Castle Raa as soon as I came back. Aunt
Bridget, surrounded by a group of sympathising ladies (including Lady
Margaret, who was making an obvious effort to be gracious) was wiping
her eyes and saying I had always been her favourite and she had
faithfully done her duty by me.

"Mary, my love," she said, catching my eye, "I'm just telling her
ladyship I don't know in the world what I'll do when you are gone."

My husband was there too, wearing a heavy overcoat with the collar up,
and receiving from a group of insular gentlemen their cheerful
prognostics of a bad passage.

"'Deed, but I'm fearing it will be a dirty passage, my lord."

"Chut!" said my father. "The wind's from the south-west. They'll soon
get shelter."

The first of our two cars came round and my husband's valet went off in
advance with our luggage. Then the second car arrived, and the time came
for our departure. I think I kissed everybody. Everybody seemed to be
crying--everybody except myself, for my tears were all gone by this
time.

Just as we were about to start, the storm, which must certainly have
fallen for a while, sprang up suddenly, and when Tommy the Mate (barely
recognisable in borrowed black garments) opened the door the wind came
rushing into the house with a long-drawn whirr.

I had said good-bye to the old man, and was stepping into the porch when
I remembered Father Dan. He was standing in his shabby sack coat with a
sorrowful face in a dark corner by the door, as if he had placed himself
there to see the last of me. I wanted to put my arms around his neck,
but I knew that would be wrong, so I dropped to my knees and kissed his
hand and he gave me his blessing.

My husband, who was waiting by the side of the throbbing automobile,
said impatiently:

"Come, come, dear, don't keep me in the rain."

I got into the landaulette, my husband got in after me, the car began to
move, there were cries from within the house ("Good-bye!" "Good luck")
which sounded like stifled shrieks as they were carried off by the wind
without, and then we were under weigh.

As we turned the corner of the drive something prompted me to look back
at my mother's window--with its memories of my first going to school.

At the next moment we were crossing the bridge--with its memories of
Martin Conrad and William Rufus.

At the next we were on the road.

THIRTY-FOURTH CHAPTER

"Thank God, that's over," said my husband. Then, half apologetically,