THE MOTHER WITH HER CHILD LYING VERY STILL
"Mother!" he said; and in a moment had his arms round her, and was kissing her lips.
"Oh, Art! so you did come, after all!" says she, with a catch in her breath and a gush of joy to her heart. She had her son, her own son again! And for a minute she forgot everything else—the missed letter, Art's wife....
"Come? And why wouldn't I come? What else? Och, but it's grand, the smell of the turf! And the Crib the same as ever! Och, mother, mother! But where's Delia? Some tricks you and her is up to! Has them hid 'on' me? Delia! Delia! where at all are you?"
At that the mother drew a piece away from him. Her face that had been smiling and rosy even, like a girl's face, grew stiff and white.
"Delia! Delia! he can think of nothing else," she thought. It all came back upon her, like a bad dream. Her son had a wife now! And she had held out her hand to them, and they had slighted it!
What did Art mean, coming in like a strong wind? Gay and pleasant as summer air at first, but his face changed and became black and stormy and his voice was a strange, fierce voice, asking again, "Where's Delia?"
"I know nothing about her! How could I?"