking down upon the valley at its daily labor. -The potatoes and turnips still required attention. He saw men move -patiently behind their horses over the broken fields of red earth -beneath the fine, clear clay, and thought that here surely was the true -vocation of him who would incline himself unto God.... But how untrue -was this fancy when one came to consider the real personality of these -tillers of the soil? There was not one of whom Mrs. Brennan could not -tell an ugly story. Not one who did not consider it his duty to say -uncharitable things of Ulick Shannon and Rebecca Kerr. Not one who -would not have danced with gladness if a great misfortune had befallen -John Brennan, and made a holiday in Garradrimna if anything terrible -had happened to any one within the circle of their acquaintance. - -John Brennan's attention was now attracted by a man who moved with an -air of proprietorship among a field of sheep. He was a tall man in -black, moving darkly among the white crowd of the sheep, counting them -leisurely and allowing his mind to dwell upon the pageant of their -perfect whiteness. He seemed to be reckoning their value as the pure -yield of his pastures. Here was another aspect of the fields.... The -man in black was coming towards him with long strides. - -It took John some moments to realize that he had strayed into the -farm of the Shannons and that this was Myles Shannon who was coming -over to meet him.... He was a fine, clean man seen here amid the -rich surroundings of his own fields. But he had advanced far into -bachelorhood, and the russet was beginning to go out of his cheeks. It -seemed a pity of the world that he had not married, for just there, -hidden behind the billowy trees, was the fine house to which he might -have brought home a wife and reared up a family to love and honor him -in his days. But his romance had been shattered by a piece of villainy -which had leaped out from the darkness of the valley. And now he was -living here alone. But he was serenely independent, exhibiting a -fine contempt, as well he might, for the mean strugglers around him. -He took his pleasures here by himself in this quiet house among the -trees. Had he been asked to name them, he could have told you in three -words--books and drink. Not that they entered into his life to any -great extent, for he was a wise man even in his indulgence.... But who -was there to see him or know since he did not choose to publish himself -in Garradrimna? And there was many a time when he worked himself into -a great frenzy while brooding over the story of his dead brother Henry, -and his own story, and Nan Byrne.... Even now he was thinking darkly of -Nan Byrne as he came forward to meet her son across his own field. - -"Good-day, Mr. Brennan!" he said affably. He had no personal grudge -against this young man, but his scheme of revenge inevitably included -him, for it was through John Brennan, her son, that Nan Byrne now hoped -to aspire, and it was him she hoped to embody as a monument of her -triumph over destructive circumstances before the people of the valley. - -John went forward and shook the hand of Mr. Shannon with deference. - -A fine cut of a man, surely, this Myles Shannon, standing here where -he might be clearly viewed. He appeared as a survival from the latter -part of the Victorian era. He was still mutton-chopped and mustachioed -after the fashion of those days. He wore a long-tailed black coat like -a morning-coat. His waistcoat was of the same material. Across the -expanse of it extended a wide gold chain, from which dangled a bunch -of heavy seals. These shook and jingled with his every movement. His -trousers were of a dark gray material, with stripes, which seemed -to add to the height and erectness of his figure. His tall, stiff -collar corrected the thoughtful droop of his head, and about it was -tastefully fixed a wide black tie of shiny silk which reached down -underneath his low-cut waistcoat. His person was surmounted by an -uncomfortable-looking bowler hat with a very hard, curly brim. - -When he smiled, as just now, his teeth showed in even, fine rows and -exhibited some of the cruelty of one who has allowed his mind to dwell -darkly upon a passionate purpose. But the ring of his laugh was hearty -enough and had the immediate effect of dispelling suspicions of any -sinister purpose. - -He said he was glad to see how his casual suggestion, made upon the day -they had journeyed down from Dublin together, had borne fruit, that Mr. -Brennan and his nephew, Ulick, had so quickly become friends. - -John thanked him, and began to speak in terms of praise about Ulick -Shannon. - -Mr. Shannon again bared his even, white teeth in a smile as he -listened.... A strong friendship, with its consequent community of -inclinations, had already been established. And he knew his nephew. - -"He's a clever chap, I'll admit, but he's so damned erratic. He seems -bent upon crushing the experience of a lifetime into a few years. Why -I'm a man, at the ripened, mellow period of life, and it's a fact that -he could teach me things about Dublin and all that." - -John Brennan was uncertain in what way he should confirm this, but at -last he managed to stammer out: - -"Ulick is very clever!" - -"He's very fond of Garradrimna, and I think he's very fond of the -girls." - -"It's so dull around here compared with Dublin." - -John appeared a fool by the side of this man of the world, who was -searching him with a look as he spoke again: - -"It's all right for a young fellow to gain his experience as early as -he can, but he's a bit too fond of his pleasure. He's going a bit too -far." - -John put on a strained look of advocacy, but he spoke no word. - -"He's not a doctor yet, and even then his living would not be assured; -and do ye know what he had the cheek to come telling me the other -night-- - -"'I've got infernally fond of that little girl,' he says. - -"'What girl?' I asked in amazement. - -"'Why, that schoolmistress--Rebecca Kerr. I'm "gone" about her. I'm in -love with her. She's not at all like any of the others.'" - -Myles Shannon, with his keen eyes, saw the sudden light of surprise -that leaped into the eyes of John Brennan. The passion of his hatred -and the joy of his cruelty were stirred, and he went on to develop the -plot of the story he had invented. - -"And what for," said I to him, "are you thinking of any girl in that -way. I, as your guardian, am able to tell you that you are not in a -position to marry. Surely you're not going to ruin this girl, or allow -her to ruin you. Besides she is only a strolling schoolmistress from -some unknown part of Donegal, and you are one of the Shannon family. -'But I'm "gone" about her,' was what Ulick said. How was I to argue -against such a silly statement?" - -The color was mounting ever higher on John Brennan's cheeks. - -But the relentless man went on playing with him. - -"Of course I have not seen her, but, by all accounts, she's a pretty -girl and possesses the usual share of allurements. Is not that so?" - -"She's very nice." - -"And, do you know what? It has come to me up here, although I may seem -to be a hermit among the fields who takes no interest in the world, -that you have been seen walking down the valley road together. D'ye -remember yesterday morning, eh?" - -John was blushing still, and a kind of sickly smile made his fine face -look queer. All kinds of expressions were trying to form themselves -upon his tongue, yet not one of them could he manage to articulate. - -"Not that I blame a young fellow, even one intended for the Church, if -he should have a few inclinations that way. But I can see that you are -the good friend of my nephew, and indeed it would be a pity if anything -came to spoil that friendship, least of all a bit of a girl.... And -both of you being the promising young men you are.... It would be -terrible if anything like that should come to pass." - -Even to this John could frame no reply. But the ear of Mr. Shannon did -not desire it, for his eye had seen all that he wished to know. He -beheld John Brennan shivering as within the cold and dismal shadows of -fatality.... They spoke little more until they shook hands again, and -parted amid the dappled grass. - -To Myles Shannon the interview had been an extraordinary success.... -Yet, quite suddenly, he found himself beginning to think of the -position of Rebecca Kerr. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -Outside the poor round of diversions afforded by the valley and her -meetings with Ulick Shannon, the days passed uneventfully for Rebecca -Kerr. It was a dreary kind of life, wherein she was concerned to avoid -as far as possible the fits of depression which sprang out of the -quality of her lodgings at Sergeant McGoldrick's. - -She snatched a hasty breakfast early in the mornings, scarcely ever -making anything like a meal. When she did it was always followed -by a feeling of nausea as she went on The Road of the Dead towards -the valley school. When she returned after her day's hard work her -dinner would be half cold and unappetizing by the red ashy fire. Mrs. -McGoldrick would be in the sitting-room, where she made clothes for the -children, the sergeant himself probably digging in the garden before -the door, his tunic open, his face sweating, and the dirty clay upon -his big boots.... He was always certain to shout out some idiotic -salutation as she passed in. Then Mrs. McGoldrick would be sure to -follow her into the kitchen, a baby upon her left arm and a piece of -soiled sewing in her right hand. She was always concerned greatly about -the number at school on any particular day, and how Mrs. Wyse was and -Miss McKeon, and how the average was keeping up, and if it did not keep -up to a certain number would Mrs. Wyse's salary be reduced, and what -was the average required for Miss McKeon to get her salary from the -Board, and so on. - -Sometimes Rebecca would be so sick at heart of school affairs and of -this mean, prying woman that no word would come from her, and Mrs. -McGoldrick would drift huffily away, her face a perfect study in -disappointment. And against those there were times when Rebecca, with -a touch of good humor, would tell the most fantastical stories of -inspectors and rules and averages and increments and pensions, Mrs. -McGoldrick breathless between her "Well, wells!" of amazement.... Then -Rebecca would have a rare laugh to herself as she pictured her landlady -repeating everything to the sergeant, who would make mental comparisons -the while of the curious correspondence existing between those pillars -of law and learning, the Royal Irish Constabulary, and the National -Teachers of Ireland. - -Next day, perhaps, Mrs. McGoldrick would enlarge upon the excellent and -suitable match a policeman and a teacher make, and how it is such a -general thing throughout the country. She always concluded a discourse -of this nature by saying a thing she evidently wished Rebecca to -remember: - -"Let me tell you this, now--a policeman is the very best match that any -girl can make!" - -And big louts of young constables would be jumping off high bicycles -and calling in the evenings.... This was at the instigation of Mrs. -McGoldrick, but they made no impression whatsoever upon Rebecca, even -when they arrived in mufti. - -In school the ugly, discolored walls which had been so badly -distempered by Ned Brennan; the monotony of the maps and desks; the -constant sameness of the children's faces. All this was infinitely -wearying, but a more subtle and powerful torment arose beyond the hum -of the children learning by heart. Rebecca always became aware of it -through a burning feeling at the back of her neck. Glancing around -she would see that, although presumably intent upon their lessons, -many eyes were upon her, peering furtively from behind their books, -observing her, forming opinions of her, and concocting stories to tell -their parents when they went home. For this was considered an essential -part of their training--the proper satisfaction of their elders' -curiosity. It was one of the reasons why the bigger girls were sent to -school. They escaped the drudgery of house and farm because they were -able to return with fresh stories from the school every evening. Thus -were their faculties for lying and invention brought into play. They -feared Mrs. Wyse, and so these faculties came to be trained in full -strength upon Rebecca. As she moved about the school-room, she was made -the constant object of their scrutiny. They would stare at her with -their mean, impudent eyes above the top edges of their books. Then they -would withdraw them behind the opened pages and sneer and concoct. And -it was thus the forenoon would pass until the half-hour allowed for -recreation, when she would be thrown back upon the company of Mrs. Wyse -and Monica McKeon. No great pleasure was in store for her here, for -their conversation was always sure to turn upon the small affairs of -the valley. - -There was something so ingenuous about the relations of Rebecca and -Ulick Shannon that neither of the two women had the courage to comment -upon the matter openly. But the method they substituted was a greater -torture. In the course of half an hour they would suggest a thousand -hateful things. - -"I heard Ulick Shannon was drunk last night, and having arguments with -people in Garradrimna," Miss McKeon would say. - -Mrs. Wyse would snatch up the words hastily. "Is that so? Oh, he's -going to the bad. He'll never pass his exams, never!" - -"Isn't it funny how his uncle does not keep better control of him. Why -he lets him do what he likes?" - -"Control, is it? It doesn't look much like control indeed to see him -encouraging his dead brother's son to keep the company he favors. -Indeed and indeed it gives me a kind of a turn when I see him going -about with Nan Byrne's son, young John Brennan, who's going on to be -a priest. Well, I may tell you that it is 'going on' he is, for his -mother as sure as you're there'll never see him saying his first Mass. -Now I suppose the poor rector of the college in England where he is -hasn't a notion of his antecedents. The cheek of it indeed! But what -else could you expect from the likes of Nan Byrne? Indeed I have a good -mind to let the ecclesiastical authorities know all, and if nothing -turns up from the Hand of God to right the matter, sure I'll have to do -it myself. Bedad then I will!" - -"Musha, the same John Brennan doesn't look up to much, and they say -Ulick Shannon can wind him around his little finger. He'll maybe make a -_lad_ of him before the end of the summer holidays." - -"I can't understand Myles Shannon letting them go about together so -openly unless he's enjoying the whole thing as a sneer. But it would -be more to his credit indeed to have found other material for his fun -than a blood relation. I'm surprised at him indeed, and he knowing what -he knows about Nan Byrne and his brother Henry." - -With slight variations of this theme falling on her ears endlessly -Rebecca was compelled to endure the torture of this half hour every -day. No matter what took place in the valley Monica would manage, -somehow, to drag the name of Ulick into it. If it merely happened to -be a copy of the _Irish Independent_ they were looking at, and if they -came upon some extraordinary piece of news, Monica would say: - -"Just like a thing that Ulick Shannon would do, isn't it?" - -And if they came across a photo in the magazine section, Monica would -say again: - -"Now wouldn't you imagine that gentleman has a look of Ulick Shannon?" - -Rebecca had become so accustomed to all this that, overleaping its -purpose, it ceased to have any considerable effect upon her. She had -begun to care too much for Ulick to show her affection in even the -glimpse of an aspect to the two who were trying to discover her for the -satisfaction of their spite. It was thus that she remained a puzzle to -her colleagues, and Monica in particular was at her wit's end to know -what to think. At the end of the half hour she was always in a deeper -condition of defeat than before it began, and went out to the Boys' -School with only one idea warming her mind, that, some day, she might -have the great laugh at Rebecca Kerr. She knew that it is not possible -for a woman to hide her feelings forever, even though she thought -this one cute surely, cute beyond all the suggestion of her innocent -exterior. - -Towards the end of each day Rebecca was thrown altogether with the -little ones who, despite all the entreaties of their parents, had not -yet come very far away from Heaven. She found great pleasure in their -company and in their innocent stories. For example: - -"Miss Kerr, I was in the wood last night. With the big bear and the -little bear in the wood. I went into the wood, and there was the big -bear walking round and round the wood after the little bear, and the -big bear was walking round and round the wood." - -"I was in America last night, and I saw all the motor cars ever were, -and people riding on horses, and the highest, whitest buildings ever -were, and people going to Mass--big crowds of people going to Mass." - -"My mammy brought me into the chapel last night, and I saw God. I was -talking to God and He was asking me about you. I said: 'Miss Kerr is -nice, so she is.' I said this to God, but God did not answer me. I -asked God again did He know Miss Kerr who teaches in the valley school, -and He said He did, and I said again: 'Miss Kerr is nice, so she is.' -But He went away and did not answer me." - -Rebecca would enter into their innocence and so experience the happiest -hours of the day. - -She would be recalled from her rapt condition by the harsh voice of -Mrs. Wyse shouting an order to one of the little girls in her class, -this being a hint that she herself was not attending to her business. - -But soon the last blessed period of the day would come, the half hour -devoted to religious instruction. She found a pleasure in this task, -for she loved to hear the little children at their prayers. Sometimes -she would ask them to say for her the little prayer she had taught them: - -"O God, I offer up this prayer for the poor intentions of Thy servant -Rebecca Kerr, that they may be fulfilled unto the glory of Thy Holy -Will. And that being imperfect, she may approach to Thy Perfection -through the Grace and Mercy of Jesus Christ, Our Lord." - -She would feel a certain happiness for a short space after this, at -least while the boisterous business of taking leave of the school was -going forward. But once upon the road she would be meeting people who -always stared at her strangely, and passing houses with squinting -windows.... Then would come a heavy sense of depression, which might be -momentarily dispelled by the appearance of John Brennan either coming -or going upon the road. For a while she had considered this happening -coincidental, but of late it had been borne in upon her that it was -very curious he should appear daily at the same time.... The silly -boy, and he with his grand purpose before him.... She would smile upon -him very pleasantly, and fall into chat sometimes, but only for a few -minutes. She looked upon herself as being ever so much wiser. And she -thought it queer that he should find an attraction for his eyes in her -form as it moved before him down the road. She always fancied that she -felt low and mean within herself while his eyes were upon her.... But -he would be forever coming out of his mother's cottage to meet her -thus upon the road. - -After dinner in the house of Sergeant McGoldrick she would betake -herself to her little room. It would be untidy after the hurry in which -she had left it, and now she would set about putting it to rights. -This would occupy her half an hour or more. Then there would be a few -letters to be written, to her people away in Donegal and to some of -the companions of her training college days. She kept up a more or -less regular correspondence with about half-a-dozen of these girls. -Her letters were all after the frivolous style of their schooldays. To -all of them she imparted the confidence that she had met "a very nice -fellow" here in Garradrimna, but that the place was so lonely, and how -there was "nothing like a girl friend." - -"Ah, Anna," she would write, or "Lily" or "Lena," "There's surely -nothing after all like a girl friend." - -After tea she would put on one of her tidiest hats, and taking the -letters with her go towards the Post Office of Garradrimna. This was a -torture, for always the eyes of the old, bespectacled maid were upon -her, looking into her mind, as she stood waiting for her stamps outside -the ink-stained counter. And, further, she always felt that the doors -and windows of the village were forever filled with eyes as she went -by them. Her neck and face would burn until she took the road that led -out past the old castle of the De Lacys. There was a footpath which -took one to the west gate of the demesne of the Moores. The Honorable -Reginald Moore was the modern lord of Garradrimna. It was this way she -would go, meeting all kinds of stragglers from the other end of the -parish. People she did not know and who did not know her, queer, dark -men coming into Garradrimna through the high evening in quest of porter. - -"Fine evening, miss!" they would say. - -Once on the avenue her little walk became a golden journey for Ulick -always met her when she came this way. It was their custom to meet here -or on The Road of the Dead. But this was their favorite spot, where -the avenue led far into the quiet woods. A scurrying-away of rabbits -through the undergrowth would announce their approach to one another. - -Many were the happy talks they had here, of books and of decent life -beyond the boorishness of Garradrimna. She had given him _The Poems of -Tennyson_ in exchange for _The Daffodil Fields_. Tastefully illuminated -in red ink on the fly-leaf he had found her "favorite lines" from -Tennyson, whom she considered "exquisite": - - - "Glitter like a storm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid." - - - "Cursed be the gold that gilds the straightened forehead of - the fool." - - - "Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships, - And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips." - - -These had made him smile, and then he did not read any more of -Tennyson.... He was fond of telling her about the younger Irish poets -and of quoting passages from their poems. Now it would be a line or so -from Colum or Stephens, again a verse from Seumas O'Sullivan or Joseph -Campbell. Continually he spoke with enthusiasm of the man they called -AE.... She found it difficult to believe that such men could be living -in Ireland at the present time. - -"And would you see them about Dublin?" - -"Yes, you'd see them often." - -"_Real_ poets?" - -"Real poets surely. But of course they have earthly interests as well. -One is a farmer--" - -"A farmer!!!" - -This she found it hardest of all to believe, for the word "farmer" made -her see so clearly the sullen men with the dirty beards who came in the -white roads every evening to drink in Garradrimna. There was no poetry -in them. - -Often they would remain talking after this fashion until night had -filled up all the open spaces of the woods. They would feel so far -away from life amid the perfect stillness.... Their peace was rudely -shattered one night by a sudden breaking away from them through the -withered branches.... Instantly Ulick knew that this was some loafer -sent to spy on them from Garradrimna, and Rebecca clung to him for -protection. - -Occasionally through the summer a lonely wailing had been heard in the -woods of Garradrimna at the fall of night. Men drinking in the pubs -would turn to one another and say: - -"The Lord save us! Is that the _Banshee_ I hear crying for one of the -Moores? She cries like that always when one of them dies, they being a -noble family. Maybe the Honorable Reginald is after getting his death -at last in some whore-house in London." - -"Arrah not at all, man, sure that's only Anthony Shaughness and he -going crying through the woods for drink, the poor fellow!" - -But the sound had ceased to disturb them for Anthony Shaughness had -found an occupation at last. This evening he came running down from -the woods into McDermott's bar, the loose soles of his boots slapping -against the cobbles of the yard. Josie Guinan went up to him excitedly -when he entered. - -"Well?" This in a whisper as their heads came close together over the -counter. - -"Gimme a drink? I'm choked with the running, so I am!" - -"Tell me did you see them first, or not a sup you'll get. Don't be so -smart now, Anthony Shaughness!" - -"Oh, I saw them all right. Gimme the drink?" - -She filled the drink, making it overflow the glass in her hurry. - -"Well?" - -"Bedad I saw them all right. Heard every word they were saying, so I -did, and everything! It was the devil's father to find them, so it was, -they were that well hid in the woods.... Gimme another sup, Josie?" - -"Now, Anthony?" - -"Ah, but you don't know all I have to tell ye!" - -Again she overflowed the glass in her mounting excitement. - -"Well?" - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -The summer was beginning to wane, August having sped to its end. The -schools had given vacation, and Rebecca Kerr had gone away from the -valley to Donegal. Ulick Shannon had returned to Dublin. This was -the uneventful season in the valley. Mrs. Brennan, finding little to -talk about, had grown quiet in herself. Ned had taken his departure -to Ballinamult, where he was engaged in putting some lead upon the -roof of the police-barracks. He was drinking to his heart's content, -she knew, and would come home to her without a penny saved against -his long spell of idleness or the coming rigors of the winter. But -she was thankful for the present that he had removed himself from the -presence of his son. It was not good for such a son to be compelled -to look upon such a father. She had prayed for this blessing and lo! -it had come. And it extended further. Ulick Shannon too was gone from -the valley, and so she was no longer annoyed by seeing him in company -with her son. Their friendship had progressed through the months of -July and August, and she was aware that they had been seen together -many times in Garradrimna. She did not know the full truth but, as on -the first occasion, the lake could tell. Rebecca Kerr was gone, and -so there was no need to speak of this strange girl for whom some wild -feeling had enkindled a flame of hatred within her. Thus was she left -in loneliness and peace to dwell upon the wonder of her son. He seemed -more real to her during these quiet days, nearer perhaps, than he had -ever been since she had first begun to dream her great dream. - -Of late he had taken to his room upstairs, where he did a little study -daily. "So that it won't be altogether too strange when I go back again -to college," he told her on more than one occasion when she besought -him not to be blinding his eyes while there was yet leisure to rest -them. There were times during the long quiet day in the house when -her flood of love for him would so well up within her that she would -call him down for no other reason than that she might have the great -pleasure of allowing her eyes to rest upon him for a short space only. -She would speak no word at all, so fearful would she be of disturbing -the holy peace which fell between them. In the last week of his -present stay in the valley this happened so often that it became a -little wearying to John, who had begun to experience a certain feeling -of independence in his own mind. It pained him greatly now that his -mother should love him so.... And there were many times when he longed -to be back in his English college, with his books and friends, near -opportunities to escape from the influences which had conspired to -change him. - -One morning, after his mother had gazed upon him in this way, he came -out of the house and leaned over the little wicket gate to take a look -at the day. It was approaching Farrell McGuinness's time to be along -with the post, and John expected him to have a letter from the rector -of the College giving some directions as to the date of return. Yet he -was not altogether so anxious to return as he had been towards the -ends of former vacations.... At last Farrell McGuinness appeared around -the turn of the road. His blue uniform was dusty, and he carried his -hard little cap in his hand. He dismounted from