“Zachary Pearse,” she answered in a voice like a bell.
He gave her one awful shake, dropped his hands, then raised them as though to strike her. She looked him in the eyes; his hands dropped, and he too groaned. As far as I could see, her face never moved.
“I'm married to him,” she said, “d' you hear? Married to him. Go out of my room!” She dropped the candle on the floor at his feet, and slammed the door in his face. The old man stood for a minute as though stunned, then groped his way downstairs.
“Dan,” I said, “is it true?”
“Ah!” he answered, “it's true; didn't you hear her?”
I was glad I couldn't see his face.
“That ends it,” he said at last; “there's the old man to think of.”
“What will he do?”
“Go to the fellow this very night.” He seemed to have no doubt. Trust one man of action to know another.
I muttered something about being an outsider—wondered if there was anything I could do to help.