Part 89 (1/2)

”I must be going now, grandady.”

”Going, acushla! And will you leave me?”

”I most, there's no help for it; they wouldn't let me stay here.”

”Begorra!” cried he, wildly,--”I forgot I was in gaol! May I never! if I didn't think I was at home again, and that we were only waiting for the boys to have our supper!”

”My poor old grandady,” said she, stooping and kissing his forehead, ”I'll come back to-morrow, and stay a long time with you. I have a great deal to say to you that I can't think of to-day. Here's a little basket, with something to eat, and some tobacco, too; the gaoler gave me leave to bring it in. And you'll drink my health to-night, grandady, won't you?”

”My darlin'--my own darlin', that I will! And where did you come from now--was it from England?”

”No, grandady. It was a long way off, but not from England.”

”And who are you living with? Is it with that ould man in Wales?”

”No, not with him. I'll tell you all to-morrow.”

”They tell me he's mighty rich.”

She evidently had not heard his words, for she stood pressing her temples with both hands, and as if endeavouring to repress some severe pain.

”It's your head's aching you, darlin'!” said he, compa.s.sionately.

”Head and heart!” muttered she, drearily. ”Good-by, my dear old grandady--good-by!” And, not able to control her emotion, she turned her face away.

”You'll have to call out through that gratin' before they'll open the door,” said he, half sulkily. ”You'd think we was all sentenced and condimned, the way they lock us up here! But I hear him coming now.

You'll let her in to see me to-morrow, Mr. Meekins, won't you?” said he, in an imploring tone. ”She's my daughter's child, and nearly the last of us now.”

”By my conscience, she's a fine creature!” said the turnkey, as she moved past. ”It's mighty seldom the likes of her is seen in such a place as this!”

When Kate gained the street, the rain was falling heavily, and as she stood uncertain which way to turn, for the town was strange to her, O'Rorke came up.

”Haven't you as much as an umbrella, Miss Kate,” said he, ”or a cloak, in this dreadful weather?”

”I was not thinking of either. Which way do we go towards the inn?”

”I'd advise you to take shelter in a shop here, Miss; the shower is too heavy to last long.”

”I have no time for this; I want to catch the post, and I believe it leaves at six o'clock.”.

”You'll be drowned with this rain,” muttered he. ”But come along. I'll show you the way.”

As they went, neither spoke; indeed, the noise of the plas.h.i.+ng rain, and the sharp gusts of the sweeping wind, would have made it almost impossible to converse, and they plodded onward through the dreary and deserted streets, for even the poorest had now sought shelter. The inn was at the very end of a long straggling street, and, when they reached it, they were completely soaked through with rain.

”You have ordered a room for me here, you said?” asked Elate, as they entered.

”Yes, it's all ready, and your dinner too, whenever you like to eat it.--This is the young lady, ma'am,” continued he, addressing the landlady, ”that's coming to stop here; she's wet through, and I hope you'll take care of her, that she doesn't catch cold.”

”Will you show me my room?” asked Kate, quietly. But the landlady never moved, but stood scrutinising her with an eye the very reverse of kindly.

”She's asking you where's her room,” broke in O'Rorke.