his red bicycle and -took two letters out of his bag. He smirked obviously as he performed -this action. John glanced in excitement at the letters. One was -addressed in the handwriting of his friend Ulick Shannon and the other -in the handwriting of a girl. It was this last one that had caused -Farrell McGuinness to smirk so loudly. - -"'Tis you that has the times, begad!" he said to John as he mounted his -red bicycle and went on up the road, fanning his hot brow with his hard -cap. - -Mrs. Brennan came to the door to hear tidings of the letters from her -son, but John was already hurrying down through the withering garden, -tearing open both letters simultaneously. - -"Who are they from?" she called out. - -"From Ulick Shannon." - -"And th'other one?" - -"From a chap in the college," he shouted across his shoulder, lying -boldly to her for the first time in his life. But if only she could see -the confusion upon his face? - -She went back into the sewing-room, a feeling of annoyance showing in -the deep lines about her eyes. It seemed strange that he had not rushed -immediately into the house to tell her what was in the letters, strange -beyond all how he had not seen his way to make that much of her. - -Down the garden John was reading Rebecca Kerr's letter first, for it -was from her that the letter from "one of the chaps in the college" had -come. - -It told of how she was spending her holidays at a seaside village in -Donegal. "It is even far quieter than Garradrimna and the valley. I go -down to the sea in the mornings, but it is only to think and dream. The -sea is just like one big lake, more lonely by far than the lake in the -valley. This is surely the loneliest place you could imagine, but there -is a certain sense of peace about it that is quite lovely. It is some -distance from my home, and it is nice to be amongst people who have no -immense concern for your eternal welfare. I like this, and so I have -avoided making acquaintances here. But next week I am expecting a very -dear friend to join me, and so, I dare say, my holidays will have a -happy ending after all. I suppose you will have gone from the valley -when I go back in October. And it will be the dreary place then...." -She signed herself, "Yours very sincerely, Rebecca Kerr." - -His eyes were dancing as he turned to read Ulick Shannon's letter.... -In the opening passages it treated only in a conventional way of -college affairs, but suddenly he was upon certain lines which to his -mind seemed so blackly emphasized: - -"Now I was just beginning to settle back into the routine of things -when who should come along but Miss Kerr? She was looking fine. She -stayed a few days here in Dublin, and I spent most of them with her. -I gave her the time of her life, the poor little thing! Theaters -every night, and all the rest of it. She was just lost for a bit of -enjoyment. Grinding away, you know, in those cursed National Schools -from year's end to year's end. Do you know what it is, John? I am -getting fonder and fonder of that girl. She is the best little soul in -all the world. - -"She is spending her holidays up in some God-forsaken village in -Donegal. Away from her people and by herself, you know. She has a girl -friend going to see her next week. You will not be able to believe it -probably--_but I am the girl friend_." - -He read them and re-read them, these two letters which bore so -intimately upon one another and which, through the coincidence of their -arrival together, held convincing evidence of the dramatic moment that -had arrived in the adventure of those two lives. - -He became filled by an aching feeling that made him shiver and grow -weak as if with some unknown expectation.... Yet why was he so -disturbed in his mind as to this happening; what had he to do with it? -He was one whose life must be directed away from such things. But the -vision of Rebecca Kerr would be filling his eyes forever. And why had -she written to him? Why had she so graphically pictured her condition -of loneliness wherein he might enter and speak to her? His acquaintance -with her was very slight, and yet he desired to know her beyond all the -knowledge and beauty of the world.... And to think that it was Ulick -Shannon who was now going where he longed to go. - -A heavy constraint came between him and his mother during the remaining -days. He spoke little and moved about in meditation like one fearful -of things about to happen. But she fondly fancied as always that he -was immersed in contemplation of the future she had planned for him. -She never saw him setting forth into the autumn fields, a book in his -hand, that she did not fancy the look of austere aloofness upon his -face to be the expression of a priest reading his office. But thoughts -of this kind were far from his mind in the fields or by the little -wicket gate across which he often leaned, his eyes fixed upon the -white, hard road which seemed to lead nowhere. - -The day of his release at last came. Now that Ned was away from her, -working in Ballinamult, she had managed to scrape together the price of -another motor drive to Kilaconnaghan, but it was in the misfortune of -things that Charlie Clarke's car should have been engaged for the very -day of John's departure by the Houlihans of Clonabroney. It worried her -greatly that she could not have this piece of grandeur upon this second -occasion. Her intense devotion to religious literature had made her -superstitious to a distressing degree. It appeared to her as an omen -across the path of John and her own magnification. But John did not -seem to mind. - -It was notable that through his advance into contemplation he had -triumphed over the power of the valley to a certain extent. So long -as his mind had been altogether absorbed in thought of the priesthood -he had moved about furtively, a fugitive, as it were, before the -hateful looks of the people of the valley and the constant stare of the -squinting windows. Now he had come into a little tranquillity and his -heart was not without some happiness in the enjoyment of his larger -vision.... And yet he was far from being completely at peace. - -As he sat driving with his mother in the ass-trap to Kilaconnaghan, -on his way back to the grand college in England, his doubts were -assailing him although he was so quiet, to all seeming, sitting there. -Those who passed them upon the road never guessed that this pale-faced -young man in black was at war with his soul.... Few words passed -between him and his mother, for the constraint of the past week had not -yet been lifted. She was beginning to feel so lonely, and she was vexed -with herself that the period of his stay in the valley had not been all -she had dreamt of making it. It had been disappointing to a depressing -extent, and now especially in its concluding stage. This sad excursion -in the little ass-trap, without any of the pomp and circumstance which -John so highly deserved, was a poor, mean ending. - -He was running over in his mind the different causes which had given -this vacation its unusual character. First there came remembrance of -his journey down from Dublin with Mr. Myles Shannon, who had then -suggested the friendship with his nephew Ulick. Springing out of this -thought was a very vivid impression of Garradrimna, that ugly place -which he had discovered in its true colors for the first time; its vile -set of drunkards and the few secret lapses it had occasioned him. Then -there was his father, that fallen and besotted man whom the valley had -ruined past all hope. As a more intimate recollection his own doubts -of the religious life by the lakeside arose clear before him. And the -lake itself seemed very near, for it had been the silent witness of all -his moods and conditions, the dead thing that had gathered to itself -a full record of his sojourn in the valley. But, above all, there was -Rebecca Kerr, whom he had contrived to meet so often as she went from -school. It was she who now brought light to all the darkened places of -his memory. Her letter to him the other day was the one real thing he -had been given to take away from the valley. How he longed to read it -again! But his mother's eyes were upon him.... At last he began to have -a little thought of the part she had played. - -Already they had reached the railway station of Kilaconnaghan. They -went together through the little waiting-room, which held sad memories -for Mrs. Brennan, and out upon the platform, where a couple of porters -leaned against their barrows chewing tobacco. Two or three passengers -were sitting around beside their luggage waiting to take the train for -Dublin. A few bank clerks from the town were standing in a little group -which possessed an imaginary distinction, laughing in a genteel way -at a puerile joke from some of the London weekly journals. They were -wearing sporting clothes and had fresh fags in their mouths. It was -an essential portion of their occupation, this perpetual delight in -watching the outgoing afternoon train. - -"Aren't they the grand-looking young swells?" said Mrs. Brennan; "I -suppose them have the great jobs now?" - -"Great!" replied John, quite unconscious of what he said. - -He spoke no other word till he took his place in the train. She kissed -him through the open window and hung affectionately to his hand.... -Then there fluttered in upon them the moment of parting.... Smiling -wistfully and waving her hand, she watched the train until it had -rounded a curve. She lingered for a moment by the advertisement for -Jameson's Whiskey in the waiting-room to wipe her eyes. She began to -remember how she had behaved here in this very place on the day of -John's home-coming, and of how he had left her standing while he talked -to Myles Shannon.... He seemed to have slipped away from her now, -and her present thought made her feel that the shadow of the Shannon -family, stretching far across her life, had attended his going as it -had attended his coming. - -She went out to the little waiting ass and, mounting into the trap, -drove out of Kilaconnaghan into the dark forest of her fears. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -Through the earlier part of this term at college there was no peace -in the mind of John Brennan, and his unsettled state arose, for the -most part, from simple remembrance of things that had happened in -the valley. Now it was because he could see again, some afternoon in -the summer, Rebecca Kerr coming towards him down the road in a brown -and white striped dress, that he thought was pretty, and swinging a -sun-bonnet by its long cotton strings from her soft, small hand. Or -again, some hour he had spent listening to Ulick Shannon as he talked -about the things of life which are marked only by the beauty of passion -and death. Always, too, with the aid of two letters he still treasured, -his imagination would leap towards the creation of a picture--Rebecca -and Ulick together in far-off Donegal. - -He did not go home at Christmas because it was so expensive to return -to Ireland, and in the lonely stretches of the vacation, when all his -college friends were away from him, he felt that they must surely be -meeting again, meeting and kissing in some quiet, dusky place--Rebecca -as he had seen her always and Ulick as he had known him. - -Even if he had wished to leave Ulick and Rebecca out of his mind, it -would have been impossible, so persistently did his mother refer to -both in her letters. There was never a letter which did not contain -some allusion to "them two" or "that one" or "that fellow." In -February, when the days began to stretch out again, he thought only of -the valley coming nearer, with its long period of delight.... Within -the fascination of his musing he grew forgetful of his lofty future. -Yet there were odd moments when he remembered that he had moved into -the valley a very different man at the beginning of last June. The -valley had changed him, and might continue to change him when he went -there again. - -Nothing came to stay the even rise of his yearning save his mother's -letters, which were the same recitals at all times of stories about the -same people. At no time did he expect to find anything new in them, and -so it was all the stronger blow when from one letter leaped out the -news that Ulick Shannon had failed to pass his final medical exam., and -was now living at home in Scarden House with his uncle Myles. That he -had been "expelled from the University and disgraced" was the way she -put it. It did not please John to see that she was exulting over what -had happened to Ulick while hinting at the same time that there was no -fear of a like calamity happening to her son. To him it appeared as -not at all such an event as one might exult about. It rather evoked -pity and condolence in the thought that it might happen to any man. It -might happen to himself. Here surely was a fearful thing--the sudden -dread of his return to the valley, a disgrace for life, and his mother -a ruined woman in the downfall of her son.... This last letter of hers -had brought him to review all the brave thoughts that had come to him -by the lakeside, wild thoughts of living his own life, not in the way -appointed for him by any other person, but freely, after the bent of -his own will. Yet when he came to think of it quietly there was not -much he could do in the world with his present education. It seemed -to have fitted him only for one kind of life. And his thoughts of the -summer might have been only passing distractions which must disappear -with the full development of his mind. To think of those ideas ever -coming suddenly to reality would be a blow too powerful to his mother. -It would kill her. For, with other knowledge, the summer holidays had -brought him to see how much she looked forward to his becoming a priest. - -Quite unconsciously, without the least effort of his will, he found -himself returning to his old, keen interest in his studies. He found -himself coming back to his lost peace of mind. He felt somehow that -his enjoyment of this grand contentment was the very best way he could -flash back his mother's love. Besides it was the best earnest he had of -the enjoyment of his coming holidays. - -Then the disaster came. The imminence of it had been troubling the -rector for a long time. His college was in a state of disintegration, -for the Great War had cast its shadow over the quiet walls. - -It was a charity college. This was a secret that had been well kept -from the people of the valley by Mrs. Brennan. "A grand college in -England" was the utmost information she would ever vouchsafe to any -inquirer. She had formed a friendly alliance with the old, bespectacled -postmistress and made all her things free of charge for keeping close -the knowledge of John's exact whereabouts in England. Yet there was -never a letter from mother to son or from son to mother that the old -maid did not consider it her bounden duty to open and read. - -The college had been supported by good people who could find nothing -else to do with their money. But, in war-time, charity was diverted -into other channels, and its income had consequently dwindled almost to -vanishing point. Coupled with this, many of the students had left aside -their books and gone into the Army. One morning the rector appeared in -the lecture-hall to announce to the remnant that the college was about -to be closed for "some time." He meant indefinitely, but the poor man -could not put it in that way. - -John heard the news with mingled feelings. In a dumb way he had longed -for this after his return from the valley, but now he saw in it, -not the arrival of a desired event, but a postponement of the great -intention that had begun to absorb him again. He was achieving his -desire in a way that made it a punishment.... To-morrow he would be -going home.... But of course his mother knew everything by this time -and was already preparing a welcome for him. - -The March evening was gray and cold when he came into the deserted -station of Kilaconnaghan. It had been raining ceaselessly since -Christmas, and around and away from him stretched the sodden country. -He got a porter to take his trunk out to the van and stand it on end -upon the platform. Then he went into the waiting-room to meet his -mother. But she was not there. Nor was the little donkey and trap -outside the station house. Perhaps she was coming to meet him with -Charlie Clarke in the grand and holy motor car. If he went on he might -meet them coming through Kilaconnaghan. He got the porter to take his -box from its place on the platform and put it into the waiting-room. -All down through the town there was no sign of them, and when he got -out upon the road to Garradrimna and the valley there was no sign of -them either. The night had fallen thick and heavy, and John, as he -went on through the rain, looked forward to the comforting radiance of -Charlie Clarke's headlights suddenly to flash around every corner. But -the car did not come and he began to grow weary of tramping through the -wet night. All along the way he was meeting people who shouldered up -to him and strove to peer into his face as he slipped past. He did not -come on to the valley road by way of Garradrimna, but instead by The -Road of the Dead, down which he went slopping through great pools at -every few yards. - -He was very weary when he came at last to the door of his mother's -house. Before knocking he had listened for a while to the low hum of -her reading to his father. Then he heard her moving to open the door, -and immediately she was silhouetted in the lamp-light. - -"Is that you, John? We knew you were coming home. We got the rector's -letter." - -He noticed a queer coldness in her tone. - -"I'd rather to God that anything in the world had happened than this. -What'll they say now? They'll say you were expelled. As sure as God, -they'll say you were expelled!" - -He threw himself into the first chair he saw. - -"Did any one meet you down the road? Did many meet you from this to -Kilaconnaghan?" - -He did not answer. This was a curious welcome he was receiving. Yet he -noticed that tears were beginning to creep into her eyes, which were -also red as if from much recent weeping. - -"Oh, God knows, and God knows again, John, I'd rather have died than it -should have come to this. And why was it that after all me contriving -and after all me praying and good works this bitter cross should have -fallen? I don't know. I can't think for what I am being punished and -why misfortune should come to you. And what'll they say at all at all? -Oh you may depend upon it that it's the worst thing they'll say. But -you mustn't tell them that the college is finished. For I suppose it's -finished now the way everything is going to be finished before the war. -But you mustn't say that. You must say that it is on special holidays -you are, after having passed a Special examination. And you must behave -as if you were on holidays!" - -Such a dreadful anxiety was upon her that she appeared no longer as his -mother, the infinitely tender woman he had known. She now seemed to -possess none of the pure contentment her loving tenderness should have -brought her. She was altogether concerned as to what the people would -say and not as to the effect of the happening upon her son's career. -He had begun to think of this for himself, but it was not of it that -she was now thinking.... She was thinking of herself, of her pride, and -that was why she had not come to meet him. And now his clothes were wet -and he was tired, for he had walked from Kilaconnaghan in the rain. - -Ned Brennan, stirring out of his drunken doze, muttered thickly: "Ah, -God blast yourselves and your college, can't you let a fellow have a -sleep be the fire after his hard day!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -John went from the kitchen to a restless night. Soon after daybreak he -got up and looked out of the window. The crows had been flying across -it darkly since the beginning of the light. He gazed down now towards -the stretch of trees about the lake. They were dark figures in the -somber picture. He had not seen them since autumn, and even then some -of the brightness of summer had lingered with them. Now they looked -as if they had been weeping. He could see the lake between the clumps -of fir-trees. The water was all dark like the scene in which it was -framed. It now beat itself into a futile imitation of billows, into -a kind of make-believe before the wild things around that it was an -angry sea, holding deep in its caverns the relics of great dooms. But -the trees seemed to rock in enjoyment and to join forces with the wild -things in tormenting the lake. - -John looked at the clock. It was early hours, and there would be no -need to go out for a long time. He went back to bed and remained there -without sleep, gazing up at the ceiling.... He fell to thinking of what -he would have to face in the valley now.... His mother had hinted at -the wide scope of it last night when she said that she would rather -anything in God's world had happened than this thing, this sudden -home-coming.... She was thinking only of her own pride. It was an -offense against her pride, he felt, and that was all. It stood to -lessen the exalted position which the purpose of his existence gave -her before the other women of the valley. But he had begun to feel the -importance of his own person in the scheme of circumstance by which he -was surrounded. It had begun to appear to him that he mattered somehow; -that in some undreamt-of way he might leave his mark upon the valley -before he died. - -He would go to Mass in Garradrimna this morning. He very well knew how -this attendance at morning Mass was a comfort to his mother. He was -about to do this thing to please her now. Yet, how was the matter going -to affect himself? He would be stared at by the very walls and trees as -he went the wet road into Garradrimna; and no matter what position he -might take up in the chapel there would be very certain to be a few who -would come kneeling together into a little group and, in hushed tones -within the presence of their God upon the altar, say: - -"Now, isn't that John Brennan I see before me, or can I believe my -eyes? Aye, it must be him. Expelled, I suppose. Begad that's great. -Expelled! Begad!" If he happened to take the slightest side-glance -around, he would catch glimpses of eyes sunk low beneath brows which -published expressions midway between pity and contempt, between delight -and curiosity.... In some wonderful way the first evidence of his long -hoped for downfall would spread throughout the small congregation. -Those in front would let their heads or prayerbooks fall beside or -behind them, so that they might have an excuse for turning around to -view the young man who, in his unfortunate presence here, stood for -this glad piece of intelligence. The acolytes serving Father O'Keeffe, -and having occasional glimpses of the congregation, would see the -black-coated figure set there in contradistinction to Charlie Clarke -and the accustomed voteens with the bobbing bonnets. In their wise -looks up at him they would seem to communicate the news to the priest. - -And although only a very few seconds had elapsed, Father O'Keeffe -would have thrown off his vestments and be going bounding towards the -Presbytery for his breakfast as John emerged from the chapel. It would -be an ostentatious meeting. Although he had neither act nor part in it, -nor did he favor it in any way, Father O'Keeffe always desired people -to think that it was he who was "doing for Mrs. Brennan's boy beyond -in England." ... There would be the usual flow of questions, a deep -pursing of the lips, and the sudden creation of a wise, concerned, -ecclesiastical look at every answer. Then there was certain to come -the final brutal question: "And what are you going to do with yourself -meanwhile, is it any harm to ask?" As he continued to stare up vacantly -at the ceiling, John could not frame a possible answer to that -question. And yet he knew it would be the foremost of Father O'Keeffe's -questions. - -There would be the hurried crowding into every doorway and into all -the squinting windows as he went past. Outwardly there would be smiles -of welcome for him, but in the seven publichouses of Garradrimna the -exultation would be so great as to make men who had been ancient -enemies stand drinks to one another in the moment of gladness which had -come upon them with the return of John Brennan. - -"'Tis expelled he is like Ulick Shannon. That's as sure as you're -there!" - -"To be sure he's expelled. And wouldn't any one know he was going to -be expelled the same as the other fellow, the way they were conducting -themselves last summer, running after gerrls and drinking like hell?" - -"And did ye ever hear such nonsense? The idea of him going on for to be -a priest!" Then there would be a shaking of wise heads and a coming of -wise looks into their faces. - -He could see what would happen when he met the fathers of Garradrimna, -when he met Padna Padna or Shamesy Golliher. There would be the short, -dry laugh from Padna Padna, and a pathetic scrambling of the dimming -intelligence to recognize him. - -"And is that you, John? Back again! Well, boys-a-day! And isn't it -grand that Ulick Shannon is at home these times too? Isn't it a pity -about Ulick, for he's a decent fellow? Every bit as decent as his -father, Henry Shannon, was, and he was a damned decent fellow. Ah, 'tis -a great pity of him to be exshpelled. Aye, _'tis a great pity of any -one that does be exshpelled_." - -The meeting with Shamesy Golliher formed as a clearer picture before -his mind. - -"Arrah me sound man, John, sure I thought you'd be saying the Mass -before this time. There's nothing strange in the valley at all. Only -'tis harder than ever to get the rabbits, the weeshy devils! Only for -Ulick Shannon I don't know what I'd do for a drink sometimes. But, -damn it, he's the decentest fellow.... You're only a few minutes late, -sure 'tis only this blessed minute that Miss Kerr's gone on to the -school.... And you could have been chatting with her so grandly all the -way!" - -That John Brennan should be thinking after this fashion, creating all -those little scenes before the eye of his mind and imagining their -accompanying conversations, was indicative of the way the valley and -the village had forced their reality upon him last summer. But this -pictured combination of incidents was intensified by a certain morbid -way of dwelling upon things his long spells of meditation by the lake -had brought him. Yet he knew that even all his clear vision of the -mean ways of life around him would not act as an incentive to combat -them but, most extraordinary to imagine, as a sort of lure towards the -persecution of their scenes and incidents. - -"It must be coming near time to rise for Mass," he said aloud to -himself, as he felt that he had been quite a long time giving himself -up to speculations in which there was no joy. - -There was a tap upon the door. It was his mother calling him, as had -been her custom during all the days of his holiday times. The door -opened and she came into the room. Her manner seemed to have changed -somewhat from the night before. The curious look of tenderness she had -always displayed while gazing upon him seemed to have struggled back -into her eyes. She came and sat by the bedside and, for a few moments, -both were silent. - -"'Tis very cold this morning, mother," was the only thing John could -think of saying. - -A slight confusion seemed to have come upon her since her entrance to -the room. Without any warning by a word, she suddenly threw her arms -about him as he lay there on the bed and covered his face with kisses. -He was amazed, but her kisses seemed to hurt him.... It must have been -years and years since she had kissed him like this, and now he was a -man.... When she released him so that he could look up at her he saw -that she was crying. - -"I'm sorry about last night, John," she said. "I'm sorry, darling; -but surely I could not bring myself to do it. Even for a few hours I -wanted to keep them from knowing. I even wanted to keep your father -from knowing. So I did not tell him until I heard your poor, wet foot -come sopping up to the door. He did not curse much then, for he seems -to have begun to feel a little respect for you. But the curses of him -all through the night were enough to lift the roof off the house. Oh, -he's the terrible man, for all me praying and all me reading to him of -good, holy books; and 'tis no wonder for all kinds of misfortune to -fall, though God between us and all harm, what am I saying at all?... -It was the hard, long walk down the wet, dark road from Kilaconnaghan -last night, and it pained me every inch of the way. If it hurt your -feet and your limbs, _avic_, remember that your suffering was nothing -to the pain that plowed through your mother's heart all the while you -were coming along to this house.... But God only knows I couldn't. I -couldn't let them see me setting off into the twilight upon the little -ass, and I going for me son. I even went so far as to catch the little -ass and yoke him, and put on the grand clothes I was decked out in when -I met you last June with the motor. But somehow I hadn't the heart -for the journey this time, and you coming home before you were due. I -couldn't let them see me! I couldn't let them see me, so I couldn't!" - -"But it is not my fault, mother. I have not brought it about directly -by any action of mine. It comes from the changed state of everything on -account of the Great War. You may say it came naturally." - -"Ah, sure I know that, dear, I know it well, and don't be troubling -yourself. In the letter of the rector before the very last one didn't -he mention the change of resigned application that had at last come to -you, and that you had grown less susceptible--I think that is the grand -word he used--aye, less susceptible to distractions and more quiet in -your mind? And I knew as well as anything that it was coming to pass -so beautifully, that all the long prayers I had said for you upon me -two bare, bended knees were after being heard at last, and a great joy -was just beginning to come surging into me heart when the terrible blow -of the last letter fell down upon me. But sure I used to be having the -queerest dreams, and I felt that nothing good was going to happen when -Ulick Shannon came down here expelled from the University in Dublin. -You used to be a great deal in his company last summer, and mebbe there -was some curse put upon the both of you together. May God forgive me, -but I hate that young fellow like poison. I don't know rightly why -it is, but it vexes me to see him idling around the way he is after -what's happened to him. Bragging about being expelled he bees every -day in McDermott's of Garradrimna. And his uncle Myles is every bit -as bad, going to keep him at home until the end of next summer. 