his mind,
smashing like the blows of a hammer, came ceaselessly the sound of
Sheila's voice, calling him a coward....

8

It was quite dark when he moved away. His mouth was very dry and his
eyes were hot and sore, and his legs dragged as he walked. He was tired
and miserable and he had a frightful sense of age. That morning he had
wakened to manhood, full of pleasure in the beauty of living and growing
things; now, he was like an old man, longing for death but afraid to
lose his life. There were stars above him, but no moon, and the tall
trunks of the trees stood up like black phantoms before him, moaning and
crying in the wind. He could hear the screech-owls hooting in the dark,
and the lonely yelp of a dog on a farm.

He began to hurry, walking quickly and then running, afraid to look
back, almost afraid to look forward ... and as he ran, suddenly he fell
on something soft. His hands slipped on wetness that smelt....

In the darkness he had fallen over the body of the horse which had been
shot while he was standing where Sheila had left him. He gaped at it
with distended eyes, and then, with a loud cry, he jumped up and fled
home, with fear raging in his heart.

THE EIGHTH CHAPTER

1

He fell asleep, after a long, wakeful night, and did not hear the maid
who called him. Mr. Quinn, when he was told of the heaviness of Henry's
slumber, said "Let him lie on!" and so it was that he did not rise until
noon. He came down heavy-eyed and irritable, and wandered about the
garden in which he took no pleasure. Marsh came to him while he was
there, full of enthusiasm because more pupils had attended the Language
class than he had anticipated.

"That girl, Sheila Morgan, wasn't there!"

"Oh!" said Henry.

"I thought she'd be certain to come. She seemed so anxious to join the
class. Perhaps she was prevented. I hope you'll be able to come
to-night, Henry!..."

Henry turned away impatiently. "I don't think I shall go again," he said
in a surly voice.

Marsh stared at him. "Not go again!" he exclaimed.

"No."

"But!..."

"Oh, I'm sick of the class. I'm sick of the whole thing. I'm sick of
Irish!..."

Marsh walked away from him, walked so quickly that Henry knew that he
was trying to subdue the sudden rage that rose in him when people spoke
slightingly of Irish things, and for a few moments he felt sorry and
ready to follow him and apologise for what he had said; but the sorrow
passed as quickly as