securely.
There was an occasional hour in the open. At nightfall he sent for
Kenny and by nine he was drunk.

Again and again, wrought to a high pitch of resentment by the traps the
invalid baited with an air of courtesy, Kenny cursed his own weak-kneed
spasms of pity and surrender and resolved to break away. Always when
Hughie rapped at his bedroom door he remembered the melancholy drip of
the blossom storm at Adam's windows, the invalid's hunger for news of
the outside world and the Spartan way he bore his pain. Whatever the
nature of the disease that had wasted his body and etched shadows of
pain upon his subtle face, he never spoke of it. Nor did he speak of
Donald or Joan, whom Kenny felt despairingly he hated and taunted into
secret tears. If he resented the runaway's rebellion, he kept it to
himself.

One evening when he seemed to be quiet and in pain, and was taking,
Kenny noticed, the medicine that marked vague periods of crisis, Adam
said pensively that he had not meant to impugn the Gaelic folk lore.
He liked it. It reflected the warm, poetic soul of a people. Brandy,
alas, always made him quarrelsome and undependable of mood. When the
rain came again and he had to have a fire, they would have more tales
of the Dark Rose Kenny loved. Ireland, the Dark Rose! The name was
like her history. Yes, folk lore went with the crackle of a log and
the mournful music of rain upon a roof. He could have his brandy later.

The rain came with its lonely patter and Kenny told him tales of
Ireland, delighted at the sympathetic quiet of his mood. Unbrandied,
the evenings, after all, might become endurable.

"You see," Adam said once a little sadly, "without the brandy--"

Kenny nodded his approval.

When the clock struck nine he was in splendid fettle, brogue and all.

"For Ireland's harpers," he was boasting with a reckless air of pride,
"were better than any harpers in the world."

"Liars?" asked Adam blankly.

Kenny found his occasional pretense of deafness trying in the extreme.

"Harpers!" he repeated in a loud voice. "And you heard me before."

Adam nodded.

"What do you mean," demanded Kenny suspiciously, "that you did hear me
or you didn't?"

"I did," said Adam suavely. "Both times. Go on with the story."

Somewhat nettled, Kenny obeyed. Conscious, the minute he began, of a
muffled whistle, he glanced sharply at his host and found his glance
returned with a guileless air of inquiry.