'To -give him time to think of things,' he says. 'I'm going to find a use -for him,' he says to any one that asks him, 'never you fear!' Well, -begad, 'tis a grand thing not to know what to do with your money like -the Shannons of Scarden Hill.... But sure I'm talking and talking. 'Tis -what I came in to tell you now of the plan I have been making up all -night. If we let them see that we're lying down under this misfortune -we're bet surely. We must put a brave face upon it. You must make -a big show-off that you're after getting special holidays for some -great, successful examination you've passed ahead of any one else in -the college. I'll let on I'm delighted, and be mad to tell it to every -customer that comes into the sewing-room. But you must help me; you -must go about saying hard things of Ulick Shannon that's after being -expelled, for that's the very best way you can do it. He'll mebbe seek -your company like last year, but you must let him see for certain that -you consider yourself a deal above him. But you mustn't be so quiet -and go moping so much about the lake as you used to. You must go about -everywhere, talking of yourself and what you're going to be. Now you -must do all this for my sake--won't you, John?" - -His tremulous "yes" was very unenthusiastic and seemed to hold no great -promise of fulfilment. These were hard things his mother was asking him -to do, and he would require some time to think them over.... But even -now he wondered was it in him to do them at all. The attitude towards -Ulick Shannon which she now proposed would be a curious thing, for they -had been the best of friends. - -"And while you're doing this thing for me, John, I'll be going on with -me plans for your future. It was me, and me only, that set up this -beautiful plan of the priesthood as the future I wanted for you. I got -no one to help me, I can tell you that. Only every one to raise their -hands against me. And in spite of all that I carried me plan to what -success the rector spoke of in his last letter. And even though this -shadow has fallen across it, me son and meself between us are not going -to let it be the end. For I want to see you a priest, John. I want to -see you a priest before I die. God knows I want to see that before I -die. Nan Byrne's son a priest before she dies!" - -Her speech mounted to such a pitch of excitement that towards the end -it trailed away into a long, frenzied scream. It awoke Ned Brennan -where he dozed fitfully in the next room, and he roared out: - -"Ah, what the hell are yous gosthering and croaking about in there at -this hour of the morning, the two of yous? It'd be serving you a lot -better to be down getting me breakfast, Nan Byrne!" - -She came away very quietly from the bedside of her son and left the -room. John remained for some time thinking over the things she had been -saying. Then he rose wearily and went downstairs. It was only now he -noticed that his mother had dried his clothes. It must have taken her -a good portion of the night to do this. His boots, which had been so -wet and muddy after his walk from Kilaconnaghan, were now polished -to resplendence and standing clean and dry beside the fire. The full -realization of these small actions brought a fine feeling of tenderness -into his mind.... He quickly prepared himself to leave the house. She -observed him with concern as she went about cooking the breakfast for -her man. - -"You're not going to Mass this morning, are ye, John?" - -"Oh, no!" he replied with a nervous quickness. "Our chat delayed me. It -is now past nine." - -"Ah, dear, sure I never thought while I was talking. The last time I -kept you it was the morning after the concert, and even then you were -in time for 'half-past eight'.... But sure, anyhow, you're too tired -this morning." - -"I'm going for a little walk before breakfast." - -The words broke in queerly upon the thought she had just expressed, -but his reason was nothing more than to avoid his father, who would be -presently snapping savagely at his breakfast in the kitchen. - -The wet road was cheerless and the bare trees and fields were cold and -lonely. Everything was in contrast to the mood in which he had known it -last summer. It seemed as if he would never know it in that mood again. -Now that he had returned it was a poor thing and very small beside the -pictures his dream had made.... He was wandering down The Road of the -Dead and there was a girl coming towards him. He knew it was Rebecca -Kerr, and this meeting did not appear in the least accidental. - -She was dressed, as he had not previously seen her, in a heavy brown -coat, a thick scarf about her throat and a pretty velvet cap which hid -most of her hair. Her small feet were well shod in strong boots, and -she came radiantly down the wet road. A look of surprise sprang into -her eyes when she saw him, and she seemed uncertain of herself as they -stopped to speak. - -"Back again?" she said, not without some inquisitive surprise in her -tones. - -"Yes, another holiday," he said quickly. - -"Nothing wrong?" she queried. - -"Well, well, no; but the college has closed down for the period of the -war." - -"That is a pity." - -He laughed a queer, excited little laugh, in which there did not seem -to be any mirth or meaning. Then he picked himself up quickly. - -"You won't tell anybody?" - -"What about?" - -"This that I have told you, about the college." - -"Oh, dear no!" she replied very quickly, as if amazed and annoyed that -he should have asked her to respect this little piece of information as -a confidence. And she had not reckoned on meeting him at all. Besides -she had not spoken so many words to him since the morning after the -concert. - -She lifted her head high and went on walking between the muddy puddles -on the way to the valley school. - -John felt somewhat crushed by her abruptness, especially after what -he had told her. And where was the fine resolve with which his mother -had hoped to infuse him of acting a brave part for her sake before the -people of the valley? - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -Myles Shannon and his nephew Ulick sat at breakfast in the dining-room -of the big house among the trees. The _Irish Times_ of the previous -day's date was crackling in the elder man's hand. - -"Did you ever think of joining the Army, Ulick? It is most -extraordinary, the number of ne'er-do-wells who manage to get -commissions just now. Why I think there should be no bother at all -if you tried. With your knowledge I fancy you could get into the -R.A.M.C. It is evidently infernally easy. I suppose your conduct at the -University would have nothing to do with your chances of acceptance or -rejection?" - -"Oh, not at all." - -"I thought not." - -"But I fancied, uncle, that when I came down here from Dublin I had -done with intending myself to kill people. That is, with joining any -combination for purposes of slaughter." - -Myles Shannon lifted his eyes from the paper and smiled. Evidently he -did not appreciate the full, grim point of the joke, but he rather -fancied there was something subtle about it, and it was in that quiet -and venerable tradition of humorous things his training had led him to -enjoy. This was one of the reasons why, even though a Catholic and a -moderate Nationalist, he had remained a devoted reader of the _Irish -Times_. He was conservative even in his humor. - -"But in Army medical work, however, there is always the compensating -chance of the gentleman with the license to kill getting killed -himself," continued Ulick. - -His lips closed now, for he had at last come to the end of his joke. -The conversation lapsed, and Mr. Shannon went on with his reading. -Ulick had been to Garradrimna on the previous evening, and he was -acutely conscious of many defects in his own condition and in the -condition of the world about him this morning. His thoughts were now -extending with all the power of which they were capable to his uncle, -that silent, intent man, whose bald head stretched expansively before -him. - -Myles Shannon was a singularly fine man, and in thinking of him as such -his mind began to fill with imaginations of the man his father must -have been. He had never known his father nor, for the matter of that, -could he boast of any deep acquaintance with his uncle, yet what an -excellent, restrained type of man he was to be sure! Another in the -same position as his guardian would have flogged himself into a fury -over the mess he had made of his studies. But it had not been so with -his uncle. He had behaved with a calm forbearance. He had supplied him -with time and money, and had gone even so far as to look kindly upon -the affair with Rebecca Kerr. He had been here since the beginning of -the year, and all his uncle had so far said to him by way of asserting -his authority was spoken very quietly: - -"Now, I'll give you a fair time to think over things. I'll give you -till the end of the summer holidays, till after young Brennan comes and -goes." These had been his uncle's exact words, and he had not attempted -to question them or to qualify them at the time. But just now they were -running through his brain with the most curious throbbing insistence. -"Till after young Brennan comes and goes." He knew that his uncle had -taken an unusual fancy to John Brennan and evidently wished that his -summer holidays should be spent enjoyably. But it was a long time until -summer, and he was not a person one might conscientiously commend to -the friendship of a clerical student. He very often went to Garradrimna. - -Ulick had already formed some impressions of his fellow man. He -held it as his opinion that at the root of an action, which may -appear extraordinary because of its goodness, is always an amount of -selfishness. Yet, somehow, as he carefully considered his uncle in the -meditative spaces of the breakfast he could not fit him in with this -idea. - -As he went on with his thought he felt that it was the very excess of -his uncle's qualities which had had such a curious effect upon his -relations with Rebecca Kerr. It was the very easiness of the path he -had afforded to love-making which now made it so difficult. If they had -been forbidden and if they had been persecuted, their early affection -must have endured more strongly. The opposition of the valley and the -village still continued, but Ulick considered their bearing upon him -now as he had always considered it--with contempt. - -There had been a good deal of wild affection transported into their -snatched meetings during the past summer in Donegal. After Christmas, -too, he had gone there to see her, and then had happened the climax of -their love-making in a quiet cottage within sound of the sea.... Both -had moved away from that glowing moment forever changed. Neither could -tell of the greatness of the shadow that had fallen between them. - -He remembered all her tears on the first evening he had met her after -coming back to the valley. There had been nothing in her letters, only -the faintest suggestion of some strained feeling. Then had come this -unhappy meeting.... She had tortured herself into the belief that it -was she who was responsible for his failure. - -"With all the time you have wasted coming to see me I have destroyed -you. When you should have been at your studies I was taking you up to -Donegal." - -As he listened to these words between her sobs, there rushed in upon -him full realization of all her goodness and the contrast of two -pictures her words had called to his mind.... There was he by her side, -her head upon his shoulder in that lonely cottage in Donegal, their -young lives lighting the cold, bare place around them.... And then -the other picture of himself bent low over his dirty, thumb-greased -books in that abominable street up and down which a cart was always -lumbering. All the torture of this driving him to Doyle's pub at the -corner, and afterwards along some squalid street of ill-fame with a few -more drunken medical students. - -He was glad to be with her again. They met very often during his first -month at his uncle's house, in dark spots along the valley road and The -Road of the Dead. Then he began to notice a curious reserve springing -up between them. She was becoming mysterious while at the same time -remaining acutely present in his life. - -One morning she had asked him if he intended to remain long in the -valley, and he had not known how to reply to her. Another time she -had asked him if he was going to retire altogether from the study of -medicine, and with what did he intend to occupy himself now? And, upon -a certain occasion, she had almost asked him was it the intention of -his uncle to leave him the grand farm and the lovely house among the -trees? - -These were vexatious questions and so different from any part of the -talk they used to have here in the valley last summer or at the cottage -in Donegal. Her feeling of surrender in his presence had been replaced -by a sense of possession which seemed the death of all that kindling of -her heart. Then it had happened that, despite the encouragement of his -uncle, a shadow had fallen upon his love-affair with Rebecca Kerr.... -He was growing tired of his idle existence in the valley. Very slowly -he was beginning to see life from a new angle. He was disgusted with -himself and with the mess he had made of things in Dublin. He could not -say whether it was her talk with him that had shamed him into thinking -about it, but he felt again like making something of himself away from -this mean place. Once or twice he wondered whether it was because he -wanted to get away from her. Somehow his uncle and himself were the -only people who seemed directly concerned in the matter. His uncle -was a very decent man, and he felt that he could not presume on his -hospitality any longer. - -Mr. Shannon took off his spectacles and laid by the _Irish Times_. -There was an intimate bond between the man and his paper. He always -considered it as hitting off his own opinions to a nicety upon any -subject under the sun. This always after he had read the leaders which -dealt with these subjects. It afforded a contribution to his thought -and ideas out of which he spoke with a surer word. - -Old Susan Hennessy came into the room with some letters that Farrell -McGuinness was after leaving. She hobbled in, a hunched, decrepit -woman, now in the concluding stages of her long life as housekeeper to -the Shannons, and put the letters into her master's hand.... Then she -lingered, quite unnecessarily, about the breakfast-table. Her toothless -gums were stripping as words began to struggle into her mouth.... Mr. -Shannon took notice of her. This was her usual behavior when she had -anything of uncommon interest to say. - -"Well, what is it now?" said Mr. Shannon, not without some weariness in -his tones, for he expected only to hear some poor piece of local gossip. - -"It's how Farrell McGuinness is after telling me, sir, that John -Brennan is home." - -"Is that a fact?" - -"And Farrell says that by the looks on the outside of a certain letter -that came to Mrs. Brennan th'other day it is what he is after being -expelled." - -"Expelled. Well, well!" - -There was a mixture of interest and anxiety in Mr. Shannon's tones. - -"A good many of those small English colleges are getting broken up -and the students drifting into the Army, I suppose that's the reason; -but of course they'll say he's been expelled," Ulick ventured as old -Susan slipped from the room and down to the loneliness of the kitchen, -where she might brood to her heart's content over this glad piece of -information, for she was one who well knew the story of John Brennan's -mother and "poor Misther Henery Shannon." - -"Is that so?" The interest of Mr. Shannon was rapidly mounting towards -excitement. - -"A case like that is rather hard," said Ulick. - -"Yes, it will be rather hard on Mrs. Brennan, I fancy, she being so -stuck-up with pride in him." - -He could just barely hide his feelings of exultation. - -"And John Brennan is not a bad fellow." - -"I daresay he's not." - -There was now a curious note of impatience in the elder man's tones as -if he wished, for some reason or other, to have done speaking of the -matter. - -"It will probably mean the end of his intention for the Church." - -"That is more than likely. These sudden changes have the effect of -throwing a shadow over many a young fellow's vocation." - -His eyes twinkled, but he fingered his mustache nervously as he said -this. - -"Funny to think of the two of us getting thrown down together, we being -such friends!" - -The doubtful humor in the coincidence had appealed to the queer kink -that was in the mind of Ulick, and it was because of it he now spoke. -It was the merest wantonness that he should have said this thing, and -yet it seemed instantly to have struck some hidden chord of deeper -thought in his uncle's mind. When Myles Shannon spoke again it was -abruptly, and his words seemed to spring out of a sudden impulse: - -"You'd better think over that matter of the Army I have just mentioned." - -It was the first time his uncle Myles had spoken to him in this way, -and now that the rod of correction had fallen even thus lightly he did -not like it at all. He felt that his face was already flushing.... And -into his mind was burning again the thought of how he had made such a -mess of things.... He moved towards the door, and there was his uncle's -voice again raised as if in the reproof of authority: - -"And where might you be going to-day?" - -"Down the valley to see my friend John Brennan, who'll be surely lonely -on the first day at home," he said, rather hurriedly, as he went out in -the hallway to get his overcoat. - -When Myles Shannon was left alone he immediately drifted into deeper -thought there in the empty room with his back to the fire. With one -hand he clasped his long coat-tails, and with the other nervously -twirled his long mustache. He was thinking rapidly, and his thoughts -were so strong within him that he was speaking them aloud. - -"I might not have gone so far. Don't you see how I might have waited in -patience and allowed the hand of Fate to adjust things? See how grandly -they are coming around.... And now maybe I have gone too far. Maybe I -have helped to spoil Ulick's life into the bargain. And then there's -the third party, this girl, Rebecca Kerr?" - -He looked straight out before him now, and away over the remains of -the breakfast.... He crossed to the window and gazed for a while over -the wet fields. He moved into the cold, empty parlor and gazed from -its window also over the fields.... Then he turned and for a space -remained looking steadfastly at the bureau which held so much of -_Her_. Quite suddenly he crossed over and unlocked it.... Yes, there, -with the other dead things, were the photograph of Helena Cooper and -the letters she had written, and the letter John Brennan's mother had -written about him. He raised his eyes from the few, poor relics and -they gathered into their depths the loneliness of the parlor.... Here -was the picture of this girl, who was young and lovely, while around -him, surging emptily forever, was the loneliness of his house. It was -Nan Byrne who had driven him to this, and it was Nan Byrne who had -ruined his brother Henry.... And yet he was weakly questioning his -just feelings of revenge against this woman, but for whom he might now -be a happy man. He might have laughter in this house and the sound -of children at play. But now he had none of these things, and he was -lonely.... He looked into the over-mantel, and there he was, an empty -figure, full of a strong family pride that really stood for nothing, -a polite survival from the mild romance of the early nineties of the -last century, a useless thing amid his flocks and herds. A man who had -none of the contentment which comes from the company of a woman or her -children, a mean creature, who, during visits to the cattle-market, -occasionally wasted his manhood in dingy adventure about low streets -in Dublin. One who remained apart from the national thought of his own -country reading queer articles in the _Irish Times_ about "resolute" -government of Ireland. - -His head lay low upon his chest because he was a man mightily oppressed -by a great feeling of abasement. - -"In the desolation of her heart through the destruction of her son," he -muttered to himself, not without a certain weariness, as he moved away -from the mirror. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -Whenever a person from the valley went abroad now to fair or market the -question was always asked: - -"Is it a fact that Ulick Shannon was expelled from the University in -Dublin and is at home? And is it a fact that John Brennan is at home -from the college he was at too, the grand college in England whose -story his mother spread far and wide?" - -"That's quite so, ma'am. It's a double fact!" - -"Well, well!" - -"And is it a fact that they do be always together, going by back ways -into the seven publichouses of Garradrimna?" - -"Oh, indeed, that's true, ma'am, and now you have the whole of it. Sure -it was in the same seven publichouses that the pair of them laid the -foundations of their ruination last summer. Sure, do ye know what I'm -going to tell you? They couldn't be kept out of them, and that's as -sure as you're there!" - -Now it was true that if Ulick had gone at all towards Garradrimna it -was through very excess of spirits, and it was for the very same reason -that he had enticed John Brennan to go with him.... That time they were -full of hope and their minds were held by their thoughts of Rebecca. -But now, somehow, she seemed to have slipped out of the lives of both -of them. And because both had chosen. The feeling had entered into -Ulick's heart. But in the case of John Brennan it was not so certain. -What had brought him out upon the first morning of his homecoming to -take a look at her? It would seem that, through the sudden quickening -of his mind towards study just before the break-up of the college, -he should have forgotten her.... His life now seemed to hang in the -balance shudderingly; a breath might direct it anyway. - -He felt that he should have liked to make some suggestions of his own -concerning his future, but there was always that tired look of love in -his mother's eyes to frustrate his intention.... Often he would go into -the sewing-room of a morning and she would say so sadly as she bent -over her machine--"I'm contriving, John; I'm contriving!" He had come -to the years of manhood and yet he must needs leave every initiative in -her hands since she would have it so.... Thus was he driven from the -house at many a time of the day. - -He went to morning Mass as usual, but the day was long and dreary after -that, for the weather was wet and the coldness of winter still lay -heavy over the fields. The evenings were the dreariest as he sat over -his books in his room and listened to the hum of his mother's machine. -Later this would give place to the tumultuous business of his father's -home-coming from Garradrimna. Sometimes things were broken, and the -noise would destroy his power of application. Thus it was that, for the -most part, he avoided the house in the evenings. At the fall of dark he -would go slipping along the wet road on his way to Garradrimna. Where -the way from Scarden joined the way from Tullahanogue he generally met -Ulick Shannon, comfortably top-coated, bound for the same place. - -It seemed as if the surrounding power of the talk their presence in the -valley had created was driving them towards those scenes in which that -talk had pictured them. Through the dusk people would smirk at them as -they were seen going the road.... They would slip into McDermott's by -the same back way that Ned Brennan had often gone to Brannagan's. Many -a time did they pass the place in the woods where John had beheld the -adventure of his father and the porter last summer.... In the bottling -room of McDermott's they would fancy they were unseen, but Shamesy -Golliher or Padna Padna or Thomas James would be always cropping up -most unaccountably to tell the tale when they went out into the bar -again after what would appear the most accidental glance into the -bottling-room.... John would take port wine and Ulick whatever drink he -preferred. But even the entertainment of themselves after this fashion -did not evoke the subtle spell of last summer. There was no laughter, -no stories, even of a questionable kind, when Josie Guinan came to -answer their call. Every evening she would ask the question: - -"Well, how is Rebecca, Ulick?" - -This gross familiarity irritated him greatly, for his decent breeding -made him desire that she should keep her distance. Besides he did not -want any one to remind him of Rebecca just now. He never answered this -question, nor the other by which it was always followed: - -"You don't see her very often now, do ye? But of course the woods bees -wet these times." - -The mere mention of Rebecca's name in this filthy place annoyed John -Brennan, who thought of her continuously as some one far beyond all -aspects of Garradrimna. - -Yet they would be forever coming here to invite this persecution. Ulick -would ever and again retreat into long silences that were painful for -his companion. But John found some solace come to him through the -port wine. So much was this the case that he began to have a certain -hankering after spending the evening in this way. When the night -had fallen thick and dark over Garradrimna they would come out of -McDermott's and spend long hours walking up and down the valley road. -Ulick would occasionally give vent to outbursts of talk upon impersonal -subjects--the war and politics, the tragic trend of modern literature. -John always listened with interest. He never wished to return early to -the house, for he dreaded the afflicted drone of his mother reading the -holy books to his father by the kitchen fire. - -During those brief spells, when the weather brightened for a day or -two, he often took walks down by the school and towards the lake.... -Always he felt, through power of an oppressive realization, that -the eyes of Master Donnellan were upon him as he slipped past the -school.... So he began to go by a lane which did not take him before -the disappointed eyes of the old man. - -Going this way one day he came upon a battered school-reader of an -advanced standard, looking so pathetic in its final desertion by its -owner, for there is nothing so lonely as the things a schoolboy leaves -behind him.... He began to remember the days when he, too, had gone -to the valley school and there instituted the great promise which, so -far, had not come to fulfilment. He was turning over the leaves when -he came on a selection from Carlyle's _French Revolution_--"Thy foot -to light on softness, thy eye on splendor." He pondered it as he stood -by the water's edge and until it connected itself with his thought of -Rebecca. _Thy foot to light on softness, thy eye on splendor._ - -It would be nearing three o'clock now, he thought, and Rebecca must -soon be going from school. He might see her passing along between the -muddy puddles on The Road of the Dead. - -He had fallen down before her again. