"Why, Uncle Robin!" he called.
Then came a great gush of tears to his heart and eyes....
She came from the house, as again he became cognizant of the Midi garden instead of the Antrim glen, of the Mediterranean instead of the waters of Moyle. She came down the dusky pathway. At a little distance she saw his face. She stopped short, her face white....
"Shane! Shane! what is wrong? Are you hurt? Ill?"
"My Uncle Robin is dead, Claire-Anne."
She looked at him for a little instant, not quite understanding. She came to him swiftly as a swallow. She sat close beside him. Her arm went through his. Her hands clasped his hands.
"Why didn't you tell me, heart?" she whispered.
"I just knew this instant. I felt, saw.... We were that close ... my Uncle Robin! Beannacht De ar a anam! God's blessing on his soul!"
She never spoke. She never stirred. She hardly breathed. She was just there, her hands, firm and strong, on his, did he want her.
"Was it ... a hard death, Shane?"