‘This was the young fellow who was with Kitty on the night they attacked the castle, and he got both bones of his forearm smashed with a shot.’
‘An ugly wound,’ was the only rejoinder.
‘So it was, and for a while they thought he’d lose the arm. Kitty says he behaved beautifully, cool and steady all through.’
Another nod, but this time Gorman’s lips were firmly compressed.
‘There’s no denying it,’ said the old man, with a touch of sadness in his voice—‘there’s no denying it, the English have courage; though,’ added he afterwards, ‘it’s in a cold, sluggish way of their own, which we don’t like here. There he is, now, that young fellow that has just parted from the two girls. The tall one is my niece—I must present you to her.’
CHAPTER XL
OLD MEMORIES
Though both Kate Kearney and young O’Shea had greatly outgrown each other’s recollection, there were still traits of feature remaining, and certain tones of voice, by which they were carried back to old times and old associations.
Amongst the strange situations in life, there are few stranger, or, in certain respects, more painful, than the meeting after long absence of those who, when they had parted years before, were on terms of closest intimacy, and who now see each other changed by time, with altered habits and manners, and impressed in a variety of ways with influences and associations which impart their own stamp on character.