"Ah, what the hell are yous gosthering and croaking about in there at this hour of the morning, the two of yous? It'd be serving you a lot better to be down getting me breakfast, Nan Byrne!"
She came away very quietly from the bedside of her son and left the room. John remained for some time thinking over the things she had been saying. Then he rose wearily and went downstairs. It was only now he noticed that his mother had dried his clothes. It must have taken her a good portion of the night to do this. His boots, which had been so wet and muddy after his walk from Kilaconnaghan, were now polished to resplendence and standing clean and dry beside the fire. The full realization of these small actions brought a fine feeling of tenderness into his mind.... He quickly prepared himself to leave the house. She observed him with concern as she went about cooking the breakfast for her man.
"You're not going to Mass this morning, are ye, John?"
"Oh, no!" he replied with a nervous quickness. "Our chat delayed me. It is now past nine."
"Ah, dear, sure I never thought while I was talking. The last time I kept you it was the morning after the concert, and even then you were in time for 'half-past eight'.... But sure, anyhow, you're too tired this morning."
"I'm going for a little walk before breakfast."
The words broke in queerly upon the thought she had just expressed, but his reason was nothing more than to avoid his father, who would be presently snapping savagely at his breakfast in the kitchen.
The wet road was cheerless and the bare trees and fields were cold and lonely. Everything was in contrast to the mood in which he had known it last summer. It seemed as if he would never know it in that mood again. Now that he had returned it was a poor thing and very small beside the pictures his dream had made.... He was wandering down The Road of the Dead and there was a girl coming towards him. He knew it was Rebecca Kerr, and this meeting did not appear in the least accidental.
She was dressed, as he had not previously seen her, in a heavy brown coat, a thick scarf about her throat and a pretty velvet cap which hid most of her hair. Her small feet were well shod in strong boots, and she came radiantly down the wet road. A look of surprise sprang into her eyes when she saw him, and she seemed uncertain of herself as they stopped to speak.
"Back again?" she said, not without some inquisitive surprise in her tones.