Part 24 (1/2)

An alert, unconscious note of apprehension had crept into Clodagh's tone. Her lips suddenly tightened, her eyes became wide.

”What is it, Hannah?” she exclaimed. ”What's the reason he wants to marry me?”

”Sure no rason at all.”

”Oh!”

Clodagh made a gesture of anger and disgust. Then she made a fresh appeal.

”Hannah, please----”

But Hannah went on with her work. Years of shrewd observation had taught her the power of silence.

”Then you won't tell me?”

There was no response.

”Hannah!”

At last the old servant turned, as though pressed beyond endurance.

”Well,” she said, with seeming reluctance, ”maybe he'd be thinkin'

'twould be aisier for wan of the a.s.shlins to be drawin' out of her husband's pocket than to be----”

But Clodagh interrupted. She turned suddenly, her cheeks burning, her eyes ablaze.

”Hannah!” she cried in sharp, pained alarm.

But Hannah had said her say. With her old, imperturbable gesture she turned once more to her task.

”I know nothin',” she murmured obstinately. ”If you're wantin' more, ask Mrs. Laurence.”

For a while Clodagh stood, transfixed by the idea presented to her mind. Then, action and certainty becoming suddenly indispensable, she turned on her heel. ”Very well!” she said tersely--”very well! I will ask Aunt Fan.”

And with as scant ceremony as she had entered it, she swept out of the kitchen.

As the door banged, Hannah glanced over her shoulder, her red face br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tenderness.

”Wisha, 'tis all for the best!” she murmured aloud--”'tis all for the best. But G.o.d forgive me for hurtin' a hair of her head!”

With feet that scarcely felt the ground beneath them, Clodagh sped along the stone pa.s.sages that led to the hall, and from thence ascended to the bedrooms. Her senses were acutely alive, her mind alert with an unbearable apprehension. A new dread that, by the power of intuition, had almost become a certainty impelled her forward without the conscious action of her will. Without any hesitancy or indecision, she traversed the long corridor, and, pausing before the room occupied by her aunt, knocked peremptorily upon the door.

After a moment's wait Mrs. a.s.shlin's querulous voice was raised in response.

”Well?” she asked. ”What is it? Who's there?”

”Clodagh.”

There was an audible sigh. And the usual ”Come in!” followed somewhat tardily.