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -In the high, gusty evening Tommy Williams, the gombeen-man, was -standing proudly at his own door surveying the street of Garradrimna. -It was his custom to appear thus at the close of the day in -contemplation of his great possessions. He owned four houses in the -village, four proud buildings which advertised his worth before the -beggars of the parish--out of whom he had made the price of them. But -he was distrustful of his customers to an enormous degree, and his -purpose in standing thus at his own door was not altogether one of -aimless speculation upon his own spacious importance in Garradrimna. -He was watching to see that some people going down the valley road -upon ass-carts did not attempt to take away any of the miscellaneous -merchandise exhibited outside the door. As he stood against the -background of his shop, from which he might be said to have derived his -personality, one could view the man in his true proportions beneath his -hard, high hat. His short beard was beginning to show tinges of gray, -and the deepening look of preoccupation behind his glasses gave him the -appearance of becoming daily more and more like John Dillon. - -Father O'Keeffe came by and said: "Good-evening, Tommy!" This was a -tribute to his respectability and worth. He was the great man of the -village, the head and front of everything. Events revolved around him. -He would have you know that he was somebody, so he was. A politician -after the fashion in the Ireland of his time, he organized and spoke -at public meetings. He always wanted to be saying things in support -of "The Cause." "The Cause" was to him a kind of poetic ideal. His -patriotic imagination had intensified its glory. But it was not the -future of Ireland he yearned to see made glorious. He looked forward -only to the triumph of "The Cause." - -Upon the death of his father, also a patriot, the little mean huckstery -at the tail end of the village street had descended to him; and -although he had risen to the dignity and proprietorship of four houses, -this establishment had never changed, for, among the many ancient -superstitions which crowded his mind, the hoary one of the existence -of luck where there is muck occupied a place of prominence. And like -his father he was a rebel--in his mind. The more notable political -mountebanks of his time were all men who had fought as upon a field -of battle. Words served them as weapons, and words were the weapons -that he loved; he might have died if he were not fighting, and to him -talk meant battle. He used to collect all the supplemental pictures of -those patriots from _The Weekly Freeman_ and paste them in a scrapbook -for edification of his eldest son, whom he desired to be some day a -unit of their combination. An old-fashioned print of Dan O'Connell -hung side by side with a dauby caricature of Robert Emmet in the old -porter-smelling parlor off the bar. The names of the two men were -linked inseparably with one of his famous phrases--"The undying spirit -of Irish Nationality." - -Occasionally, when he had a drunken and enthusiastic crowd in that -part of his many-sided establishment which was a public bar, he would -read out in a fine loud voice how "The Cause" was progressing, and, -having learned by heart a speech of John Dillon's, he would lash it -out to them as a composition of his own. Whereupon the doubly excited -audience would shake his hand as one man and shout: "More power there, -mister; 'tis yourself is the true Irishman, me sweet fellow!" He could -be very funny too when occasion demanded, and tell stories of Father -Healy of Bray at pleasant little dinners which took place in the upper -story of his house after every political meeting held in Garradrimna. -He never missed the opportunity and the consequent honor of singing "On -an old Irish Hill in the Morning" at every one of those dinners. He was -always warmly applauded by Father O'Keeffe, who invariably occupied -the chair. He was treasurer of the fund, out of which he was paid for -supplying all this entertainment. - -His wife was the daughter of a farmer of the "red-hat" class. He had -been compelled to marry her.... If this had happened to a poor man -the talk would have followed him to the grave. But they were afraid -to talk censoriously of the patriot who had enveloped all of them. -He practically owned them.... The priest could not deliver an attack -upon the one who headed his lists of Offerings and Easter Dues and -the numerous collections which brought in the decent total of Father -O'Keeffe's income. - -To Rebecca Kerr had been given the position of governess to the -Williams household. She had not sought it, but, on the removal of the -two boys, Michael Joseph and Paddy, from the care of Master Donnellan -to this more genteel way of imparting knowledge and giving correction, -which savored somewhat of the splendor of the Moores of Garradrimna -and the Houlihans of Clonabroney, had merely accepted it as part of -the system of the place. She had fully anticipated such possibilities -upon the very evening of her arrival.... Besides old Master Donnellan -had thanked her from his heart for the release she had been the means -of affording him, and she liked the master for a quiet, kind old man -who did not prate or meddle. So far she had made little improvement in -either of the boys. But Mrs. Williams was evidently delighted for "our -governess, Miss Kerr," was the one person she ever spoke a good word of -to Father O'Keeffe. - -This evening Rebecca was in the parlor, seated just beneath the -pictures of Dan O'Connell and Robert Emmet, wrestling hard with the -boys. All at once her pupils commanded her to be silent. "Whist!" they -said in unison. She was momentarily amazed into eavesdropping at their -behest.... - -"Oh, not at all, Mrs. Brennan, sure and I couldn't think of the like at -all at all!" - -"Well, Mr. Williams, as a well-known benefactor of the college at -Ballinamult and a good, religious man to boot, I thought that mebbe you -could give John a recommendation. It would be grand to see him there -and he working himself up to the summit of his ambition. There would be -a great reward to your soul for doing the like of that, Mr. Williams, -as sure as you're there." - -"And now, woman-a-dear, what about my own sons, Michael Joseph and -Paddy?" - -"Oh, indeed, there's no fear of them, Mr. Williams!" - -"But I could not think of jeopardizing them while I'd be doing for the -families or the sons of the stranger." - -"But sure, sir, I'll pay you at any rate of interest you like if -only you could see your way to give me this help. Enough to buy a -bicycle that'll take him over to Ballinamult every day and your grand -recommendation to the priests that'll be worth gold. I'll pay you every -penny I can, and sure the poor boy will repay you everything when he -comes into the position that's due to him." - -"Well, I don't know. I don't think the missus--" - -At this very moment Mrs. Williams came into the parlor where Rebecca -sat with them, and beamed upon her sons. - -"Oh, my poor boys, sure it is killed you are with the terrible strain -of the study. Sure it is what you'd better go out into the fields now -with the pony; but mind, be careful! You poor little fellows!" - -Michael Joseph and Paddy at once snatched up their caps and rushed -for the door. So much for the extent of their training and Rebecca's -control of them, for this was a daily happening. But another part of -her hour of torture at the gombeen-man's house had yet to come. Of -late Mrs. Williams had made of her a kind of _confidante_ in the small -concerns of her household. She was the sort of woman who must needs be -always talking to some one of her affairs. Now she enlarged upon the -immediate story of how Mrs. Brennan had been begging and craving of -Tommy to do something for her son John, who had been sent home from -the place he was in England. "The cheek of her, mind you, that Mrs. -Brennan!" emphasized Mrs. Williams. - -If it had been any other schoolmistress or girl of any kind at all -that Mrs. Williams had ever known, they would have acquiesced in this -statement of denunciation and said: "That's a sure fact for you, -ma'am!" or "Just so!" But this had never been Rebecca's way. She merely -said: "John Brennan is a very nice young fellow!" - -Although Mrs. Williams was surprised, she merely said: "Is that so? -Sure I know very little about him only to see him pass the door. They -say he's taken the fashion of tippling a bit, and it's to McDermott's -he does go, d'ye mind, with Ulick Shannon, and not to this house. But, -of course, it's my bold Ulick that's spending. Easy for him, begad, and -it not his own." - -Rebecca saw the dirty meanness that stirred in this speech. - -"That's what they say and it is surely a great pity to see him wasting -his time about the roads of the valley. I think it would be a grand -piece of charity on the part of any one who would be the means of -taking him away from this place. If only he could be afforded some -little help. 'Tis surely not his fault that the college in England -broke down, and although his mother is, I believe, contriving the best -for his future, sure it is hard for her. She is only a poor woman, and -the people of the valley seem queerly set against her. I don't know -why. They seem to hate the very sight of her." - -"You may say that indeed, and it is the good reasons they have--" - -Mrs. Williams suddenly checked herself, for there flashed across her -mind a chapter of her own story. She had been one of the lucky ones.... -Besides, by slow steps, Rebecca was coming to have some power over her. - - -"Of course it would be no loss to Tommy if he did give this help. He'd -be bound to get the interest of his money, even if he were to sell her -out of house and home. He knows his business, and he's not against it -himself, I may tell you; for he sees a return in many a way. It was -myself that was keeping him from it on account of the boy's mother. -But, of course, if you think it would be a nice, good thing to do--" - -"It would be a good thing, and a very good thing, and one of the best -actions you could put for luck before your own sons." - -"Oh, indeed, there's no fear of them! Is it Michael Joseph or Paddy?" - -"Of course not, indeed, nor did I mean anything of the kind. I only -said it to soften you, Mrs. Williams." - -"Well, I may tell you it's all right, Miss Kerr. Mrs. Brennan is out -there in the shop, and she's craving from me man.... It'll be all -right, Miss Kerr, and that's a fact.... I'll make it all right, never -you fear!" - -In this way was John Brennan again led back into the paths of the -Church. Curious that it should have been given Rebecca to effect the -change in his condition--Rebecca, whose beauty, snatching at his -spirit always, had drawn his mind into other ways of contemplation. -In less than a week, through the powerful ecclesiastical influence of -Tommy Williams, the gombeen-man, he was riding daily to the college at -Ballinamult. By teaching outside the hours allotted for his own study -he was earning part of his fees, and, as a further example of his worth -to the community, Tommy Williams was paying the other portion, although -as a purely financial speculation.... In a year it was expected he -would win one of the Diocesan Scholarships and go up to Maynooth. -Mrs. Brennan knew more joy than had ever before possessed her. Her son -was to be ordained in Ireland after all, and maybe given a curacy in -his own diocese. Who knew but he might yet follow in the footsteps of -Father O'Keeffe and become Parish Priest of Garradrimna while she was -still alive here in this little house in the valley! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -The meetings of Ulick and Rebecca had become less and less frequent. -Sometimes she would not see him for days at a stretch, and such periods -would appear as desert spaces. She would be driven by them into the -life of the valley, where no echo of comfort ever came to her. Even -the little children created an irritation with their bright faces -continually reminding her of all the prayers they had said for her -intentions.... It was curious that she never asked them to say a prayer -for her intentions now. And their looks would seem to be beseeching -her forever. And yet she could not--she could not ask them now.... -Each distinct phase of the day seemed to hold for her its own peculiar -tortures. These seemed to have reached their climax and very moment of -ecstasy on the days succeeding upon one another when Monica McKeon came -in at the recreation hour to take her luncheon in company with Mrs. -Wyse. - -Monica would be certain to say with the most unfailing regularity and, -in fact, with exactly the same intonation upon all occasions: "I wonder -when that Ulick Shannon is going away?" To which Mrs. Wyse would reply -in a tone which would seem to have comprehended all knowledge: "Ah, -sure, he'll never go far!" Presently Monica would begin to let fall -from her slyly her usual string of phrases: "Wouldn't you be inclined -to say, now, that Ulick Shannon is good-looking?" Talking of some -other one, she would describe him as being "Just like Ulick Shannon, -don't you know!" And if they happened to be discussing the passage of -some small event it would invariably circle around the breathless point -of interest--"And who do you think was there only Ulick Shannon?" Then -from where she sat supping her tea out of a saucerless cup Mrs. Wyse -would give out her full opinion of Ulick Shannon. - -"He's the quare sort, just like his father. I don't think I've ever -seen a son to take after his father so closely. And _he_ was what you -might call a quare character in his day. It was said that a girl as -well as lost her good name if she was seen talking twice in succession -to Henry Shannon, he was that bad. Like father, like son is surely the -case between Henry and Ulick Shannon!" - -This seemed at all times the strangest talk for Rebecca to be -hearing.... It often caused her to shiver even though spring was well -on its way. And they would never let it out of their minds; they would -never let it rest. They were always talking at her about Ulick Shannon, -for they seemed to know. - -But no one knew save herself. It was a grand secret. Not even Ulick -knew. She hugged the dear possession of her knowledge to herself. There -was the strangest excitement upon her to escape from school in the -evenings so that she might enjoy her secret in loneliness. - -Even this joy had been dissipated by her certainty of meeting -John Brennan somewhere upon the road in the near vicinity of the -school.... Now, as she thought of it upon an evening a few days after -she had spoken to Mrs. Williams in his favor, she fancied that his -lonely admiration for her must have been growing in strength since -his return.... There had always been a sense of sudden relief in -his presence after the torture of the two women, a feeling of high -emancipation like the rushing in of some clean wind.... Only a few -words had ever passed between them on those occasions, but now they -were to her throbbing brain of blessed and sweet memory. And there had -always been the same look upon his face, making her try to puzzle out -in what possible way he could look upon her. Could it be in the way -she had looked upon him, with a full kindliness working into the most -marvelous ways of sympathy? Yet she missed him ever so much, now that -he was to be no longer seen upon the road. - -It was strange enough, too, as she thought of it, that although the -reason of Mrs. Williams in taking a fancy to her was no more than the -selfish one of showing her dislike for Master Donnellan, it should -have borne good fruit after this fashion. Yet a certain loneliness, a -certain feeling of empty sadness was to be her reward because she had -done a good thing.... No one at all now to take her mind away as she -wandered from torture to torture in the afternoons.... On one of the -first evenings of the changed condition of things Mrs. McGoldrick, -noticing in her keen mind that Rebecca was a minute or so earlier than -usual, said, after the manner of one proud of being able to say it: - -"Is it a fact, Miss Kerr, that John Brennan bees going as a kind of a -charity teacher or something to the college at Ballinamult?" - -"Well, if it's a fact, it is a fact," said Rebecca in a tired, dull -voice and without showing any interest whatsoever. But even this -attitude did not baulk the sergeant's wife, for she hurried on: - -"Ah, God help his innocent wit, but sure he'll never be a priest, he'll -never be a priest! 'Tis a pity of his mother, but sure she could hardly -expect it to be so, for she wasn't a good woman, they tell me, and she -ought to know, you know, that she could hardly expect it to be so!" - -Rebecca saw at once that her landlady was in one of her fits of -garrulousness, so she concluded in consequence that there would not be -much pleasure in her dinner to-day. She passed it untasted and went -upstairs wearily. There was a certain grim comfort in thinking that -she had left Mrs. McGoldrick with her harangue unfinished and a great -longing upon her to be talking.... She flung herself upon the bed in -the still untidied room. She was weary with some great, immeasurable -weariness this blessed evening.... Her corset hurt her, and she sat -up again to take it off. She caught sight of herself reflected in -the mirror opposite.... How worn she looked! Her brows, with their -even curves, did not take from the desolation that had fallen upon -her forehead, where it was grown harder as beneath the blows of some -tyrannic thought. And it seemed as if the same thought had plowed all -the lines which were beginning to appear there now.... It must be that -she had long since entered into a mood of mourning for the things she -had lost in the valley. - -She fell to remembering the first evening she had come to it, and of -how she had begun to play with her beauty on that very first evening. -It had appeared then as the only toy in her possession in this place -of dreary immensity. And now it seemed to have run through many and -sudden vicissitudes. She had allowed Ulick Shannon to play with it -too.... But his language had been so sweet when he had praised her in -the silent woods.... And in the lonely cottage in Donegal, where he -had gone to see her after Christmas, there had been abiding joy, while -outside the night swept wild and dark upon the cold, gray sea.... Here -there came sudden qualms as to whether she had helped to ruin him by -taking him away from preparation for his final exam. But there was such -an urge of dear remembrance upon her that her mind sprang quickly back -again to all the thoughts they had had between them then.... Back into -her mind too were thronging the exact words he had used upon that night -they had spent together in the cottage. - -And by the side of all this, was it not queer that he came so seldom to -see her now although he lived distant from her by only a few fields? -Even when he came their partings were so abrupt, after a little period -of strained conversation, when he always went with a slight excuse in -his mouth to Garradrimna. Yet all the time she longed for his presence -by her side with an even greater longing than that she had experienced -in Donegal.... It was also painfully notable how he gave shifty answers -to her every question. And had she not a good right to be asking him -questions now?... And surely he must guess by this time. - -She threw her head back upon the pillow once more, and once more she -was weeping. She thought, through the mist of her tears, of how she -had so bitterly wept upon the first evening of her coming to this -room. But on that evening also she had prayed, and she could not pray -now. Nor could she sleep. She remained there upon the bed, inert in -every sense save for her empty stare up at the discolored ceiling. It -was broken only by the queer smile she would take to herself ever and -again.... At last she began to count upon her fingers. She was simply -counting the number of times she had seen Ulick since his return to his -uncle's house. - -"Oh, dear, dear, and what have I done to him?" she muttered -incessantly, biting her lips occasionally between her words as if in a -very ecstasy of desire for the pain he was causing her.... There came -moments, winged and clean like shining angels, to bring her comfort, -when she wildly fancied it was the very loveliest thing to endure great -pain for his sake. - -But the powers of her mind for any wild gladness were being gradually -annihilated by dark thoughts coming down to defeat her thoughts of -beauty. She turned from contemplation of the ceiling and began to -glance around the room in search of some distraction. In one corner -she saw an old novelette thrown aside in its gaudy covers. The reading -of rubbish was Mrs. McGoldrick's recreation when she was not sewing or -nursing the baby. - -She had called the girls after heroines of passionate love-stories, -just as her husband, the sergeant, had seen that the boys were called -after famous men in the world of the police. Thus the girls bore names -like Euphemia McGoldrick and Clementina McGoldrick, while the boys bore -names like John Ross McGoldrick and Neville Chamberlain McGoldrick. -The girls, although they were ugly and ill-mannered, had already been -invested with the golden lure of Romance, and the boys were already -policemen although they were still far distant from the age when they -could put on a belt or a baton. - -Rebecca began to snatch at paragraphs here and there through the story, -which was entitled _The Desecration of the Hearth_. There was one -passage which seemed to hold an unaccountable fascination as her eyes -lingered over it: - - - "_Then suddenly, and without a minute's warning, Lord Archibald - Molyneux dashed the poor, ruined girl from him, and soon she was - struggling for life in the swirling stream._ - - "_'Ah-a-ha!' he said once more, hissing out his every word - between his thin, cruel lips. 'That will may be put an end to - your scandalous allegations against a scion of the noble house of - Molyneux.'_ - - "_'Mercy! Pity! Oh, God! The Child!' she wailed piteously as she - felt herself being caught in the maelstrom of the current._ - - "_But Lord Archibald Molyneux merely twirled his dark, handsome - mustache with his white hands, after the fashion that was peculiar - to him, and waited until his unfortunate victim had disappeared - completely beneath the surface of the water._" - - -Rebecca's eyes had closed over the passage, and she was dozing now, -but only fitfully.... To occupy small instants would come the most -terrifying dreams in long waves of horror which would seem to take -great spaces of time for their final passage from her mind. Then there -would flow in a brief space of respite, but only as a prelude to the -dread recurrence of her dreams again. And all jumbled together, bits -of wild reality which were and were not parts of her experience would -cause her to start up ever and anon. - -There fell a knock upon the door, and a little girl came in with some -tea-things on a tray. She called: "Miss Kerr, your tea!" and when -Rebecca woke up with a terrible start it appeared as if she had not -slumbered at all. - -"Oh, is that yourself, Euphemia? I declare to goodness the dusk is -falling outside. I must have been sleeping." - -"Yes, miss!" - -"You are late in coming this evening?" - -"Well, wait till I tell you, miss. I went into the village for some -things for my mother, and what d'ye think but when I was coming home I -thought I saw a strange man just outside the ditch opposite the door, -and I was afraid for to pass, so I was." - -"A strange man! Is that a fact?" - -"Well, sure then I thought, miss, it might be Ulick Shannon, but I may -tell you I got the surprise of my life when I found it was only John -Brennan, and he standing there alone by himself looking up at your -window." - -Long before she had got through it, with many lisps and lapses, Rebecca -was wearied by the triteness of the little one's statement, so well -copied was it from the model of her mother's gossipy communication of -the simplest fact. - -But what could John Brennan be doing there so near her again? This was -the thought that held Rebecca as she went on with an attempt to take -her tea. