.

"Somebody's dead," Mick answered.

"It's your Uncle Niel," Father Ryan said; "he was killed in the loney
last night."

Father Ryan did not stay long. When he had gone Andy came in. Mick
was crouching by the fire.

"Do you call to mind what day it was, Lull?" Andy said in a whisper
Mick heard.

"I do, well," said Lull; "six years to the very day. God's curse on
him," she added in a strange, harsh voice; "couldn't he be content with
murderin' the wan, an' not hape sorra on us like this?"

"He's safe in America," said Andy, "that's the divilment of him; but
them that's got childer has got the long arm. I'll hould ye he's niver
let the boy forget. The ould mother was buried yesterday, an' the boy
must 'a' been waitin' for that till he done it."

Mick heard no more; he slipped out down the passage to the schoolroom.
He had forgotten all about Pat, but now he remembered, with a terror
that overwhelmed him. For a moment he wondered if he were really
himself. It could not be true that Uncle Niel was dead, and he,
Michael Darragh, knew--knew what? He could not bear the thought. But
it was all spread out plain before his eyes. Pat M'Garvey, his friend,
whom he loved so much, had murdered Uncle Niel. He shut his eyes, and
drew in his breath. "I'm goin' to do ye the cruel harm"--he could see
Pat's face as he said it, so thin and miserable. Why, why had he done
it? Uncle Niel was so good, and Pat was so good too, but now one was
dead and the other was a murderer. Quick before his eyes horrid
pictures rose up--Uncle Niel lying dead, and Pat, with blood on his
hands, caught by the police; Pat going to gaol on a car, handcuffed,
between two policemen, his white face---- "He didn't mane it," Mick
burst out passionately. "Oh, God, I just can't bear it." Then another
thought came. He himself would be brought up to give evidence. Pat
had told him he was going to do it, and now on his word Pat would be
hanged. What had happened that the whole world had turned against him
like this?

The next minute he was off, across the wet lawn, over the road, running
for his life, not on the road, in case he was seen, but on the other
side of the stone wall. It was not daylight yet, but dawn was
struggling through the clouds. When he came to the village he skirted
it by climbing over the rocks, then on as fast as he could go, on the
coast road now it was safe--he would meet no one there--then up along
the little path