"No." The light had gone from her face.
Conal seized his hat. His mouth set in an ugly line.
"I'll go and see Pat," he said.
The door slammed behind him.
Deirdre stood looking down on the glimmering thing in her hand.
"You're not to wear it, Deirdre," the Schoolmaster said harshly. Her eyes flew to his. He caught a reflection of his own spirit in them.
"Do you think I'd be likely to," she said.
It was hours later when Conal slammed the door of the cottage again. The suppressed rage in him burned to white ash.
"He's gone—Pat Glynn!" he said angrily. "I've ransacked the place for him. He's melted into thin air. I've been out along the Rane road and half way into the Port; but he's done the disappearing trick. There's not a track of him anywhere."