"I prefer to be where I am," the man answered. "A driver can't be lucky always."
"He only needs to be lucky on occasions like this, when a mother is waiting to say 'Good-bye' to a son."
In six hours' time the car raced up the avenue at "Layton," to find Samuel Quirk pacing the verandah while he awaited his son. Denis could see the hand of bitter grief in the old man's bent figure, in the deep lines on his face, and in the sunken eyes. After nearly fifty years' companionship the prospect of losing his faithful wife struck Samuel Quirk a titanic blow.
Denis had never been outwardly demonstrative towards his father. Samuel Quirk had not invited any sign of affection, and his son had not offered it. But they loved and respected one another, for Samuel Quirk was the type of man that Denis could best admire. He recognised honesty and purity of intention in the old man; he knew that Samuel Quirk would never intentionally injure another. These virtues appealed to him like rich jewels hidden within a rough casket. To-day his heart went right out to the pathetic figure of hopeless misery portrayed by his father.
He sprang from the car and took his father's hand tenderly.
"It's the will of God," he said.
"Did I say it was not?" asked Samuel Quirk. "I knew it must come soon—but that doesn't make it one bit easier!"
"How is she?" Denis asked.
"Slipping away—and calling out for you."
Denis waited to hear no more. He ran up the stairs to his mother's room. Here he found Father Healy, Molly, Kathleen, and the nurse who had been with Desmond O'Connor. At his coming they left the room, whispering each one a short welcome as they passed him.