"Well, Miss Honor, ever and always in my drame that grave is there still. I watch the boys dig it deep in the black earth, and cover the gaping mouth of it; and me shaking and trembling all the time. But these past three nights—the saints be above us!—there's been another grave, alanna."
"Another grave!" The girl laughs. "Why, that is getting too dreadful!" She plucks a spray of roses from the open window behind her, as she sits on the great oak dresser, and shreds the delicate red petals all over the lap of her gown.
"Listen to me, Miss Honor, and cease your funning! This is no time to laugh and jest at a warning that comes from the saints themselves! That the masther is in danger of his life I know as well as if I saw the very bullet that was to shoot him. The grave was dug deep and broad—and deep and broad it would need to be, save us!—out there on yer own lawn, just forenent the drawing-room windies!"
She has left her ironing-table and come close up to the girl, her face—a delicate-featured face, peasant as she is—rigid with intense feeling, her eyes shining, her upraised hand tremulous.
"Oh, Miss Honor darlint, shure he'd follow you to the ends of the world! Take him away from this till the bad feeling has time to cool down. Things will right themselves, never fear—the old times will come round again; but, if the masther stays on at Donaghmore, he'll never live to enjoy them."
"But if he will not go away?" says Honor, a tone of anxiety in her voice. "You know how obstinate he is; and that letter from Dublin about landlords running away from their posts has upset him dreadfully. Oh, no, Aileen, he'll never leave Donaghmore!"
"Then the saints purtect him!" Aileen answers tremulously. "But as sure as my name is Aileen Walsh harm will come of it!"
CHAPTER III.
"As sure as my name is Aileen Walsh harm will come of it!"
The words haunt Honor. They ring in her ears night and day, and spoil many hour's innocent pleasure for her.