The infant Fergus whimpered at that moment, and I rolled him up on our sofa. The man of music had followed me. He held a newspaper cutting in his hand.
“I got this out of the paper this morning. They mightn’t like it.”
I read it. “There’s nothing in it.”
“You wouldn’t keep it?”
“Oh, I’ll keep it; but burn it if you like and get another paper to-morrow.” As I spoke I put it in my pocket. He was very young.
Mrs. Slaney bustled into the room, her eyes flickering.
“The unfortunate man! They’ll murder him before he reaches the Castle. She’s taken it wonderfully; but what else would you expect from an Irish woman? Did you hear that man talking to me? The brutality of him. But he couldn’t frighten me. Can you let me have a scarf? It’s such a cold night, and I promised Mrs. Fitzgerald to let her husband have mine; but it’s a long way upstairs.”
I got Himself’s own scarf, and followed after her as she bustled downstairs with it. Preparations for departure were going forward. I heard Mrs. O’Grady sniffing in the dark under the stairs.
“Ready?” said the man in charge.
I could just hear Mr. Fitzgerald’s answer. Mrs. Fitzgerald tucked his neck with eager fingers. She followed him to the step.