Great God! He had returned again to this, and to the words she feared most of all to hear falling from his mouth.
"A curious attraction, don't you know, that the breed of the Byrnes always had for the breed of the Shannons. Eh, Nan?"
Mrs. Brennan said nothing. It had been the way with her that she felt a certain horror of Ned when he came to her in this state, but now she was being moved by a totally different feeling. She was not without a kind of pity for him as she suddenly realized once more how she had done him a terrible and enduring injury.... As he stood there glowering down upon her he was of immense bulk and significance. If he struck her now she would not mind in the least.
"And they're like one another too, them two chaps, as like as brothers. And mebbe they are brothers. Eh, Nan, eh; what happened the child you had for Henry Shannon? It died, did it? Why 'tis only the other night that Larry Cully came at me again about it in Garradrimna. 'I see you have your sons home about you,' says he, 'and that must be the great comfort to a man, your son John,' says he, 'and your son Ulick. Maybe ye never heard tell,' says he, 'that Grace Gogarty's child died young and that Henry Shannon bought his other son from his other mother-in-law to prevent it being a rising disgrace to him. Bought it for a small sum,' says he, 'and put it in the place of his lawful son, and his wife never suspected anything until the day she died, poor woman; for she was to be pitied, having married such a blackguard.' Is that true, is it, Nan?"
Oh, Blessed Mother! this was even more terrible than the suspicion Marse Prendergast had put upon her. It seemed less of a crime that the little innocent babe should have been murdered in this house and buried in the garden than that her old, dead mother should have sold it to Henry Shannon. And how was she to know? Twenty-five years had passed since that time when she had been at Death's door, nor realizing anything.... And her mother had never told her.... It would be strange if she had gone digging at any time for the tiny bones of the little infant that had never been baptized. People passing the road might suspect her purpose and say hard things.... But sure they said hard things of her still after all the years. It was dreadful to think how any one could concoct a lie like this, and that no one could forget. Old Marse Prendergast knew well. Deep in her wicked mind, for twenty-five years, the secret had been hidden. It was a torture to think of the way she would be hinting at it forever.... And just quite recently she had threatened to tell John.
Bit by bit was being erected in her mind the terrible speculation as to what really was the truth and the full extent of her sin. Yet it was not a thing she could set about making inquiries after.... She wondered and wondered did Myles Shannon, the uncle of Ulick, know the full truth. Why did not her husband drop that grimy, powerful hand? Her breasts craved its blow now, even as they had yearned long ago for the fumbling of the little, blind mouth.
But he was merely asking her for money to buy drink for himself in Garradrimna. Hitherto this request had always given her pain, but now, somehow, it came differently to her ears. There was no hesitation on her part, no making of excuses. She went upstairs to the box which held her most dear possession—the money she had saved so well through all the years for the fitting-out of Ned to go proudly with her to attend the ordination of their son John. She opened the box with the air of one doing a deliberate thing. The money, which amounted in all to about five pounds, was still in the form in which she had managed to scrape it together. In notes and gold and silver, and even copper. Before this it would have appeared as a sacrilege on her part to have touched a penny of it, but now she had no thought of this kind. Ned wanted the money to purchase the means of forgetfulness of the great injury she had done him.
She counted thirty pennies, one by one, into the pocket of her apron. This seemed the least suspicious way of giving it to him, for he had still no idea that she could have any little store laid by. It was hardly possible when one considered how much he drank upon her in the village.
She came down the stairs in silence, and spoke no word to him as she handed over the money. His lips seemed to split into a sort of sneer as he took it from her. Then he went out the door quickly and down the white road toward Garradrimna.