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -John Brennan came down the valley. The trees by the roadside were -being shaken heavily by soft winds. Yet, for all the kindness of May -that lingered about it, there seemed to be some shadow hanging over -the evening. No look of peace or pity had struggled into the squinting -windows.... Would the valley ever again put on the smile it had worn -last summer? That time it had been so dearly magnified. At leaving it -there had been such a crush of feeling in his breast. - -He seemed to see it more clearly now. There was something that hurt him -in the thought of how he was preparing for a genteel kind of life while -his father remained a common sponger around the seven publichouses of -Garradrimna, asking people to stand him drinks for the love of God like -Anthony Shaughness. He could not forget that the valley had wrought -this destruction upon Ned Brennan, and that Ned Brennan was his father. - -This thought arose out of a definite cause. At the college in -Ballinamult he had made the acquaintance of Father George Considine, -who had already begun to exercise an influence over him. This priest -was a simple, holy man, who had devoted his life usefully, remaining -far away from the ways of pride. Although gombeen-men like Tommy -Williams had some influence with those who controlled the college, they -had no influence over him. He was in curious contrast to the system -which tied him to this place. It was impossible to think that his -ordination had represented a triumph to any one at all, yet he had been -far ahead of his contemporaries and while yet a young man had been made -principal of this college in Ballinamult. His name had gone out into -the world. The satisfaction that had been denied to Master Donnellan -was his. He had had a hand in the education of men whose names were -now notable in many a walk of life. And yet, to see him moving about -the grounds of the college in his faded coat with the frayed sleeves -and shiny collar, no man would think that his name, the name of "poor -Father Considine," was spoken with respect in distant places. - -But Mrs. Brennan did not approve of him. On the evening of John's first -day in Ballinamult, after she had made every other possible inquiry she -said: - -"And did you meet Father Considine?" - -"I did indeed, mother; a nice man!" - -"Ah, a quare ould oddity! Wouldn't you think now that he'd have a -little pride in himself and dress a bit better, and he such a very -learned man?" - -"Maybe that's just the reason why he's not proud. The saints were not -proud, mother; then why should he be?" - -She always gave a deaf ear to any word of this kind from John, for -her ideal was Father O'Keeffe, with his patent leather top-boots, -silver-mounted whip and silk hat, riding to hounds with the Cromwellian -descendants of the district.... Here was where Father Considine stood -out in sharp contrast, for he was in spiritual descent from those -priests who had died with the people in the Penal Days. It was men -like him who had carried down the grandeur of Faith and Idealism from -generation to generation. One felt that life was a small thing to him -beyond the chance it gave to make it beautiful. He had written a little -book of poems in honor of Mary, the Mother of God, and to feel that it -had brought some comfort to many a troubled one and to know that he had -been the means of shaping young men's lives towards useful ends was all -that this world meant to him. - -John Brennan knew very well that if he became a priest it was in the -steps of Father Considine he would follow rather than in those of -Father O'Keeffe. This he felt must mean the frustration of half his -mother's grand desire, but, inevitable, it must be so, for it was the -way his meditative mind would lead him. Thus was he troubled again. - -Father Considine had spoken to him of Father O'Keeffe: - -"A touch of the farmer about that man don't you think? But maybe a -worthy man for all that!" - -Then he had looked long into the young man's eyes and said: - -"Be humble, my son, be humble, so that great things may be done unto -you!" - -John had pondered these words as he cycled home that evening past the -rich fields. He began to think how his friend Ulick would have put all -his thoughts so clearly. How he would have spoken of the rank green -grass now rising high over County Meath as a growth that had sprung -from the graves of men's rotted souls; of all the hate and pride that -had come out of their hunger for the luscious land; of how Faith and -Love and Beauty had gone forever from this golden vale to the wild -places of his country, where there was a letting-in of wind and sun -and sea.... It was easy to connect Father O'Keeffe's pride with the -land. Remembrance of the man's appearance was sufficient. It was not so -easy in the case of his mother. But, of course, John had no knowledge -of how she had set her heart upon Henry Shannon's lovely farm in the -days gone by. - -Hitherto his thoughts of his future condition had been bound up with -consideration of his mother, but now there had come this realization -of his father. It was not without its sadness to think that his father -had been a stranger to him always and that he should now behold him -stumbling down to old age amid the degradation of Garradrimna. He felt -curiously desirous of doing something for him. But the heavy constraint -between them still existed as always. He was unequal to the task of -plucking up courage to speak to him. This evening, too, as he tried, -after his accustomed fashion, in a vacant moment to catch a glimpse of -his own future, he acutely felt the impossibility of seeing himself -as a monument of pride.... Always there would arise before his mind a -broken column in the middle of the valley. - -And he was lonely. He had not seen Ulick Shannon or Rebecca since he -had begun to cycle daily to Ballinamult. Often, in some of the vacant -stretches of thought which came to him as he hurried along, he pictured -the two of them meeting during some of those long, sweet evenings and -being kind to one another. Despite sudden flashes of a different regard -that would come sweeping his thoughts of all kinds, he loved these -two and was glad that they were fond of one another. It now seemed -surprising that he had ever thought so deeply of Rebecca Kerr, and -wished to meet her upon the road and look longingly into her eyes. All -this while going on to be a priest seemed far from him now that he had -begun to be influenced by Father Considine. - -He had to pass the house of Sergeant McGoldrick by the way he was -going, and it seemed an action altogether outside him that he had -gone into an adjacent field and gazed for quite a long time up at -her window.... He was all confusion when he noticed the child of the -McGoldricks observing him.... He drifted away, his cheeks hot and a -little sense of shame dimming his eyes.... He took to the road again -and at once saw Ulick Shannon coming towards him. The old, insinuating -smile which had so often been used upon his weak points, was spread -over the face of his friend. - -"And at last you have succeeded in coming to see her thus far?" - -The words seemed to fall out of Ulick's oblique smile. - -"She?" he said in surprise. - -"Oh, I thought it was that you had intentions of becoming my rival!" - -John laughed now, for this was the old Ulick come back again. He went -on laughing as if at a good joke, and the two students went together -down the road. - -"Don't let me delay you!" John said abruptly. - -"Oh, you're not preventing me in any way at all." - -"But Rebecca?" - -"Even the austerities of Ballinamult have not made you forget Rebecca?" - -"Hardly--I shouldn't like to think that I had been the cause of keeping -you from her even for a short while." - -There came between them now one of those long spells of silence which -seemed essential parts of their friendship. - -"You're in a queer mood this evening?" John said at last. - -"I suppose I am, and that there's no use in trying to hide it.... -D'ye know what it is, Brennan? We two seem to have changed a great -deal since last summer. _I_ simply can't look at things in the same -light-hearted way. I suppose I went too far, and that I must be paying -for it now. But there are just a few things I have done for which I am -sorry--I'm sorry about this affair with Rebecca Kerr." - -John was listening with quiet attention to the remarks which Ulick was -letting fall from him disjointedly. - -"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry that I should ever have come here to meet her, -for somehow it has brought me to this state of mind and not to any -happiness at all. I'm doubtful, too, if it has brought any happiness to -her." - -"That's strange," said John, "and I thought you two were very happy in -your friendship." - -"Happiness!" jerked out the other in a full, strong sneer. "That's -a funny word now, and a funny thing. Do you think that we deserve -happiness any more than those we see working around us in the valley? -Not at all! Rather less do we deserve. Just think of them giving their -blood and sweat so crudely in mortal combat with the fields! And what -does it avail them in the end? What do they get out of it but the -satisfaction of a few unkind thoughts and a few low lies? In the mean -living of their own lives they represent futile expeditions in quest -of joy. Yet what brings the greatest joy it is possible for them to -experience? Why, the fact that another's hope of happiness has been -finally desolated. If any great disaster should suddenly come upon one -or other of the three of us, upon you or me or Rebecca Kerr, they would -see more glory in the fulfilment of their spite than in the harvest -promise of their fields. And yet I here assert that these deserve to -be happy. They labor in the hard way it was ordained that man should -labor at Adam's fall, and they attend to their religion. They pray for -happiness, and this is the happiness that comes to them. Some must be -defeated and driven down from the hills of their dreams so that the -other ones, the deserving and the pious, may be given material for -their reward of joy. That, Brennan, is the only happiness that ever -descends upon the people of the valley. It may be said that they get -their reward in this life." - -Ulick was in one of those moods of eloquence which always came to him -after a visit to Garradrimna, and when a very torrent of words might -be expected to pour forth from him. John Brennan merely lifted his -eyebrows in mild surprise and said nothing as the other went on: - -"Happiness indeed. What have I ever done to deserve happiness? I have -not worked like a horse, I have not prayed?" - -"I was not thinking of any broad generalizations of happiness. I was -only thinking of happiness in your relation to Rebecca Kerr." - -Ulick now gave a sudden turn to the conversation: - -"Where were you wandering to the night?" he inquired of John Brennan. - -"Oh, nowhere in particular--just down the road." - -"Well, it seems strange that you should have come this way, past the -house of Sergeant McGoldrick." - -It appeared as if Ulick had glimpsed the tender spot upon which John -Brennan's thoughts were working and struck it with the sharp point of -his words. John did not reply, but it could be seen that his cheeks -were blushing even in the gloom that had come towards them down the -road. - -"I hope you will be very kind to her, John, when I am gone from here. -She's very nice, and this is the drear, lonely place for her to be. I -expect to be going away pretty soon." - -It seemed extraordinary that this thing should be happening now.... He -began to remember how he had longed for Rebecca last summer, and how -his poor yearning had been reduced to nothing by the favor with which -she looked upon his friend. And later how he had turned away out of the -full goodness of his own heart and returned again through power of a -fateful accident to his early purpose. And now how the good influence -of Father Considine had just come into his life to lead him finally -into the way for which he had been intended by his mother from the -beginning. - -He did not yet fully realize that this quiet and casual meeting which -had been effected because Ulick Shannon had accidentally come around -this way from Garradrimna represented the little moment which stood for -the turning-point of his life. But it had certainly moved into being -along definite lines of dramatic significance. - -Presently Ulick mounted a stile which gave upon a path leading up -through the fields of his uncle Myles and to the lonely house among the -trees. Then it was true that he was not seeing Rebecca to-night.... A -great gladness seemed to have rushed in upon John Brennan because he -had become aware of this thing. And further, Ulick Shannon was going -away from the valley and Rebecca remaining here to be lonely. But he, -who had once so dearly longed for her company, would be coming and -going from the valley daily, and summer was upon them again.... Ulick -must have bade him a "Good-night!" that he had not heard, for already -he could see him disappearing into the sea of white mist which would -seem to have rolled into the valley from the eternity of the silent -places.... He was left here now upon this lonely, quiet shore while his -mind had turned into a tumbling sea. - -When at last he roused himself and went into the kitchen he saw that -his mother had already settled herself to the task of reading a -religious paper to his father.... The elder man was sitting there so -woebegone by the few wet sods that were the fire. He was not very drunk -this evening, and the usual wild glint in his eyes was replaced by -the look of one who is having thoughts of final dissolution.... John -experienced a little shudder with the thought that he did not possess -any desire to speak to his father now. - -But his mother had broken in with a question: - -"Was that Ulick Shannon was with you outside just now?" - -"Yes, mother, it was." - -"He went home very early, didn't he?" - -"I suppose it is rather early for him to go home." - -"I think 'tis very seldom he bees with Rebecca Kerr now, whatever's the -reason, _whatever's the reason_." - -It was her repetition and emphasis of the final words which brought -about the outburst. - -Ned Brennan suddenly flamed up and snarled out: - -"Look ye here, Nan Byrne, that's no kind of talk to be giving out to -your grand, fine, educated young fellow of a son, and he be going on to -be a priest. That's the quare, suggestive kind of talk. But sure 'tis -very like you, Nan Byrne. 'Tis very like you!" - -Mrs. Brennan had just been on the point of beginning to read the -religious paper, and, with the thought of all her reading surging in -upon her in one crushing moment, she felt the cutting rebuff most -keenly and showed her confusion. She made no reply as John went up to -the room where his books were.... Long after, as he tried to recall -forgotten, peaceful thoughts, he could hear his father speaking out of -the heat of anger in the kitchen below. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -After she had failed to take her tea Rebecca walked the valley road -many times, passing and repassing their usual meeting place. But no -sign of Ulick did she find. She peered longingly into the sea of white -fog, but he did not come.... What in the world was happening to him at -all? Never before had he missed this night of the week.... She did not -care to return so early, for she feared that Mrs. McGoldrick might come -with that awful look of scrutiny she detested. Just to pass the time -she wandered down The Road of the Dead towards the lake. To-night it -seemed so lonely set there amid the sea of white. - -It was strange to think that this place could ever have had a fair look -about it or given pleasure to any person at all. Yet it was here that -John Brennan had loved to walk and dream. She wondered how it was with -him now. She began to think of the liking he had shown for her. Maybe -he fancied she did not know why he happened to meet her so often upon -the road. But well did she know--well. And to think that he had come to -look up at her window this evening. - -Yet even now she was fearful of acknowledging these things to herself. -It appeared as a double sacrilege. It was an attack upon her love for -Ulick and it questioned the noble intention of Mrs. Brennan in devoting -her son to God. But all chance that it might ever come to anything -was now over. The ending had been effected by herself in the parlor of -Tommy Williams, the gombeen-man, and Mrs. Brennan might never be able -to guess the hand she had had in it. It was a thing upon which she -might well pride herself if there grew in her the roots of pride. But -she was not of that sort. And now she was in no frame of delight at all -for the thought of him had united her unto the thought of Ulick, and -Ulick had not come to her this evening.... She felt herself growing -cold in the enveloping mist. The fir trees were like tall ghosts in -the surrounding gloom.... But immediately the lake had lost its aspect -of terror when she remembered what she had done might have averted the -possibility of having John Brennan ever again to wander lonely.... And -yes, in spite of any comforting thought, the place would continue to -fill her with a nameless dread. She was shivering and expectant. - -Suddenly a big pike made a splash among the reeds and Rebecca gave a -loud, wild cry. It rang all down the lonely aisle of the fir-trees and -united its sound with that of a lone bird crying on the other side of -the lake. Then it died upon the banks of mist up against the silent -hills. - -For a few moments its source seemed to flutter and bubble within her -breast, and then it ended in a long, sobbing question to herself--Why -had she cried out at all? She might have known it was only a fish or -some such harmless thing. And any one within reasonable distance could -have heard the cry and thought it was the signal of some terrible thing -that had happened here by the lakeside. It was not so far distant from -two roads, and who knew but some one had heard? Yet she could hardly -fancy herself behaving in this way if she had not possessed an idea -that it was a lonely place and seldom that any one went by in the -night-time. - -But she hurried away from the feeling of terror she had caused to -fill the place and back towards the house of Sergeant McGoldrick. As -quickly as possible she got to bed. Here seemed a little comfort. She -remembered how this had been her place of refuge as a child, how she -felt safe from all ghosts and goblins once her head was hidden beneath -the clothes. And the instinct had survived into womanhood. - -Again a series of those fitful, half sleeping and waking conditions -began to pass over her. Side by side with the most dreadful feelings of -impending doom came thronging memories of glad phases of life through -which she had passed.... And to think that this life of hers was now -narrowing towards this end. Were the valley and its people to behold -her final disaster? Was it to be that way with her? - -She had intended to tell Ulick if he had come to her this evening, -but he had not come, and what was she to do now? In the slough of -her torment she could not think of the right thing.... Maybe if she -wrote an angry letter upbraiding him.... But how could she write an -angry letter to him? Yet she must let him know, and immediately--when -the dawn had broken into the room she would write. For there was no -use in thinking of sleeping. She could not sleep. Yes, when the dawn -had broken into the room she would write surely. But not an angry -letter.... Very slowly she began to notice the corners of the room -appearing in the new light before her wide open eyes. And to feel that -this was the place she had so fiercely hated from the first moment -of setting foot in it, and that it was now about to see her write -the acknowledgment of her shame.... The dawn was a great while in -breaking.... If he did not--well then, what could her future life hope -to be? She began to grow strangely dizzy as she fell to thinking of it. -Dizzy and fearful as she drew near in mind to that very great abyss. - -The leaping-up of the day did not fill her with any of its gradual -delight.... She rose with a weariness numbing her limbs. The putting-on -of her few clothes was an immense task.... She went to the table upon -which she had written all those letters to her school-companions which -described that "there was nothing like a girlfriend." She pulled -towards her, with a small, trembling hand, the box of _Ancient Irish -Vellum_, upon which her special letters were always written. Her mind -had focussed itself to such small compass that this letter seemed more -important than any that had ever before been written in this world. - -But for a long time she could not begin. She did not know by what term -of endearment to address him now.... They had been so particularly -intimate.... And then it was so hard to describe her condition to -him in poor words of writing with pen and ink upon paper. If only -he had come to her last night it might have been a task of far less -difficulty. A few sobs, a gathering of her little troubled body unto -him, and a beseeching look up into his face.... But it was so hard to -put any single feeling into any separate sentence. - -After hours, during which the sun had been mounting high and bright, -she had the letter finished at last and was reading it over. Some -sentences like the following leaped out before her eyes here within -this sickly-looking room--Whatever was the matter with him that he -could not come to her? Surely he was not so blind, and he with his -medical knowledge. He must know what was the matter with her, and that -this was scarcely the time to be leaving her alone. His uncle, Myles -Shannon, was a very rich man, and did he not remember how often he had -told her how his uncle looked with favor upon her? Here she included -the very words in which Ulick had many a time described his uncle's -opinion of her--"I like that little schoolmistress, Rebecca Kerr!" "It -was all so grand, Ulick, our love and meetings; but here comes the -paying of the penalty, and surely you will not leave poor little me -to pay it in full. You have enjoyed me, have you not, Ulick?" She was -more immediately personal now, and this was exactly how the sentences -continued: "You know very well what this will mean to me. I'll have -to go away from here, and where, I ask you, can I go? Not back to my -father's house surely, nor to my aunt's little cottage in Donegal.... -I have no money. The poor salary I earn here is barely able to buy me -a little food and clothing and keep a roof over my head. Did I not -often tell you that when you were away from me there were times when -I could hardly afford the price of stamps? If it should happen that -this thing become public while I am yet here I could never get another -day's teaching, for Father O'Keeffe would warn every manager in Ireland -against engaging me. But surely, darling, you will not allow things to -go so far.... You will please come down to see me at 5.30 this evening. -You will find me at the old place upon The Road of the Dead. Don't you -remember that it was there we had our first talk, Ulick?" - -Great as the torture of writing it had been, the torture of reading -it was still greater. Some of the lines seemed to lash out and strike -her and to fill her eyes with tears, and there were some that seemed -so hard upon him that she struck them out, not wishing, as ever, -to hurt her dearest Ulick at all. At one moment she felt a curious -desire to tear it into pieces and let her fate come to her as it had -been ordained from the beginning.... But there was little Euphemia -McGoldrick knocking at the door to be allowed to enter with the -breakfast. Who would ever imagine that it was so late? - -She had written a great deal. Why it filled pages and pages. She -hurriedly thrust it into a large envelope that she had bought for the -purpose of sending a card of greeting to John Brennan at Christmas, -thinking better of it only at the last moment. It was useful now, for -the many sheets were bulky. - -"The breakfast, miss!" announced Euphemia as she left the room. - -This was the third meal in twenty-four hours that Rebecca could make -no attempt to take, but, to avert suspicion, she wrapped up the sliced -and buttered bread in a few leaves from the novelette from which she -had read those desperate passages on the previous evening. The tea she -threw out into the garden. It fell in a shining shower down over the -bright green vegetables.... She put on her dust-coat and, stuffing the -letter to Ulick into one pocket and her uneaten breakfast by way of a -luncheon she would not eat into the other, hurried out of doors and up -the road, for this morning she had important business in the village -before going on to the school. - -Mrs. McGoldrick was set near the foot of the stairs holding Euphemia -and Clementina by the hand, all three in action there to behold the -exit of Rebecca. This was a morning custom and something in the nature -of a rite. It was the last clout of torture always inflicted by Mrs. -McGoldrick. - -Rebecca went on into Garradrimna. The village street was deserted save -by Thomas James, who held solitary occupation. He was posting the -bills for a circus at the market square. She was excited as she went -over to speak to him and did not notice the eyes of the bespectacled -postmistress that were trained upon her from the office window with the -relentlessness of howitzers. She asked Thomas James would he take a -letter from her to Mr. Ulick Shannon. - -"Oh yes, miss; O Lord, yes!" - -She slipped the letter into his hand when she thought that no one was -looking. She had adopted this mode of caution in preference to sending -it through the Post Office. She was evidently anxious that it should be -delivered quickly and unread by any other person. - -"O Lord, yes, miss; just as soon as I have an auction bill posted after -this. You know, miss, that Mickeen Connellan, the auctioneer, is one of -my best patrons. He doesn't pay as well as the circus people, but he -pays oftener." - -That was in the nature of a very broad hint, but Rebecca had -anticipated it and had the shilling already prepared and ready to slip -into his other hand. - -"Thanks, miss!" - -With remarkable alacrity Thomas James had "downed tools" and -disappeared into Brannagan's. Rebecca could hear the swish of his pint -as she went by the door after having remained a few moments looking -at the lurid circus-bills. Inside, Mrs. Brannagan, the publican and -victualler's wife, took notice that he possessed the air of a man bent -upon business. - -"Ah, it's how I'm going to do a little message for the assistant -schoolmistress," he said, taking his matutinal pinch of salt, for this -was his first pint and one could never tell what might happen. - -"Is that so?" - -"Aye, indeed; a letter to young Shannon." - -"Well now? And why for wouldn't it do to send it by the post?" - -"Ah, mebbe that way wouldn't be grand enough for her. Mebbe it is what -it would be too chape--a penny, you know, for the stamp, and this -costs a shilling for the porter. Give us another volume of this, Mrs. -Brannagan, if you please? Ha-ha-ha!" He laughed loudly, but without any -mirth, at his own joke and the peculiar blend of subtlety by which he -had marked it. - -Mrs. Brannagan was all anxiety and excitement about the letter. - -"Well now, just imagine!" she said to herself about forty times as she -filled the second pint for Thomas James. Then she rose up from her bent -posture at the half barrel and, placing the drink before him on the -bar, said: - -"I wonder what would be in that letter. Let me see?" - -"Oh, 'tis only a letter in a big envelope. Aren't you the inquisitive -woman now, Mrs. Brannagan?" - -"What'll you have, Thomas?" - -"Ah, another pint, Mrs. Brannagan, thanks!" - -His second drink had been despatched with his own celebrated speed. - -Mrs. Brannagan was a notably hard woman, and he could not let the -opportunity of having her stand him a drink go by. She was the hardest -woman in Garradrimna. Her childlessness had made her so. She was -beginning to grow stale and withered, and anything in the nature of -love and marriage, with their possible results, was to her a constant -source of affliction and annoyance. - -Her heart was now bounding within her breast in curiosity. - -"Drink that quick, Thomas, and have another before the boss comes -down." But there was no need to command him. It had already -disappeared.... The fourth pint had found its way to his lips. He was -beginning to grow mellow now and to lose his cross-sickness of the -morning. - -"Will ye let me see the letter?" - -"Certainly, Mrs. Brannagan. O Lord, yes!" - -He handed it across the counter. - -"Such a quare letter? Oh, I hear the boss coming in across the yard." -... She had taken the empty glass from before Thomas James, and again -was it filled.... Her husband stood before her. And this was the moment -she had worked up to so well. - -"I'll hand it back to you when he goes out," she whispered. - -"All right, ma'am!" - -Thomas James and Mr. Brannagan fell into a chat while she went towards -the kitchen. She took the letter from her flat bosom, where she had -hastily thrust it and looked at it from every possible angle. It seemed -to possess a compelling attraction. But she could not open it here. -She would run across to her friend the postmistress, who had every -appliance for an operation of the kind. Besides she was the person -who had first right to open it.... Soon the bespectacled maid and the -barren woman were deep in examination of Rebecca Kerr's letter to Ulick -Shannon. Into their minds was beginning to leap a terrible joy as they -read the lines it had cost Rebecca immense torture to write. - -"This is great, this is great!" said the ancient postmistress, clicking -her tongue continually in satisfaction. "The cheek of her, mind you, -not to send it by the public post like another. But I knew well there -was something quare when I saw her calloguing with Thomas James at the -market square." - -"Wasn't she the sly, hateful, little thing. Why you'd never have -thought it of her?" - -"A grand person indeed to have in charge of little, innocent girls!" - -"Indeed I shouldn't like to have a child if I thought it was to a purty -thing like that she'd be sent to school!" - -"Nor me," said the old lady, from whom the promise of motherhood had -departed for many a long year. - -They shook in righteous anger and strong detestation of the sin of -Rebecca Kerr, and together they held council as to what might be the -best thing to do? They closed the letter, and Mrs. Brannagan again -stuck it into her bosom.... What should they do? The children must -be saved from contamination anyhow.... An approach to solution of -the difficulty immediately presented itself, for there was Mrs. Wyse -herself just passing down the street with her ass-load of children. -Mrs. Brannagan rushed out of the office and called: - -"Mrs. Wyse, I want to see you in private for just a minute!" - -The schoolmistress bent over the back of the trap, and they whispered -for several minutes. At last, out of her shocked condition, Mrs. Wyse -was driven to exclaim: - -"Well now, isn't that the limit?" - -It seemed an affront to her authority that another should have first -discovered it, so she was anxious to immediately recover her lost -position of superiority. - -"Sure I was having my suspicions of her since ever she come back from -the Christmas holidays, and even Monica McKeon too, although she's -a single girl and not supposed to know. It's a terrible case, Mrs. -Brannagan." - -"Terrible, Mrs. Wyse. One of the terriblest ever happened in the -valley.... And before the children and all." - -"God bless and save us! But we must only leave it in Father O'Keeffe's -hands. He'll know what is best to do, never fear. I'll send for him as -soon as I get to the school." - -There was a note of mournful resignation in her tones as she moved away -in the ass-trap with her children, like an old hen in the midst of her -brood.... There was a peculiar smirk of satisfaction about the lips -of Mrs. Brannagan as she returned to the shop, bent upon sending the -letter on its way once more. - -"Much good it'll do her now, the dirty little fool!" she said in the -happiness of some dumb feeling of vengeance against one who was merely -a woman like herself. But she was a woman who had never had a child. - -Thomas James was considerably drunk. He had spent the remainder of the -shilling upon porter, and Mr. Brannagan had stood him another pint. - -"Be sure and deliver it safely now, _for maybe it's important_!" said -Mrs. Brannagan, as she returned the letter. - -"It's a great letter anyhow. It's after getting me nine pints. That's -long over half-a-crown's worth of drink," he said, laughing foolishly -as he wandered out to do his errand. - -It was a hard journey across the rising meadows to the house of Myles -Shannon, where dwelt his nephew Ulick. Thomas James fell many times and -wallowed in the tall, green grass, and he fell as he went leaping high -hedges, and cut his hands and tore his red face with briars until it -was streaked with blood. He was, therefore, an altogether deplorable -figure when he at last presented himself at the house of Myles Shannon. -Mr. Shannon came to the door to meet him, and in his fuddled condition -he laughed to himself as he fished the letter out of his pocket. It was -covered red with blood where he had felt it with his torn hand from -time to time to see whether or not he still retained possession of it. - -"From Mr. Brannagan, I suppose," said Mr. Shannon, thinking it had been -written hurriedly by the victualler just fresh from the slaughterhouse -and that it was a request for prime beef or mutton from the rich -fields of Scarden. He opened it, for his nephew's name on the envelope -could not be seen through the blood-stains. He did not notice that it -began "My dearest Ulick" until he read down to the sentences that gave -him pause.... Thomas James was coughing insinuatingly beside him, so -he took half-a-crown from his pocket and handed it to the bedraggled -messenger. It was a tremendous reward, and the man of porter did not -fully perceive it until he had slipped out into the sunlight. - -"Be the Holy Farmer!" he stuttered, "another half-crown's worth of -drink, and I after drinking long more than that already. That was the -best letter I ever got to carry in me life. A few more like it and -I'd either get me death of drink or be a millionaire like John D. -Rockefeller or Andrew Carnegie!" - -Inside the parlor Myles Shannon was reading Rebecca Kerr's letter with -blanched face.... Here was a terrible thing; here had come to him this -great trouble for the second time. Something the like of this had -happened twenty-five or six years ago, when his brother had been in the -same case with Nan Byrne. Curious how it should be repeating itself -now! He pondered it for a few moments in its hereditary aspect. But -there was more in it than that. There was the trace of his own hand -determining it. He had encouraged his nephew with this girl. He had -directed him into many reckless ways just that he might bring sorrow to -the heart of Nan Byrne in the destruction of her son. It was a wicked -thing for him to have done. His own nephew--just to satisfy his desire -for revenge. And at the bottom of things he loved his nephew even as he -had loved his brother Henry. But he would try to save him the results, -the pains and penalties of his infatuation, even as he had tried -to save his brother Henry the results of his. But the girl and her -fate.... He would not be able to forget that until his dying day.... -For it was he who had done this thing entirely, done it in cold blood -too because he had heard that John Brennan had soft eyes for Rebecca -Kerr and that, to encourage his nephew and produce a certain rivalry, -might be the very best means of ruining the fair promise of Nan Byrne's -son. - -Only last night he had heard from Ulick that John Brennan had entered -the college at Ballinamult and that his prospects never looked so good -as at present.... To think of that now was to see how just it was that -his scheme should have so resulted, for it had been constructed upon a -very terrible plan. He had done it to avenge his defeated love for one -girl, and lo! it had brought another to her ruin. - -"Your uncle is a wealthy man." This sentence from the letter burned -before him, and he thought for a moment that here appeared the full -solution of the difficulty. But no. Of what use was that when the -dread thing was about to happen to her?... But for all that he would -send her money to-day or to-morrow, in some quiet way, and tell her -the truth and beseech her to go away before the final disgrace of -discovery fell upon her. His nephew must not know. He was too young -to marry now, least of all, a compulsory marriage after this fashion -to a schoolmistress. It was an ascent in the social standing of the -girl surely, for his brother Henry had disgraced himself with a mere -dressmaker. But any connection beyond the regrettable and painful -mistake of the whole thing was out of the question because, for long -years, the Shannons had been almost gentlemen in the valley. - -Ulick came into the room now. - -"Anything strange, uncle?" - -"Oh, nothing at all, only a letter from Mr. Brannagan about--about the -sheep. I suppose you're not going anywhere to-day. Please don't, for -I want you to give me a hand with the lambs after the shearing. And -to-night I'll want you to help me with some letters and accounts that -I've let slip for ever so long. I want you particularly." - -"All right, uncle!" - -How tractable and obliging his nephew had become ...! Last summer he -would not do a thing like this for any amount of coaxing. He would have -business in the valley at all times. But there was a far Power that -adjusted matters beyond the plans of men. Ulick had drifted out of the -room and Mr. Shannon again took the letter from his pocket. The sight -of the blood upon it still further helped the color of his thoughts -towards terror.... He crossed hurriedly to the bureau and slipped it -beneath the elastic band which held his letters from Helena Cooper, and -Mrs. Brennan's letter to her, and Mrs. Brennan's letter to his dead -brother Henry.... It seemed to belong there by right of the sad quality -which is the distinction of all shattered dreams.... And, just imagine, -he had considered his a wonderful scheme of revenge! But now it seemed -a poor and a mean thing. He could hardly think of it as a part of the -once proud, easy-going Myles Shannon, but rather the bitter and ugly -result of some devilish prompting that had come to him here in the lone -stretches of his life in this quiet house among the trees. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -More than ever on this morning was Rebecca aware that the keen eye -of Mrs. Wyse was upon her as she moved about the schoolroom. One of -the bigger girls was despatched to the other school for Monica McKeon -and Master Donnellan's assistant came in to Mrs. Wyse. She nodded the -customary greeting to Rebecca as she passed in. This interview was -unusual at such an early hour of the day. But it was never the custom -of either of them to tell her of what they were talking. As she busied -herself teaching the very smallest of the children she felt that the -eyes of both women were upon her. - -After what appeared to be a very long time Monica passed out. On this -second occasion she looked loftily across her glasses and gave no nod -of acknowledgment to Rebecca. Rebecca blushed at this open affront. She -felt that Mrs. Wyse must have something against her, something she had -told Monica just now.... And now the principal was exceedingly busy -with her pen as if writing a hurried note.... Rebecca heard the high, -coarse voice raised in command: - -"Euphemia McGoldrick, I want you!" - -Then came the timid "Yes, ma'am!" of Euphemia. - -"Here are two letters, child. Take this one to Father O'Keeffe, your -parish priest, and this to your mother, like a good child." - -"Yes'm!" - -Some fear of unknown things began to stir in the breast of Rebecca. -This connection of Mrs. McGoldrick with Mrs. Wyse's occupation of the -morning seemed to announce some dragging of her into the matter. But as -yet, although her mind moved tremulously in its excitement, she had, -curiously enough, no suspicion of what was about to happen. It could -not be that Mrs. Wyse had suspected. Oh, not at all. There was still -no danger. But it might be a near thing.... Already she had begun to -wonder would Ulick come to-night. But of course he would come. He was -not such a bad fellow. And he might be taken up with his own condition -just now. He had missed his examination in Dublin: missed it, maybe, -through his foolishness in coming to see her.... But already she had -thoroughly blamed herself for this.... To ease the pain of her mind -she went busily about her work. She knew that the eye of Mrs. Wyse was -upon her and that the very best way of defeating it was by putting on -this air of industry. The day, in its half-hour divisions, was passing -rapidly towards noon. - -A little girl came quickly in to say that Father O'Keeffe was coming up -the road. Rebecca glanced out of the window and, sure enough, there he -was upon his big, fat, white horse coming into the yard. She heard his -loud cries calling into the Boys' School "for a chap to come out and -hold his horse." When the boy came to do his bidding he held forth at -great length upon the best way of leading "King Billy" around the yard. - -Then the reverend manager of Tullahanogue Schools moved into the -female portion of the establishment. At the door he twisted his round -face into an aspect of severity which was still humorous in its alien -incongruity. Here also he removed his hat from his head, which was -white and bald like the apex of an egg above the red curve of his -countenance. It was his custom to visit the schools of which he was -manager, thus precociously to make up in some way for what he lacked in -educational knowledge and enthusiasm. As his short, squat figure moved -up the passage by the desks, the massive head bowed low upon the broad -chest and the fat fingers of both hands coiled behind his back, he was -not at all unlike an actor made up as Napoleon Bonaparte. His voice was -disciplined in the accents of militarism and dictatorship. - -Rebecca noticed on the instant that to-day he was as one intensified. -He began to slap his legs continuously with his silver-mounted riding -whip. He did not speak to her as he passed in. But, although it caused -her heart to flutter for a moment, this appeared to her as no unusual -occurrence. He never took notice of her unless when she called at the -vestry after Mass upon occasion to deliver up a slice of her salary in -Dues and Offerings. Then the Napoleonic powerfulness disappeared and -he fell to talking, with laughter in his words, about the richness of -Royal Meath in comparison with the wild barrenness of Donegal. - -He moved up to where Mrs. Wyse was at work. Rebecca could distinctly -hear the loud "Well, what's your best news?" with which he -always prefaced his conversations. In low whispers they began to -communicate.... It was not till now that she began to have immense -doubts as to the purpose of his visit, and already she was trembling in -presence of the little children. - -"An example of her, Father!" - -"Oh yes, an example of her. Nothing less, Mrs. Wyse!" - -The words came down to Rebecca clearly through the deep silence that -had fallen upon the school since the entrance of Father O'Keeffe. The -bigger girls were listening, listening in a great hush of patience for -all that had to be reported when they went home. Each one was preparing -for her respective examination-- - -"Was there any one in the school to-day?" - -"Yes, mother!" - -"Who, the inspector?" - -"No, the Priest!" - -"Father O'Keeffe?" - -"Well, anything else?" - -"He was talking to Mrs. Wyse." - -"And what was he saying?" - -"I couldn't hear, mother, so I couldn't." - -"And why didn't you listen? What am I slaving myself to send you to -school for?" - -And so they were listening with such eagerness now. They were looking -down at Rebecca as if she were the object of the whole discussion. Her -thoughts were beginning to well into a swirling unconsciousness.... -Great sounds, like those of roaring cataracts and the drumming of -mighty armies were rolling up to her ears. - -Father O'Keeffe and Mrs. Wyse now came down the schoolroom together. -As they passed Rebecca, Father O'Keeffe beckoned to her with his -riding-whip in the way one might call to a very inferior hireling. -Shaken by unique and powerful impulses, she went out into the -hall-way to meet her superiors.... Instantaneously she knew what had -happened--they knew. - -"Well, isn't this a nice thing?" began Father O'Keeffe. - -"Ye might say it's a nice thing, Father!" echoed Mrs. Wyse. - -"An enormous thing!" - -"A terrible thing! Father!" - -"You're a nice lady!" he said, addressing Rebecca angrily. "To come -into a parish where there is none save decent people to leave a black -disgrace upon it and you going away!" - -"Was ever the like known, Father? And just imagine her keeping it so -secret. Why we thought there was nothing in this affair with Ulick -Shannon. There was such an amount of cuteness in the way they used to -meet at times and in places we never knew of. In the woods, I suppose!" - -Father O'Keeffe was addressing her directly again. - -"Why, when I think of the disgrace to this school and all that, it -drives me near mad." - -"And, mind you, the shocking insult it is to me and to the little -children." - -"The shocking insult to you and to the little children. True for you, -Mrs. Wyse." - -"And when I think of how you have contrived to besmirch the fair name -of one of the fine, respectable families of the parish, gentlemen, as -you might say, without one blot upon their escutcheon." - -"People as high up as the Houlihans of Clonabroney." - -"People as high up as the Houlihans of Clonabroney, Mrs. Wyse." - -His eye was upon Rebecca with a sudden gleam. - -"When I think of that, I consider it an enormous offense...." She did -not flinch before them. She was thinking only of the way in which they -had come to hear it.... She was concerned now that Ulick should not -suffer, that his grand family name should not be dragged down with -hers.... If he had not come to her she would have slipped away without -a word.... And now to think that it had become public. The previous -burning of her mind had been nothing to this.... But Father O'Keeffe -was still speaking: - -"Listen to me, girl! You are to go from hence, but not, as you may -imagine, to the place from whence you came. For this very evening I -intend to warn your pastor of your lapse from virtue while in our -midst, so that you may not return to your father's house and have no -more hope of teaching in any National school within the four seas of -Ireland." - -"That is only right and proper, Father!" put in Mrs. Wyse. - -Rebecca was not listening or else she might have shuddered within the -shadow of the torture his words held for her. In these moments she -had soared far beyond them.... Through the high mood in which she -was accepting her tragedy she was becoming exalted.... What glorious -moments there would be, what divine compensation in whispering of the -torture surrounding its beginning to the little child when it came? - -"So now, Rebecca Kerr, I command you to go forth from this school and -from the little children that you corrupt towards your own abomination -by further presence among them." - -As he moved angrily out of the school she moved quietly, and without -speaking a word, to take her coat and hat down from the rack. - -"Oh, wait!" commanded Mrs. Wyse, "you must not leave until three, -until you have made an example of yourself here in a way that all the -children may bring home the story. God knows it will be the hard thing -for them to be telling their mothers when they go home. The poor little -things!" - -Rebecca stood there desolately alone in the hall-way through the -remainder of the afternoon. In one aspect she appeared as a bold child -being thus corrected by a harsh superior. On many more occasions than -appeared absolutely necessary Monica McKeon passed and repassed her -there as she stood so lonely. The assistant of the Boys' School was -a model of disdain as, with her lip curled, she looked away out over -her glasses. And ever and anon Mrs. Wyse passed in and out, muttering -mournfully to herself: - -"The cheek of that now, before the children and all!" - -And the elder girls moved about her in a procession of sneering. They -knew, and they were examining her for the purpose of giving full -accounts when they went home. - -But, occasionally, some of the little ones would come and gaze up into -her eyes with wild looks. Although they did not know why, they seemed -to possess for her an immense, mute pity. - -"Poor Miss Kerr!" they would say, stroking her dress, but their big -sisters would come and whisk them away. - -"Don't touch her. She's dirty----" Then Monica would pass again. At -last she heard the merciful stroke of three. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -When John Brennan went to his room after his father's outburst it was -with the intention of doing some preparation for the morrow's work at -the college; but although he opened several books in turn, he could -feel no quickening of knowledge in his mind.... There she was again -continually recurring to his thoughts. And now she was far grander. -This was the fear that had always been hidden in his heart,--that -somehow her friendship with Ulick was not a thing that should have -happened. But he had considered it a reality he could not attempt to -question. Yet he knew that but for Ulick she must be very near to him. -And Ulick had admitted his unworthiness, and so the separation was at -an end. - -It was surprising that this should have happened now. His mind sprang -back to all that tenderness with which his thoughts of her had been -surrounded through these long days of dreaming, when he had contrived -to meet her, as if by accident, on her way from school. - -All through the next day his heart was upon her; the thought of her -would give peace. Into every vacant moment she would come with the full -light of her presence. He had suddenly relapsed into the mood that had -imprisoned him after the summer holidays. He stood aloof from Father -Considine and did not wish to see him through the whole of his long day -in the college at Ballinamult.... All the way home he pictured her. -She was luring him now as she had always lured him--towards a fairer -vision of the valley. - -He noticed how the summer was again flooding over the fields like a -great river spilling wide. It was a glorious coincidence that she -should be returning to him now, a creature of brightness at a time of -beauty. - -The road seemed short this pleasant afternoon, and the customary -feeling of dusty weariness was not upon him as he leapt lightly off -the bicycle at his mother's door. Mrs. Brennan came out to meet him -eagerly. This was no unusual occurrence now that he had again begun to -ascend the ladder of the high condition she had planned for him. She -was even a far prouder woman now, for, somehow, she had always half -remembered the stain of charity hanging over his uprise in England. -Besides this he was nearer to her, moving intimately through the -valley, a living part of her justification.... Her fading eyes now -looked out tenderly at her son. There seemed to be a great light in -them this afternoon, a great light of love for him.... He was moved -beneath their gaze. And still she continued to smile upon him in a -weak way as within the grip of some strong excitement. He saw when he -entered that his dinner was not set out as usual on the white table in -the kitchen.... She brought him into the sewing-room. And still she -had the same smile trembling upon her lips and the same light in her -eyes.... All this was growing mysterious and oppressive. But his mood -was proof against sad influences. It must be some tale of good fortune -come to their house of which his mother had now to tell. - -"D'ye know what, John? The greatest thing ever is after happening!" - -"Is that a fact, mother?" - -"Though mebbe 'tis not right for me to tell you and you all as one as a -priest, I may say. But sure you're bound to hear it, and mebbe a little -knowledge of the kind might not be amiss even to one in your exalted -station. And then to make it better, it concerns two very near friends -of yours, Mr. Ulick Shannon and Miss Rebecca Kerr, I thank you!" - -John Brennan's mind leaped immediately to interest. Were they gone back -to one another, and after what he had thought to-day? This was the -question his lips carried inwardly to himself. - -"I don't know how I can tell you. But Father O'Keeffe was at school -to-day in a great whet. He made a show of her before the children, Mrs. -Wyse and Miss McKeon, of course, giving him good help. He dismissed -her, and told her to go about her business. He'll mebbe speak of her -publicly from the altar on Sunday." - -"And what is it, mother, what--?" - -"Oh, she's going to have a misfortune, me son. She's going to be a -mother, God bless us all! and not married or a ha'porth!" - -"O God!" - -"But sure she put in for nothing else, with her going up and all that -to Dublin to have her dresses made, instead of getting them done nice -and quiet and modest and respectable be me. I may tell you that I was -more than delighted to hear it." - -"Well now, and the--" - -John was biting his lips in passion, but she took another view of it as -she interrupted him. - -"Ah, you may well ask who _he_ is, who but that scoundrel Ulick -Shannon, that I was never done asking you not to speak to. You were -young and innocent, of course, and could not be expected to know what I -know. But mebbe you'll avoid him now, although I think he won't be long -here, for mebbe Father O'Keeffe'll run him out of the parish. Maybe -not though, for his uncle has bags of money. Indeed I wouldn't put it -apast him if _he_ was the lad encouraged him to this, for the Shannons -were always blackguards in their hearts.... But it'll be great to hear -Father O'Keeffe on Sunday. I must be sure and go to his Mass. Oh, it'll -be great to hear him!" - -"Yes, I suppose it will be great to hear him." - -John spoke out of the gathering bitterness of his heart. - -"I wonder what'll become of her now. I wonder where'll she go. Oh, to -Dublin, I suppose. She was always fond of it." - -His mother was in a very ecstasy of conjecture as to the probable -extent of Rebecca's fate. And this was the woman who had always -expressed a melting tenderness in her actions towards him. This was his -mother who had spoken now with all uncharitableness. There was such -an absence of human pity in her words as most truly appalled him.... -Very quickly he saw too that it was upon his own slight connection with -this tragic thing her mind was dwelling. This was to him now a token, -not of love, but rather of enormous selfishness.... Her eyes were upon -him still, watering in admiration with a weak gleam.... The four walls -seemed to be moving in to crush him after the manner of some medieval -torture chamber.... Within them, too, was beginning to rise a horrid -stench as of dead human things.... This ghastliness that had sprung -up between mother and son seemed to have momentarily blotted out the -consciousness of both. They stared at one another now with glassy, -unseeing eyes. - -After three Rebecca took her lonely way from the school. Neither Mrs. -Wyse nor Monica McKeon had a word for her at parting. Neither this -woman, who was many times a mother, nor this girl who might yet be a -mother many times. They were grinning loudly and passing some sneer -between them, as they moved away from one another alone. - -Down the valley road she went, the sunlight dazzling her tired eyes. -A thought of something that had happened upon this day last year came -with her remembrance of the date. It was the first anniversary of some -slight, glad event that had brought her happiness, and yet what a day -it was of dire happening? Just one short year ago she had not known the -valley or Ulick or this fearful thing.... There were friends about her -on this day last year and the sound of laughter, and she had not been -so far distant from her father's house. And, O God! to think that now -she was so much alone. - -Suddenly she became aware that there was some one running by her side -and calling "Miss Kerr! Miss Kerr!" - -"Oh, Janet Comaskey!" she said, turning. "Is it you?" - -"Yes, Miss Kerr. I want to tell you that I was talking to God last -night, and I was telling Him about you. He asked me did I like you, and -I said I did. 'And so do I,' said He. 'I like Miss Kerr very much,' He -said, 'for she's very nice, very, very nice.'" - -Rebecca had never disliked this queer child, but she loved her now, and -bending down, warmly kissed her wild face. - -"Thanks, miss. I only wanted to tell you about God," said Janet, -dropping behind. - -Rebecca was again alone, but now she was within sight of the house of -Sergeant McGoldrick. It seemed to be dozing there in the sunlight. She -began to question herself did those within already know ...? Now that -the full publicity of her condition seemed imminent an extraordinary -feeling of vanity was beginning to take possession of her. She took off -her dust-coat and hung it upon her arm. Thus uncloaked she would face -the eyes of Mrs. McGoldrick and her daughters, Euphemia and Clementina, -and the eyes, very probably, of John Ross McGoldrick and Neville -Chamberlain McGoldrick.... - -But when she entered the house she experienced the painful stillness of -a tomb-like place. There was no one to be seen. She went upstairs with -a kind of faltering in her limbs, but her head was erect and her fine -eyes were flashing.... Even still was she soaring beyond and beyond -them. Her eye was caught by a note pinned upon her door. It seemed very -funny and, despite her present condition of confusion and worry, she -smiled, for this was surely a melodramatic trick that Mrs. McGoldrick -had acquired from the character of her reading.... Still smiling, she -tore it open. It read like a proclamation, and was couched in the very -best handwriting of Sergeant McGoldrick. - - - "Miss Kerr, - - Rev. Louis O'Keeffe, P.P., Garradrimna, has given notice that, - on account of certain deplorable circumstances, we are to refuse - you permission to lodge with us any longer. This we hasten to - do without any regret, considering that, to oblige you at the - instigation of Father O'Keeffe, we broke the Regulation of the - Force, which forbids the keeping of lodgers by any member of that - body. We hereby give you notice to be out of this house by 6 p.m. - on this evening, May --, 19--, having, it is understood, by that - time packed up your belongings and discharged your liabilities to - Mrs. McGoldrick. Father O'Keeffe has, very magnanimously, arranged - that Mr. Charles Clarke is to call for you with his motor and take - you with all possible speed to the station at Kilaconnaghan. - - Sylvester McGoldrick (Sergeant, R.I.C.)