“No, grandady. It was a long way off, but not from England.”
“And who are you living with? Is it with that ould man in Wales?”
“No, not with him. I’ll tell you all to-morrow.”
“They tell me he’s mighty rich.”
She evidently had not heard his words, for she stood pressing her temples with both hands, and as if endeavouring to repress some severe pain.
“It’s your head’s aching you, darlin’!” said he, compassionately.
“Head and heart!” muttered she, drearily. “Good-by, my dear old grandady—good-by!” And, not able to control her emotion, she turned her face away.
“You’ll have to call out through that gratin’ before they’ll open the door,” said he, half sulkily. “You’d think we was all sentenced and condimned, the way they lock us up here! But I hear him coming now. You’ll let her in to see me to-morrow, Mr. Meekins, won’t you?” said he, in an imploring tone. “She’s my daughter’s child, and nearly the last of us now.”
“By my conscience, she’s a fine creature!” said the turnkey, as she moved past. “It’s mighty seldom the likes of her is seen in such a place as this!”
When Kate gained the street, the rain was falling heavily, and as she stood uncertain which way to turn, for the town was strange to her, O’Rorke came up.