He came in unexpectedly in the early afternoon of that day and found a letter waiting for him with an English postmark. Peg had eyed it curiously off and on for hours. She had turned it over and over in her fingers and looked at the curious, angular writing, and felt a little cold shiver run up and down her as she found herself wondering who could be writing to her father from England.
When O'Connell walked in and picked the letter up she watched him excitedly. She felt, for some strange reason, that they were going to reach a crisis in their lives when the seal was broken and the contents disclosed. Superstition was strong—in Peg, and all that day she had been nervous without reason, and excited without cause.
O'Connell read the letter through twice—slowly the first time, quickly the second. A look of bewilderment came across his face as he sat down and stared at the letter in his hand.
"Who is it from, at all?" asked Peg very quietly, though she was trembling all through her body.
Her father said nothing.
Presently he read it through again.
"It's from England, father, isn't it?" queried Peg, pale as a ghost.
"Yes, Peg," answered her father and his voice sounded hollow and spiritless.
"I didn't know ye had friends in England?" said Peg, eyeing the letter.
"I haven't," replied her father.