elegram can reach her
to-night. It will only get to Carrigmore to-morrow morning--and from
there to Orristown. If we were to give everything we have in the
world--if we were to die for it--we could not save her from the
blackness, the loneliness and horror of to-night!"

CHAPTER XX

Early on the morning that followed the storm, Clodagh stepped from the
hall door of Orristown. As she stood on the gravelled pathway in the
clear, strong daylight, she looked like one who has fought some
terrible battle in the watches of the night, and who has been worsted
in the encounter. She was pale and fragile, with a frightened query in
her eyes, as though she had propounded some enormous question, to which
Fate had as yet made no answer. For a time she stood in a helpless
attitude, looking toward the green hill, crowned with sparsely foliaged
trees, that fronted the house; then, seeming to take some vague
resolution, she walked slowly forward towards the avenue, pausing where
the gravelled pathway joined the fields.

There was a curious look upon the land and sea that morning, as though
both were lying exhausted by the tumult of the night. All around
beneath the avenue trees lay twigs and short splintered branches, to
which the limp leaves, whipped to untimely death by the vehemence of
the storm, still hung. Across the bay, as far as Carrigmore, the sea
lay like a sleeping tiger that has prowled and harried through the dark
hours of night, and now lies at rest. A wonderful pearly blue was upon
the waters--long, rippling lines spread from headland to headland, like
faintly pencilled shadows; but massed in a dark fringe along the curve
of yellow strand was a ridge of packed seaweed, that held within its
meshes a thousand evidences of the strife that had been, in twists of
straw, pieces of broken cork, and long black chunks of driftwood.

She stood for an indefinite space, looking at this significant dark
line standing out against the smoothness of the sand, until, half
unconsciously, her attention was attracted by a sound that made itself
audible from the direction of the gate, growing in volume as it
advanced--the swish, swish of bare feet on soft ground. She turned from
the vision of the sleeping sea, to behold a small peasant child in torn
dress and dirty apron speeding up the drive.

The child neared her; then swerved away as if in fear, and continued
her flight towards the house.

A sudden impulse seized Clodagh.