He still held my hand, with the book in it.
“Listen!” I said in a whisper. “I have something to tell you.”
I had been burdened longer than I could bear with the dread of the possible meaning of those strange things that my uncle had said in his delirium, and now by the light of Willy’s letter, all these broken sentences were beginning to shape and group themselves into something that could be understood. I did not wait to think, or to try and arrange coherently what I was going to say, but with a feeling of feverish hurry driving me, I told Nugent everything that I could think of that bore in any way on my father’s death. It was not easy to tell, and towards the end of my story my voice began to fail me.
“Never mind, my darling,” he said, putting his arm close round me, “don’t think of it any more.”
“I can’t think of anything else,” I said, unclasping his hand from mine, and putting the letter into it. “Read this.”
He read it, and, without speaking, took up the diary again.
“I believe I understand it all now,” he said. “There is very little in the diary, but there is enough to make it pretty clear what happened. Do you see here; your father got to Cork on the 9th of January, and instead of dying on that day, as is said on the brass in the church, he did not even start for Durrus till the 10th. I will read it to you, and you will understand it for yourself.
“‘January 9.—Arrived in Cork. Felt very ill. Wrote to Helen, also to Dominick, telling him to expect me to-morrow. Weather very cold.
“‘January 10.—Felt too ill to leave by early train. Came by the six o’clock instead. Got to Carrickbeg at nine p.m. Did not see any one I knew. Got outside car. Very cold night; snow. Arrived Durrus one a.m. Found that my father had died this afternoon. Feel very ill myself. Am in my old room over hall-door.
“‘January 11.—Did not get up. Fear I have a touch of pleurisy. Wish Helen were here. D. has only once been in to see me, and there seems to be no one to attend to me. Have asked the woman to light a fire in my room, but she has not done so. D. tells me she is the only servant in the house. He says the property has been nearly ruined in the famine. Must write to Helen to-morrow about coming here.’”