"He is not, your honor. He went to Derry to-day with one of Neil's foals, and he will not be home till the morning!"
"And your brother—where is he?"
"I can't rightly say, your honor! Maybe he is gone to the bog to——"
But he stops her, frowning impatiently.
"Tell them both that I came here for them. Say no more than that—they will understand."
Then he strikes out, glad to breathe the fresh air after that tainted atmosphere. The girl walks cautiously to the door and looks after him. She is barefooted, and on the earth floor her tread makes no sound.
"Heaven forgive yez!" she says almost fiercely. "The innocent creatures never hurt man nor beast till yez came with your foine tongue and your yellow guineas, tempting and ruining 'em! But I'll be even with yez yet!"
From this fetid little cabin on the river's side a brisk walk of ten minutes brings Power Magill to the gates of Donaghmore. As he passes up the drive he stops and turns aside for an instant to look at the ruins of the old Abbey, standing grim and cold and gray in the yellow sunshine.
The refectory is still standing, its three windows looking toward the stone house on the hill. There is a low arched gateway, but the gate is gone, and beyond in the great quadrangle the stones lie as they have fallen.
"What asses we are, the best of us!" Power Magill says grimly, as he looks at this relic of a dead man's wealth and power.