." - - -The official look of the pronouncement seemed only to increase -its gloomy finality, but the word "magnanimously," fresh from the -dictionary at the Barrack, made her laugh outright. The offense she had -committed was unnamed, too terrible for words. She was being sentenced -like a doomed Easter rebel.... Yet, even still, she was not without -some thought of the practical aspect of her case. She owed thirty -shillings to Mrs. McGoldrick. This would leave her very little, out of -the few pounds she had saved from her last instalment of salary, with -which to face the world. This, of course, if Ulick did not come.... -And here was her dinner, set untidily in the stuffy room where the -window had not been opened since the time she had left it this morning -in confusion. And the whole house was quiet as the grave. She never -remembered to have heard it so quiet at any other time. It seemed as -if all this silence had been designed with a studied calculation of -the pain it would cause. There was no kindness in this woman either, -although she too was a mother and had young daughters. It appeared so -greatly uncharitable that in these last terrible moments she could -not cast from her the small and pitiful enmity she had begun upon the -evening of Rebecca's arrival in the valley. She would not come even -now and help her pack up her things, and she so weary?... But it was -easily done. The few articles that had augmented her wardrobe since -her coming to the valley would go into the basket she had used to -carry those which were barely necessary for her comfort when she went -to that lonely cottage in Donegal.... The mean room was still bare as -when she had first come to it. She had not attempted to decorate it. In -a pile in one corner stood the full series of _Irish School Weeklies_ -and _Weldon's Ladies' Journals_ she had purchased since her coming -here. She had little use for either of these publications now, little -use for the one that related to education or the other that related to -adornment. - -There came a feverish haste upon her to get done with her preparations -for departure, and soon they were completed. She had her trunk corded -and all ready. She had no doubt that Ulick would meet her upon The -Road of the Dead at 5.30, the hour she had named in the letter of this -morning. It was lucky she had so accurately guessed her possible time -of departure, although somehow she had had no notion this morning of -leaving so soon. But already it was more than 4.30 by her little -wristlet watch. She put on her best dress, which had been left out on -the bed, and redid her hair. It was still the certain salvage from the -wreck she was becoming. Ulick or any other man, for all he had ruined -her, must still love her for that hair of gold. It needed no crown at -all, but a woman's vanity was still hers, and she put on a pretty hat -which Ulick had fancied in Dublin. She had worn it for the first time -last summer in Donegal, and it became her better than any hat she had -ever worn.... What would they say if they saw her moving about in this -guise, so brazenly as it seemed, when she might be spoken of from the -altar on Sunday? - -Now fell upon her a melancholy desire to see the chapel. There was yet -time to go there and pray just as she had thought of praying on her -first evening on coming to Garradrimna. She took a final glance at the -little, mean room. It had not been a room of mirth for her, and she -was not sorry to leave it--there was the corded trunk to tell the tale -of its inhospitality. She took the money for Mrs. McGoldrick from her -purse and put it into an envelope.... Going downstairs she left it upon -the kitchen table. There was no one to be seen, but she could hear the -scurrying of small feet from her as if she were some monstrous and -forbidden thing. - -As she went up the bright road there was a flickering consciousness -in her breast that she was an offense against the sunlight, but this -feeling fled away from her when she went into the chapel and knelt down -to pray. Her mind was full of her purpose, and she did not experience -the distraction of one single, selfish thought. But when she put her -hands up to her face in an attitude of piety she felt that her face was -burning. - -It was a day for confessions, but there were few people in the chapel, -and those not approaching the confessionals. The two young curates, -Father Forde and Father Fagan, were moving about the quiet aisles, -each deeply intent upon the reading of his office. They were nearer -the altar than to her, but for all the air of piety in which they -seemed to be enveloped, they detected her presence immediately and -simultaneously. Soon they began to extend their back and forward pacing -to include her within the range of their sidelong vision.... By the -time she had got half way around her little mother-of-pearl rosary -they were moving past her and towards one another at her back. She was -saying her poor prayers as well as she could, but there they were with -their heads working up and down as they looked alternately at her and -at their holy books.... Just as she got to the end of the last decade -she was conscious that they had come together and were whispering -behind her.... It was not until then that she saw the chapel for what -it stood in regard to her. It was the place where, on Sunday next, mean -people would smirk in satisfaction as they sat listening in all their -lack of charity and fulness of pride.... The realization brought the -pulsing surge of anger to her blood and she rose to come away. But when -she turned around abruptly there were the two curates with their eyes -still fixed upon her.... She did not meet their looks full straight, -for they turned away as if to avoid the contamination of her as she ran -from the House of God. - -When John Brennan reached a point in his disgust where further -endurance was impossible he broke away from the house and from his -mother. He went out wildly through the green fields. - -But he would see her. He would go to her, for surely she had need of -him now.... If Ulick did not come.... And there was much in his manner -and conversation of the previous night to make it doubtful.... If he -did not take her away from this place and make her his own to protect -and cherish, there was only one course left open.... He knew little of -these things, for he knew little of the ways of life, but instinctively -he felt that Rebecca would now cling to Ulick and that Ulick would be a -great scoundrel if he spurned her from him. And what, he asked himself, -would he, John Brennan, do in that case? - -No answer would spring directly to his thoughts, but some ancient, -primeval feeling was stirring in his heart--the answer that men have -held to be the only answer from the beginning of the world. But that -was a dreadful thing which, in its eddying circles of horror, might -compass his own end also. - -But, maybe the whole story was untrue. He had heard his mother speak -many a time after the same fashion, and there was never one case of the -kind but had proved untrue. Yet it was terrible that no answer would -come flashing out from his wild thoughts, and already he had reached -The Road of the Dead. - -His wandering eyes had at last begun to rest upon a wide, green field. -He saw the wind and sun conspiring to ripple the grass into the -loveliest little waves. He had loved this always, and even the present -state of his mind did not refuse the sensation of its beauty. He went -and leaned across the field gate to gaze upon it. - -He turned suddenly, for there was a step approaching him along the -road. Yes, surely it was she. It was Rebecca Kerr herself coming -towards him down The Road of the Dead.... She was smiling, but from the -dark, red shadows about her eyes it was easy to see that she had quite -recently been crying. - -"Good evening, John Brennan!" she said. - -"Good evening, Miss Kerr!" - -There was a deep touch of concern, turning to anxiety, almost a rich -tenderness in his words. She heard them for what they were, and there -came to her clearly their accents of pity.... For the moment neither -seemed capable of finding speech.... Her eyes were searching The Road -of the Dead for the man she expected to meet her here. But he was not -coming. In the silence that had fallen between them John Brennan had -clearly glimpsed the dumb longing that was upon her.... He felt the -final gloom that was moving in around her ... yet he could not find -speech. - -"I'm going away from the valley," said Rebecca. - -He made some noise in his throat, but she could hear no distinct word. - -"It was not _you_ I expected to meet here this evening. It is so -strange how we have met like this." - -"I just came out for a walk," he stammered, at a loss for something -better to say. - -"I'm glad we have met," she said, "for this is the last time." - -It was easy to see that her words held much meaning for herself and -him.... He seemed to be nearer the brink as her eyes turned from him -again to search the road. - -"He will not come," she said, and there was a kind of wretched -recklessness in her tones. "I know he will not come, for that -possibility has never been." She grew more resigned of a sudden. She -saw that John Brennan too was searching the road with his eyes.... Then -he knew the reason why she was going away. - -He was such a nice boy, and between his anxious watching now for her -sake he was gazing with pity into her eyes.... He must know Ulick too -as a man knows his friend, and that Ulick would not come to her in this -her hour of trial.... The knowledge seemed the more terrible since it -was through John Brennan it had come; and yet it was less terrible -since he did not disdain her for what she had done. She saw through his -excuse. He had come this way with the special purpose of seeing her, -and if he had not met her thus accidentally he must inevitably have -called at the house of Sergeant McGoldrick to extend his farewell. She -was glad that she had saved him this indignity by coming out to her -own disappointment.... She was sorry that he had again returned to his -accustomed way of thinking of her, that he had again departed from the -way into which she had attempted to direct him. - -And now there loomed up for her great terror in this thought. Yet she -could read it very clearly in the way he was looking so friendly upon -her.... Why had he always looked upon her in this way? Surely she had -never desired it. She had never desired him. It was Ulick she had -longed for always. It was Ulick she had longed for this evening, and -it was John Brennan who had come.... Yes, how well he had come? It was -very simple and very beautiful, this action of his, but in its simple -goodness there was a fair promise of its high desolation. It appeared -that she stood for his ruin also, and, even now, in the mounting -moments of her fear, this appeared as an ending far more appalling.... -She was coming to look at her own fate as a thing she might be able to -bear, but there was something so vastly filled with torture in this -thought.... Whenever she would look into the eyes of the child and make -plans for its little future she would think of John Brennan and what -had happened to him. - -She felt that they had been a long time standing here at this gate, by -turns gazing anxiously up and down the road, by turns looking vacantly -out over the sea of grass. Time was of more account than ever before, -for was it not upon this very evening that she was being banished from -the valley? - -"I must go now," she said; "_he_ will never come." - -He did not answer, but moved as if to accompany her.... She grew -annoyed as she observed his action. - -"No, no, you must not come with me now. You must not speak with me -again. I have placed myself forever beyond your friendship or your -thought!" - -As she extended her hand to him her heart was moved by a thousand -impulses. - -"Good-by, John Brennan!" she said simply. - -"Good-by, Rebecca!" said he at last, finding speech by a tremendous -effort.... And without another word they parted there on The Road of -the Dead. - -Outside the garden gate of Sergeant McGoldrick Charlie Clarke was -waiting for her with his motor-car. Her trunk had been put in at the -back. This was an unholy job for a saintly chauffeur, but it was Father -O'Keeffe's command and his will must be done. When the news of it had -been communicated to him he had said a memorable thing: - -"Well, now, the quare jobs a religious man has sometimes to do; but -maybe these little punishments are by way of satisfaction for some -forgotten and far-distant sin!" - -Rebecca understood his anxiety to have her off his hands as she saw him -jump in behind the wheel at her approach. She got in beside her poor -trunk, and presently the car would be ready to start. There was not -a trace of any of the McGoldrick family to be seen.... But there was -a sudden breaking through the green hedge upon the other side of the -road, and Janet Comaskey stood beside the car. Rebecca was surprised by -the sudden appearance of the little, mad girl at this moment. - -"Miss Kerr, Miss Kerr!" she called. "I got this from God. God told me -to give you this!" - -The car started away, and Rebecca saw that the superscription on the -letter she had been handed was in the pronounced Vere Foster style of -Master Donnellan. Doubtless it was some long-winded message of farewell -from the kind-hearted master, and she would not open it now. It would -be something to read as she moved away towards Dublin. - -Just now her eyes were being filled by the receding pageant of the -valley, that place of all earth's places which had so powerfully -arrayed its villainy against her.... And to think that he had not -come.... It was the Valley of Hinnom.... Yes, to think that he had not -come after all she had been to him, after all the love of her heart -she had given him. No word could ever, ever pass between them again. -They were upon the very brink of the eternity of separation. She knew -now that for all the glory in which she had once beheld him, he must -shrivel down to the bitter compass of a little, painful memory. Oh, -God! to think he had not replied to her letter, and the writing of it -had given her such pain. - -They were at the station of Kilaconnaghan. Charlie Clarke had not -spoken all through the journey, but now he came up to her indignantly, -as if very vexed for being compelled to speak to her at all, and said: -"The fare is one pound!" - -The words smote her with a little sense of shock. She had been -expecting something by way of climax. She was very certain in her -consciousness that the valley would not let her slip thus quietly -away.--A pound for the journey, although it was Father O'Keeffe who -had engaged the car.--She must pay this religious robber a huge price -for the drive. There rushed through her mind momentarily a mad flash -of rebellion. The valley was carrying its tyranny a little too far.... -She would not pay.... But almost immediately she was searching for a -note in her purse.... There were so very few of them now. Yet she could -not leave the valley with any further little stain upon her. They would -talk of a thing like this for years and years. - - -With a deadly silence hanging over him and fearful thoughts coming into -his mind Myles Shannon had kept himself and his nephew Ulick at work -all through the day. After tea in the lonely dining-room he fetched -in his inky account books, which had been neglected for many a month. -His nephew would here have work to occupy him for the remainder of the -evening and probably far into the night. Ulick was glad of the task, -for his mind was very far from being at ease. - -Then Mr. Shannon took L100 from the old-fashioned bureau in the parlor, -which held, with the other things, all his papers and accounts, -and while the evening was yet high went down towards the house of -Sergeant McGoldrick to see Rebecca Kerr. Around a bend of the road he -encountered Charlie Clarke on his way back from Kilaconnaghan, where he -had been delayed upon bazaar business. - -The saintly chauffeur at once put on the brakes. This was Mr. Myles -Shannon and some one worth speaking to. He bowed a groveling salute. - -"You're out pretty late?" said Mr. Shannon. - -"Oh, yes!" And then he went on to describe his work of the evening. -He felt inclined to offer his condolence to Mr. Shannon in a most -respectful whisper, but thought better of it at the last moment. - -"And no one knows where she has gone?" - -"No one. She has disappeared from the valley." - -"She went away very suddenly." - -"Yes, Father O'Keeffe saw that, in the public interest, she should -disappear after this fashion. The motor was a help, you know." - -Charlie Clarke offered to drive Mr. Shannon to his home. No word passed -between them as they drew up the avenue to the lonely house among the -trees. - -In the train, moving on towards Dublin, Rebecca Kerr had just opened -the letter from Master Donnellan. It contained a L5 note.... This was -like a cry of mercy and pardon for the valley.... The rich fields of -Meath were racing by. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -There was a curious hush about the lake next evening, although the -little cottage of Hughie Murtagh was swept by winds which stirred -mournfully through all the bright abundance of early summer. Even the -orange-blossoms of the furze seemed to put on an aspect of surrender. -There was no challenge in their color now; they looked almost white -against a somber sunset. John Brennan moped about among the fir-trees. -He came to a stand-still by one that had begun to decay and which was -even more mournful in its failure to contribute another plumed head to -the general effect of mourning. But it seemed to shake enraged at this -impotence in its poor foundation over the deserted warren, from which -Shamesy Golliher had long since driven the little rabbits towards that -dark Chicago of slaughter which was represented to them by Garradrimna. - -The same color of desolation was upon the reeds which separated -him from the water. The water itself had, beneath its pretense of -brightness upon the surface, the appearance of ooze, as if it had come -washing over the slime of dead things. - -It was here that John Brennan had come to wait for Ulick Shannon, and, -as he waited, his mood became that of his surroundings.... He fell to -running over what had happened to him. Alternately, in the swirl of his -consciousness, it appeared as the power of the valley and as the Hand -of God. Yet, whatever it might be in truth, this much was certain. It -had reduced his life to ruins. It was a fearful thing, and he shuddered -a little while he endeavored to produce a clear picture of it for the -chastisement as well as the morbid excitement of his imagination. - -But there came instead a far different picture, which seemed to have -the effect of lifting for a moment the surrounding gloom. He saw -Rebecca Kerr again as upon many an afternoon they had met. For one -brave moment he strove to recover the fine feeling that had filled -him at those times. But it would not come. Something had happened, -something terrible which soiled and spoiled her forever. - -For love of her he had dreamed even unto the desire of defeating his -mother's love. And yet there was no triumph in his heart now, nothing -save defeat and a great weariness. Neither his mother nor Rebecca Kerr -were any longer definite hopes upon which his mind might dwell.... -His thoughts were running altogether upon Ulick Shannon. It was for -Ulick he waited now in this lonely, wind-swept place, like any villain -he had ever seen depicted upon the cover of a penny dreadful in -Phillips's window when he was a boy. He now saw himself fixed in his -own imagination after this fashion. Ulick Shannon would soon come. -There was no doubt of this, for a definite appointment had been made -during the day. He had remained at home from the college in Ballinamult -to bring it about. Soon they would be endeavoring to enter what must -be the final and tragic bye-way of their story. And it must be all so -dreadfully interesting, this ending he had planned.... Now the water -came flowing towards him more rapidly as if to hurry the tragedy. It -came more thickly and muddily and with long, billowy strides as if -it yearned to gather some other body still holding life to its wild -breast. Its waters kept flowing as if from some wide wound that ached -and would not be satisfied; that bled and called aloud for blood -forever. - -Now also the evening shadows were beginning to creep down the hills and -with them a deeper hush was coming upon the wild longing of all things. -Yet it was no hush of peace, but rather the concentration of some -horrible purpose upon one place. - -"I am going away on Friday," Ulick had written in one of the two notes -that had been exchanged between them by the messenger during the day, -"and I would like to see you for what must, unfortunately, be the last -time. I am slipping away unknown to my uncle or to any one, and it is -hardly probable that I will be seen in these parts again." - -At length he beheld the approach of Ulick down the long Hill of -Annus.... His spirit thrilled within him and flamed again into a white -flame of love for the girl who was gone.... And coming hither was the -man who had done this thing.... The thickest shadows of the evening -would soon be gathered closely about the scene they were to witness.... -The very reeds were rustling now in dread. - -The lake was deep here at the edge of the water.... And in the -rabbit-warren beneath his feet were the heavy pieces of lead piping -he had transported in the night. He had taken them from his father's -stock of plumber's materials, that moldy, unused stock which had so -long lain in the back yard and which, in a distant way, possessed an -intimate connection with this heaped-up story.... In a little instant -of peculiar consciousness he wondered whether it would be pliable -enough.... There were pieces for the legs and pieces for the arms which -would enfold those members as in a weighty coffin.... And hidden nearer -to his hand was the strangely-shaped, uncouth weapon his father had -used many a time with such lack of improvement upon the school slates -and with which one might kill a man.... The body would rest well down -there beneath the muddy waters.... There would be no possibility of -suspicion falling upon him, for the story of Rebecca Kerr's disgrace -and Ulick Shannon's connection with it had already got about the -valley.... He had been listening to his mother telling it to people all -day.... Ulick's disappearance, in a way self-effacing and unnamed, was -hourly expected. This opportunity appeared the one kind trick of Fate -which had been so unkind to the passionate yearnings of John Brennan. - -But Ulick Shannon was by his side, and they were talking again -as friends of different things in the light way of old.... Their -talk moved not at all within the shadows of things about to happen -presently.... But the shadows were closing in, and very soon they must -fall and lie heavily upon all things here by the lake. - -"Isn't it rather wonderful, Brennan, that I should be going hence -through the power of a woman? It is very strange how they always manage -to have their revenge, how they beat us in the long run no matter how -we may plume ourselves on a triumph that we merely fancy. Although -we may degrade and rob them of their treasure, ours is the final -punishment. Do you remember how I told you on that day we were at the -'North Leinster Arms,' in Ballinamult, there was no trusting any woman? -Not even your own mother! Now this Rebecca Kerr, she--" - -The sentence was never finished. John Brennan had not spoken, but his -hand had moved twice--to lift the uncouth weapon from the foot of -the tree and again to strike the blow.... The mold of unhappy clay -from which the words of Ulick had just come was stilled forever. The -great cry which struggled to break from the lips resulted only in a -long-drawn sigh that was like a queer swoon. The mournful screech of a -wild bird flying low over the lake drowned the little gust of sound.... -Then the last lone silence fell between the two young men who had once -been most dear companions. - -No qualms of any kind came to the breast of John Brennan. He had -hardened his heart between the leaping flames of Love and Hate, and -there was upon him now the feeling of one who has done a fine thing. -He was in the moment of his triumph, yet he was beginning to be amazed -by his sudden power and the result of his decision.... That he, John -Brennan, should have had it in him to murder his friend.... But no, it -was his enemy he had murdered, the man who had desecrated the beauty of -the world.... And there was a rare grandeur in what he had done. It was -a thing of beauty snatched from the red hands of Death. - -Yet as he went about his preparations for submerging the body he felt -something akin to disgust for this the mean business of the murder.... -Here was where the beauty that had been his deed snapped finally from -existence in his consciousness and disappeared from him. - -Henceforth gray thought after gray thought came tumbling into his -mind. Ulick had not been a bad fellow. He had tried to be kind to -him--all the motor-drives and the walks and talks they had had. Even -the bits of days and nights spent together in Garradrimna.... And how -was Ulick to know of his affection for Rebecca Kerr? There had never -been the faintest statement of the fact between them; his whole manner -and conversation and the end for which he was intended forbade any -suspicion of the kind. In fact to have had such a doubt would have -been a sin in the eyes of many a Catholic.... The legs and arms were -well weighted now.... This might not have happened if his mother had -been attended in the right spirit of filial obedience.... But with -the arrogance of youth, which he now realized for the first time, he -had placed himself above her opinion and done what he had desired at -the moment. And why had he done so?... She would seem to have had -foreboding of all this in the way she had looked upon him so tenderly -with her tired eyes many a time since his memorable home-coming last -summer. She had always been so fearfully anxious.... Here must have -been the melancholy end she had seen at the back of all dreaming.... He -could feel that sad look clearly, all dimmed by dark presentiments. - -The body was a great weight. He strove to lift it in his arms in such a -way that his clothes might not be soiled by the blood.... His face was -very near the pale, dead face with the red blood now clotting amongst -the hair.... He was almost overpowered by his burden as he dragged it -to the water's edge.... It was a very fearful thing to look at just as -the water closed over it with a low, gurgling sound, as if of mourning, -like the cry of the bird in the moment the murder had been done. - -As he staggered back from the sighing reeds he noticed that the ground -was blood-drenched beneath the tree.... But he was doing the thing most -thoroughly. In a frenzy of precautionary industry he began to hack away -the earth with the slating implement very much as Shamesy Golliher -might hack it in search of a rabbit. - -Later he seemed to put on the very appearance of Shamesy himself as, -with bent body, he slouched away across the ridge of the world. He too -had just effected a piece of slaughter and Garradrimna seemed to call -him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - -When he came out upon the valley road he was no longer the admirable -young man he had been less than a year since. He was a broken thing, -and he was stained by another's blood. He was marked eternally by what -he had done, and there was upon him a degradation unspeakable. He was -an offense against existence and against the gathering, blessed gloom -of the quiet evening.... He had murdered one who had been his friend, -and it was a thing he might never be able to forget. The body, with -all the lovely life so recently gone from it, he had weighted and sunk -beneath the surface of the lake.... It was down there now, a poor, dead -thing among the ooze of dead things from which the water had taken its -color and quality. The wild spirit that had been Ulick Shannon, so -contradictory in its many aspects, was now soaring lightly aloft upon -the wings of clean winds and he, John Brennan, who had effected this -grand release, felt the weights still heavy about his heart. - -He came on a group of children playing by the roadside. It seemed -as if they had been driven across his path to thwart him with their -innocence. He instantly remembered that other evening when he had been -pained to hear them express the ugly, uncharitable notions of their -parents regarding a child of another religion. Now they were playing -merrily as God had intended them to play, and religion, with its -tyranny of compulsion towards thoughts of death and sin, seemed distant -from them, and