anke saw the broad, plain face of Hannah; her
small eyes red, her rough cheeks stained with weeping.

"Why, Hannah!" he exclaimed, "what are you doing here? I thought you
were at the funeral."

Hannah passed the back of her hand across her eyes.

"Wisha, what would I be doin' at it?" she demanded huskily. "Sure I
don't know what they do be seein' in funerals at all."

Milbanke glanced up with interest, recognising the originality of the
remark.

"Why, you and I are of the same opinion," he said. "The Celtic delight
in the obsequies of a friend has been puzzling me for the last three
days----" Then he paused suddenly, conscious of Hannah's fixed regard.
"That is," he substituted quickly--"that is, I have been wondering,
like you, what they see in it."

Hannah's small, observant eyes did not waver in their scrutiny.

"You've been wonderin' about somethin', sure enough!" she said. "I seen
it meself every time I'd be carryin' in the dinner or doin' a turn for
the poor corpse. God be good to him this holy and blessed day!" Again
she wiped her eyes. "But 'tisn't wonderin' alone that's at you," she
added more briskly. "'Tis some other thing that's lyin' heavy on your
mind. I seen it meself at every hand's turn."

Milbanke started. This sympathetic onslaught was as disconcerting as it
was unexpected.

"I--I won't contradict you, Hannah," he said waveringly. "No doubt you
are right."

For the space of a minute Hannah was profoundly silent; then she
broached the subject that had been filling her mind for a day and a
half.

"Wisha, now, is it thrue what they do be tellin' me?" she asked softly
and warily--"that you're goin' to be father and mother an' all to thim
two poor children?"

Again Milbanke started almost guiltily; then the personal anxiety that
mingled with and almost dominated his grief for Asshlin rose
irrepressibly in response to the persuasive tones, the kindly human
interest and curiosity.

"Yes, Hannah," he said quickly. "Yes, it is my intention to try and
fill my poor friend's place."

The tears welled suddenly into Hannah's eyes, and with an awkward
movement she wiped her rough hand in her apron and held it out.

"God Almighty will give it back to you, sir!" she exclaimed, with
impulsive fervour.

Strangely touched by the expression of understanding and appreciation,
he responded to the gesture and took her hand.

But instantly she withdrew it.

"Don't be mindin' an ould woman like me, sir