Mrs. Foley, on the other hand, presented the remains of remarkably good breeding and good looks—slender and erect, with well-cut features, wavy black hair, but slightly powdered with grey, and dark, deep-set, tragic eyes. She bore but scant resemblance to her half-sister—the sandy, mealy-skinned, peevish Mrs. Grogan—and had made the more successful match of the two sisters.
“Here’s two gentlemen, mother!” was Mary’s somewhat vague introduction.
Mrs. Foley slowly turned her great melancholy eyes, first on Mr. Usher and then on his companion. As she gazed she suddenly seized the arms of her chair, rose to her feet and cried, “God help me! ’tis the earl himself!” and she trembled violently from head to foot.
“Now, can’t ye sit down, mother,” protested Mary, “and don’t be exciting yourself. Sure, ’tis only a chance friend of the visitors from the ‘Glenveigh’ as has looked in.”
Mrs. Foley threw herself back in her chair, and, rocking to and fro, began to wail and sob.
“Oh, my sin has found me out. Wirrah, wirrah, asthue! My sin has found me out! You’ve come to put me in jail and take her away at last.”
“Katty Foley,” he replied, “I will do you no injury in any way, you may be certain of that”—and his voice was strong and encouraging. “But I implore you to tell me the truth.”
“Aye, your honour,” she moaned, “I will so, and sure, haven’t I been telling it this twelvemonth, and not a soul will believe me!”
“I will believe you, I promise you on my honour.”
“Ye may think I am mad, but it was only bad I was; yer lordship will remember when I was sent for to take the poor little motherless babe?”