distant was it from him too. His mind was empty of any -thought. Would no kindly piece of imagination come down to cool his -spirit with its grace or lift from his heart the oppression of the -leaden weights he had bound about the body of Ulick Shannon?... At last -he had remembrance of his mother. It had been borne in upon him during -some of his lonely cycle-rides to and from Ballinamult that things -should not be, somehow, as they were. He was moving along exalted ways -while his mother labored in lonely silence at her machine.... Where -was the money coming from? Such an unproductive state as his required -money for its upkeep. His father was no toiler, but she was always -working there alone in the lonely room. Her hands were grown gnarled -and hard through her years of labor.... Just presently she was probably -discussing a dismal matter of ways and means with some woman of the -valley, saying as she had said through the long years: - -"Thank God and His Blessed Mother this night, I still have me -hands. Aye, that's what I was just saying to Mrs. So and So this -morning--Thank God I still have me hands!" - -Thus she was going on now, he imagined, as he had always heard her, a -pathetic figure sitting there and looking painfully through the heavy, -permanent mist that was falling down upon her eyes. And yet it was -not thus she really was at this moment. For although it was a woman -who held her company, there was no mood of peace between them. It was -Marse Prendergast who was with her, and she was proceeding busily with -her eternal whine. Mrs. Brennan was now disturbed in her mind and -fearful of the great calamity that might happen. While she had bravely -maintained the money in the little chest upstairs there had lingered, -in spite of every affliction, a sense of quietness and independence. -But now she was without help and as one distraught. Of late this -gibbering old woman had obtained a certain power over her, and a -considerable portion of the once proud Mrs. Brennan had fallen finally -away. Although, at unaccountable moments, her strong pride would spring -up to dazzle the people of the valley, she did not now possess that -remarkable imperviousness which had so distinguished her attitude -towards life. Now she was in a condition of disintegration, unable -to maintain an antagonism or hide a purpose. The old ruined woman, -the broken shuiler of the roads, was beginning to behold the ruins of -another woman, the ruins of Mrs. Brennan, who had once been so "thick" -and proud. - -"So you won't hearken to me request?" - -"I can't, Marse dear. I have no money to give you!" - -This was a true word, for the little store upstairs had gone this way -and that. Tommy Williams had had to be given his interest, and although -people might think that John was getting his education for charity, no -one knew better than she the heavy fees of the college in Ballinamult. -Besides, he must keep up a good appearance in the valley. - -But when Marse Prendergast made a demand she knew no reason and could -make no allowance. - -"Well, Nan, me dear, I must do me duty. I must speak out when you can't -bribe me to be silent. I must do a horrid piece of business this night. -I must turn a son against his mother. Yes, that must be the way of it -now, a son turned for good against his mother. For surely there could -be no pardon in his grand, holy eyes for what you were once upon a -time. But let me tell you this, that I'd have acquainted him anyhow, -for I'd not have gone to me grave with that sin on me no matter what. -They say it isn't right to offer a son to God where there's after being -any big blemish in the family, and that if you do a woful misfortune or -a black curse comes of it. And sure that was the quare, big blemish in -your family, Nan Byrne, the quarest blemish ever was." - -Mrs. Brennan began to cry. She seemed to have come at last to the end -of all her long attempt to brazen things out.... Marse Prendergast was -not slow to observe this acceptance of defeat, and saw that now surely -was her time to be hard and bitter. She was growing so old, a withered -stump upon the brink of years, and there was upon her an enormous -craving for a little money. People were even driven, by her constant -whine for this thing and that, to say how she had a little store of her -own laid by which she gloated over with a wicked and senile delight. -And for what, in God's name, was she hoarding and she an old, lone -woman with the life just cross-wise in her?... And it was always Mrs. -Brennan whom she had visited with her singular and special persecution. - -"I suppose now you think you're the quare, clever one to be going on -with your refusals from day to day. I suppose you think I don't know -that you have a _chesht_ full of money that you robbed from poor Henry -Shannon, God be good to him, when he used to be coming running to see -you, the foolish fellow!" - -"As God's me judge, Marse Prendergast, I haven't e'er a penny in the -house. I'm in debt in Garradrimna this blessed minute, and that's as -sure as you're there!" - -"Go on out of that with your talk of debts, and you to be sending your -son John through his college courses before all our eyes like any fine -lady in the land. And think of all the grand money you'll be getting -bye and bye in rolls and cartloads!" - -"Aye, with the help of God!" - -Even in the moment of her torment Mrs. Brennan could not restrain her -vanity of her son. - -"And to think of all that being before you now and still you keep up -your mean refusals of the little thing I ask," said the old woman with -the pertinacious unreasonableness of age. - -"I haven't got the money, Marse, God knows I haven't." - -"God knows nothing, Nan Byrne, only your shocking villainy. And 'tis -the great sin for you surely. And if God knows this, it is for some one -else to know your sin. It is for your son John to know the kind of a -mother that he loves and honors." - -Mrs. Brennan had heard this threat on many an occasion yet even now -the repetition of it made her grow suddenly pale.... An expression -of sickliness was upon her face seen even through the shadowed -sewing-room. Always this thought had haunted her that some time John -might come to know. - -"Long threatening comes at last!" was a phrase that had always held for -her the darkest meaning. She could never listen to any woman make use -of it without shuddering violently. Marse Prendergast had threatened -so often and often. - -"Ah, no, Nan Byrne, this is something I could never let pass. And all -the long days I saw you contriving here at the machine, and you so -anxious and attentive, sure I used to be grinning to myself at the -thoughts of the bloody fine laugh I'd be having at you some day. I -used, that's God's truth!" - -It seemed terrible to be told the story of this hate that had been -so well hidden, now springing up before her in a withering blast of -ingratitude and being borne to her understanding upon such quiet -words.... She sighed ever so slightly, and her lips moved gently in the -aspiration of a prayer. - -"O Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" was what she said. - -The pious ejaculation seemed to leap at once towards the accomplishment -of a definite purpose, for immediately it had the effect of moving -Marse Prendergast towards the door. - -"I'm going now!" - -The words were spoken with an even more chilling quietness. Mrs. -Brennan made a noise as if to articulate something, but no words would -come from her. - -"And let you not be thinking that 'tis only this little thing I'm going -to tell him, for there's a whole lot more. I'm going to tell him _all_ -I know, _all that I didn't tell you_ through the length of the years, -though, God knows, it has been often burning me to tell.... You think, -I suppose, as clever as you are, that the child was buried in the -garden. Well, that's not a fact, nor the color of a fact, for all I've -made you afraid of it so often.... Grace Gogarty had no child of her -own for Henry Shannon. _Ulick Shannon is your own child that was sold -be your ould mother for a few pound!_" - -"That's a lie for you, Marse Prendergast!" - -"'Tis no lie at all I'm telling you, but the naked truth. I suppose -neither of them lads, Ulick nor John, ever guessed the reason why they -were so fond of one another, but that was the reason; and 'tis I used -to enjoy seeing them together and I knowing it well. Isn't it curious -now to say that you're the mother of a blackguard and the mother of the -makings of a priest?... Mebbe you'd give me the little bit of money -now? Mebbe?" - -Mrs. Brennan did not answer. Big tears were rolling down her cheeks -one after the other.... Her heart had been rent by this sudden flash -of information. Even the last remaining stronghold of her vanity had -been swept away. That she, who had claim in her own estimation to be -considered the wise woman of the valley, could not have long since -guessed at the existence of a fact so intimate.... Her heart was -wounded, not unto death, but immortally.... Her son! Ulick Shannon her -son! O Mother of God! - - -John Brennan was still in his agony as he saw the long-tongued shuiler -coming towards him down the road. She was making little journeys into -the ditches as she came along. She was gathering material for a fire -although every bush was green.... She was always shivering at the -fall of night. The appearance of the children had filled him with -speculations as to where he might look for some comfort.... Could it be -derived from the precepts of religion translated into acts of human -kindness? Momentarily he was confused as he attempted to realize some -act of goodness to be done here and now. He was unable to see. - -Old Marse Prendergast, coming towards him slowly, was the solitary -link connecting his mind with any thought. To him she appeared the -poor old woman in need of pity who was gathering green sticks from the -hedge-rows to make her a fire which would not kindle. He remembered -that morning, now some time distant, when he had helped her carry home -a bundle of her sticks on his way from Mass. It had appeared to him -then, as it did now, a Christ-like action, but his mother had rebuked -him for it. Yet he had always wished his mother to take the place of -Mary when he tried to snatch some comfort from the Gospel story. Soon -he was by her side speaking as kindly as he could.... Great fear was -already upon him. - -"God bless you, me little Johneen, me little son; sure 'tis yourself -has the decent, kind heart to be taking pity upon the old. Arrah now! -You're alone and lonely this evening, I notice, for your friend is gone -from you. It bees lonely when one loses one's comrade. Ah, 'tis many a -year and more since I lost me comrade through the valley of life. Since -Marks Prendergast, the good husband of me heart and the father of me -children, was lost on me. Sure he was murdered on me one St. Patrick's -Day fair in Garradrimna. He was ripped open with a knife and left there -upon the street in his blood for me to see.... That's the way, that's -the way, me sweet gosoon; some die clean and quiet, and some go away in -their blood like the way they came." - -Had she devoted much time and skill to it she could not have produced -a more dire effect upon John than by this accidental turn of her -talk.... The scene by the lakeside swam clearly into his eyes again. - -"I suppose _your_ good comrade is gone away?" - -"Whom, what?" - -"Ulick Shannon, to be sure. I suppose he's after slipping away be this -time anyway." - -"Aye, he's gone away." - -"That was what you might call the nice lad. And it was no wonder at all -that you were so much attached to one another. Never a bit of wonder at -all.... Sure you were like brothers." - -John was so solicitous in maintaining his silence that he did not -notice the old woman's terrible sententiousness.... He went on pulling -green sticks from the hedge and placing them very carefully by the side -of those she had already gathered. - -"Just like brothers. That's what ye were, just like brothers. He, he, -he!" - -Although he did not detect the note of laughter in it that was hollow -and a mockery, he was nevertheless appalled by what should appear as -a commendation of him who was gone.... He felt himself shaking even -as the leaves in the hedgerows were being shaken by the light wind of -evening. - -"Like brothers, _avic machree_." - -Even still he did not reply. - -"Like brothers, I say, and that's the whole story. For ye were -brothers. At least you were of the one blood, because ye had the same -woman for the mother of ye both." - -Certainly she was raving, but her words were having an unusual effect -upon him. He was keeping closer to the hedge as if trying to hide his -face. - -"To-night, me fine gosoon, I'm going to do a terrible thing. I'm going -to tell you who your mother is, and then you'll know a quare story. -You'll know that Ulick Shannon, good luck to him wherever he's gone, -was nothing less than your own brother.... It is she that is after -forcing me on to it be her penurious and miserly ways. I didn't want to -tell ye, John! I say, I didn't want to tell ye!" - -Her old, cracked voice trailed away into a high screech. John Brennan -was like a man stunned by a blow as he waited for her to speak the rest -of the story. - -"Ulick Shannon's father, Henry Shannon, was the one your mother loved. -She never cared for your father, nor he for her. So you might say you -are no love child. But there was a love child in it to be sure, and -that child was Ulick Shannon. Your mother was his mother. He was born -out of wedlock surely, but he happened handy, and was put in the place -of Grace Gogarty's child that died and it a weeshy, young thing.... It -was your grandmother that sold him, God forgive her, if you want to -know, for I was watching the deed being done.... Your mother always -thought the bastard was murdered in the house and buried in the garden. -I used to be forever tormenting her by making her think that only it -was me could tell. There was no one knew it for certain in the whole -world, only me and them that were dead and gone. So your mother could -not have found out from any one but me, and she might never have found -out only for the way she used to be refusing me of me little dues.... -But I can tell you that she found out this evening how she was the -mother of Ulick Shannon, and that you, the beloved son she cherished -in her heart and put on in all her pride to be a priest of God, was a -near blood relation of the boy she was never done but running down. The -boy that she, above all others, with her prate and gab made a drunkard -of in the first place, and then rushed on, be always talking of the -like about him, to do great harm to this girl. But sure it was myself -that could not blame him at all, for it was in him both ways, the poor, -unfortunate gosoon!" - -There was no reason to doubt the old shuiler's story, with such -passionate vehemence did it fall from her. And its coherence was very -convincing. It struck him as a greater blow which almost obliterated -his understanding. In the first moment he could stand apart from it -and look even blindly it appeared as the swift descent of Divine -vengeance upon him for what he had just done.... He moved away, his -mind a bursting tumult, and without a sight in his eyes.... The mocking -laughter of Marse Prendergast rang in his ears. Now why was she -laughing at him when it was his mother who was her enemy? - -He was walking, but the action was almost unnoticed by him. He was -moving aimlessly within the dark, encircling shadow of his doom.... Yet -he saw that he was not far distant from Garradrimna.... The last time -he had been there at the period of the day he had been in company with -Ulick Shannon. It was what had sprung out of those comings together -that was now responsible for this red ending.... He remembered also -how the port wine had lifted him out of himself and helped him to see -Rebecca Kerr.... The windows were squinting through the gloom as he -went the road. - -There was stronger drink in Garradrimna and pubs. of greater intensity -than McDermott's. There was "The World's End," for instance, that -tavern so fantastically named by the Hon. Reginald Moore in memory of -an inn of the same name that had struck his fancy in England.... The -title now seemed particularly appropriate. - -It was towards this place his feet were moving. In another spell -of thought which surprised him by the precaution it exhibited, he -remembered that his father would not be there; for, although it had -been Ned Brennan's famous haunt aforetime, he had been long ago -forbidden its doors. It was in this, one of the seven places of -degradation in Garradrimna, he was now due to appear. - -He went very timidly up to the back-door, which opened upon a little, -secluded passage. He ordered a glass of whiskey from the greasy barmaid -who came to attend him.... He felt for the money so carefully wrapped -in tissue-paper in his waistcoat pocket. It was a bright gold sovereign -that his mother had given him on the first day of his course at -Ballinamult College to keep against any time he might be called upon to -show off the fact that he was a gentleman. As he unfolded it now, from -the careful covering in which she had wrapped it, it seemed to put on a -tragic significance.... He was fearfully anxious to be in the condition -that had brought him his vision on the night he had slept by the lake. - -He drank the whiskey at one gulp, and it seemed a long time until -the barmaid returned with the change. Sovereigns were marvels of -rare appearance at "The World's End." He thanked her and called for -another, paying her as she went. She was remarkably mannerly, for, in -the narrow gloom of the place, she took him to be some rich stranger. -She had seen the color of his money and liked it well. - -The whiskey seemed to possess magical powers. It rapidly restored him -to a mood wherein the distress that was his might soon appear a small -thing. Yet he grew restless with the urgency that was upon him and -glanced around in search of a distraction for his galloping brain.... -He bent down and peered through the little aperture which opened upon -the public bar of "The World's End." In there he saw a man in a heated -atmosphere and enveloped by dense clouds of tobacco-smoke. They were -those who had come in the roads to forget their sweat and labor in the -black joy of porter. Theirs was a part of the tragedy of the fields, -but it was a meaner tragedy. Yet were they suddenly akin to him.... -Through the lugubrious expression on their dark faces a sudden light -was shining. It was the light as if of some ecstasy. A desire fell upon -him to enter into their dream, whatever it might be.... In the wild -whirl that the whiskey had whipped up in his brain there now came a -sudden lull. It was a lull after a great crescendo, as in Beethoven's -music.... He was hearing, with extraordinary clearness, what they were -saying. They were speaking of the case of Ulick Shannon and Rebecca -Kerr. These names were linked inseparably and were going hand in hand -down all the byeways of their talk.... They were sure and certain that -he had gone away. There was not a sign of him in Garradrimna this -evening. That put the cap on his guilt surely. Wasn't she the grand -whipster, and she supposed to be showing a good example and teaching -religion to the childer? A nice one to have in the parish indeed! It -was easy knowing from the beginning what she was and the fellow she -struck up with--Henry Shannon's son. Wasn't that enough for you? Henry -Shannon, who was the best blackguard of his time!... Just inside, and -very near to John, a knot of men were discussing the more striking -aspects of the powerful scandal.... They were recounting, with minute -detail, the story of Nan Byrne.... Wasn't it the strangest thing now -how she had managed more or less to live it down? But people would -remember it all again in the light of this thing. What Ulick Shannon -had done now would make people think of what his father had done, and -then they must needs remember her.... And to think that no one ever -knew rightly what had become of the child. Some there were who would -tell you that her sister, Bridget Mulvey, and her mother, Abigail -Byrne, buried it in the garden, and there were those who would tell you -that it was living somewhere at the present time.... Her son John was -not a bad sort, but wasn't it the greatest crime for her to put him on -to be a priest after what had happened to her, and surely no good could -come of it?... And why wouldn't Ned Brennan know of it, and wasn't it -that and nothing else that had made him the ruined wreck of a man he -was? Sure he'd never done a day's good since the night Larry Cully -had lashed out the whole story for his benefit. And wasn't it quite -possible that some one would be bad enough to tell John himself some -time, or the ecclesiastical authorities? What about the mee-aw that had -happened to him in the grand college in England that so much had been -heard of? And there was sure to be something else happening before he -was through the college at Ballinamult. A priest, how are ye? - -The whiskey had gone to his head, but, as he listened, John Brennan -felt himself grow more sober than he had ever before been.... So this -was the supplement to the story he had heard a while ago. And now that -he knew the whole story he began to tremble. Continually flashing -across his mind were the words of the man who was dead and silent at -the bottom of the lake--"You could never know a woman, you could never -trust her; you could not even trust your own mother." This was a hard -thing for any man at all to have said in his lifetime, and yet how -full of grim, sad truth did it now appear?... The kind forgetfulness -of his choking bitterness that he had so passionately longed for -would not come to him.... The dregs of his heart were beginning to -turn again towards thoughts of magnanimity as they had already done -in the first, clear spell of thought after his deed. He had then gone -to gather sticks for the old woman, a kind thing, as Jesus might have -done in Nazareth.... The change of the sovereign was in his hand and -his impulse was strong upon him. He could not resist. It seemed as if -a strong magnet was pulling a light piece of steel.... He had walked -into the public bar of "The World's End." Around him was a sea of -faces, laughing, sneering, drinking, sweating, swearing, spitting. He -was calling for a drink for himself and a round for the shop.... Now -the sea of faces was becoming as one face. And there was a look upon it -which seemed made up of incredulity and contempt.... This was replaced -by a different look when the pints were in their hands.... They were -saying: "Good health, Mr. Brennan!" with a sneer in their tones and a -smile of flattery upon those lips which had just now been vomiting out -the slime of their minds. - -There was another and yet another round. As long as he could remain on -his feet he remained standing drinks to them. There was a longing upon -him to be doing this thing. And beyond it was the guiding desire to be -rid of every penny of the sovereign his mother had given him to help -him appear as a gentleman if he met company.... Now it seemed to soil -him, coming as it did from her. Curious that feeling after all she had -done for him, and she his mother. But it would not leave him. - -The drink he had bought was fast trickling down the many throats that -were burning to receive it. The rumor of his prodigality was spreading -abroad through Garradrimna, and men had gone into the highways and the -byeways to call their friends to the banquet. Two tramps on their way -to the Workhouse had heard of it and were already deep in their pints. -Upon John's right hand, arrived as if by magic, stood Shamesy Golliher, -and upon his left the famous figure of Padna Padna, who was looking up -into his face with admiration and brightness striving hard to replace -the stare of vacancy in the dimming eyes. As he drank feverishly, -fearful of losing any, Shamesy Golliher continuously ejaculated: "Me -sweet fellow, John! Me sweet fellow!" And Padna Padna kept speaking to -himself of the grand thing it was that there was one decent fellow left -in the world, even if he was only Nan Byrne's son. Around John Brennan -was a hum of flattery essentially in the same vein.... And it seemed to -him that, in his own mind, he had soared far beyond them.... Outwardly -he was drunk, but inwardly he knew himself to be very near that rapture -which would bring thoughts of Rebecca as he staggered home alone along -the dark road. - -The companions of his Bacchic night had begun to drift away from -him. Ten o'clock was on the point of striking, and he was in such a -condition that he might be upon their hands at any moment. They did not -want Walter Clinton, the proprietor of "The World's End," to be giving -any of them the job of taking him home. The hour struck and the remnant -went charging through the doorways like sheep through a gap. Shamesy -Golliher limped out, leading Padna Padna by the hand, as if the ancient -man had suddenly become metamorphosed into his second childishness.... -"The bloody-looking idiot!" they were all sniggering to one another. -"Wasn't it a hell of a pity that Ned Brennan, his father, and he always -bowseying for drink in McDermott's and Brannagan's, wasn't in 'The -World's End' to-night?" - -John was alone amidst the dregs of the feast. Where the spilt drink -was shining on the counter there was such a sight of glasses as he had -never before seen. There were empty glasses and glasses still standing -with half their drink in them, and glasses in which the porter had not -been touched so drunk had everybody been. - -Walter Clinton came in indignantly and said that it was a shame for -him to be in such a state, and to go home out of that at once before -the peelers got a hold of him.... And he went out with difficulty and -down the old road of the elms towards his mother's house in the valley. -He could hear the hurrying, heavy feet of those he had entertained so -lavishly far down before him on the road.... For the moment he was -happy. Before his burning eyes was the form of Rebecca Kerr. Her face -had a look of quiet loveliness. He thought it was like the faces of -the Madonnas in Father O'Keeffe's parlor.... "Rebecca! Rebecca!" he -called to her ever in the agony of his love. "Thy hands, dear Rebecca!" -... She was not soiled now by any earthly sin, for he had purified her -through the miracle of blood. And she was clean like the night wind. - -He was a pitiable sight as he went staggering on, crying out this -ruined girl's name to the night silence of the lonely places.... At -last he fell somewhere in the soft, dewy grass. For a long while he -remained here--until he began to realize that his vision was passing -with the decline within him of the flame by which it had been created. -The winds upon his face and hair were cold, and it seemed that he was -lying in a damp place. His eyes sprang open.... He was lying by the -lakeside and at the place where he had murdered Ulick Shannon. - -He jumped up of a sudden, for his fear had come back to him. With his -mouth wide open and a clammy sweat upon his brow, he started to run -across what seemed a never-ending grassy space.... He broke madly -through fences of thorn and barbed wire, which tore his clothes and his -hands. He stumbled across fields of tillage.... At last, with every -limb shivering, he came near his mother's door.... Presently he grew -coldly conscious.... He could hear his father muttering drunkenly -within. He came nearer, striving hard to steady himself and walk erect. -He quickened his step to further maintain his pretense of sobriety. His -foot tripped against something, and he lurched forward. He was caught -in his mother's arms, for, at the sound of his approach, she had opened -the door in resigned and mournful expectation. - -"O Jesus!" she said. - -There were two of them now. - - -THE END - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Valley of Squinting Windows, by -Brinsley MacNamara - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VALLEY OF SQUINTING WINDOWS *** - -***** This file should be named 61102.txt or 61102.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/1/0/61102/ - -Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/61102.zip b/old/61102.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9dff88d..0000000 --- a/old/61102.zip +++ /dev/null |
