As the heavier dusk of the short, warm night began to creep into the little room her soul sank slowly lower. She was hungry now and lonely. In the mildest way she distantly suggested a cup of tea, but Mrs. McGoldrick at once resented this uncalled-for disturbance of her harangue by bringing out what was probably meant to be taken as the one admirable point in the other girl's character.
"Miss O'Donovan used always get her own tea."
But the desolating silence of Rebecca at length drove her towards the kitchen, and she returned, after what seemed an endless period, with some greasy-looking bread, a cup without a handle, and a teapot from which the tea dribbled in agony on to the tablecloth through a wound in its side.
The sickening taste of the stuff that came out of the teapot only added to Rebecca's sinking feeling. Her thoughts crept ever downward.... At last there came a blessed desire for sleep-sleep and forgetfulness of this day and the morrow. Her head was already beginning to spin as she inquired for her room.
"Your room?" exclaimed Mrs. McGoldrick in harsh surprise. "Why, 'tis upstairs. There's only two rooms there, myself and the sergeant's and the lodger's room—that's yours. I hadn't time this week back to make the bed since Miss O'Donovan left, but of course you'll do that for yourself. The sergeant is gone up to the barracks, so I'll have to help you carry up your box, as I suppose you'll be wanting to get out some of your things."
It was a cruelly hard job getting the trunk up the steep staircase, but between them they managed it. Rebecca was not disappointed by the bare, ugly room. Mrs. McGoldrick closed the door behind them and stood in an attitude of expectation. Even in the present dull state of her mind Rebecca saw that her landlady was, with tense curiosity, awaiting the opening of the box which held her poor belongings.... Then something of the combative, selfish attitude of the woman to her kind stirred within her, and she bravely resolved to fight, for a short space, this prying woman who was trying to torment her soul.
She looked at the untidied bed with the well-used sheets.... What matter? It was only the place whereon the body of another poor tortured creature like herself had lain. She would bear with this outrage against her natural delicacy.
In perfect silence she took off her skirt and blouse and corset. She let fall her long, heavy hair and, before the broken looking-glass, began to dally wearily with its luxuriance. This hair was very fair and priceless, and it was hers who had not great possessions. Her shining neck and blossomy breasts showed as a pattern in ivory against the background that it made.... Some man, she thought, would like to see her now and love her maybe. Beyond this vision of herself she could see the ugly, anxious face of the woman behind her. She could feel the discord of that woman's thoughts with the wandering strands of withering hair.
No word had passed between them since they came together into the room, and Mrs. McGoldrick, retreating from the situation which had been created, left with abruptness, closing the door loudly behind her.
With as much haste as she could summon, Rebecca took off her shoes and got her night-gown out of the trunk. Then she threw herself into the bed. She put out the light and fumbled in her faded vanity bag for her little mother-of-pearl rosary. There was a strange excitement upon her, even in the final moments of her escape, and soon a portion of her pillow was wet with tears. Between loud sobs arose the sound of her prayers ascending: