"Dan! Dan!"
Deirdre came down the path towards him, an older, graver Deirdre, with peace in her deep-welled eyes, though an undefinable shadow rested on her face.
"Here you are, dear!" she said. "It'll be time to be getting ready soon. Mick has the horses in—and your father won't like to be kept waiting. There was so much I wanted to say to you, too, before you go up to this big school. It won't be a bit like going to the school down here or doing Latin with me—going to the Grammar School, Dan."
"No, of course, mother."
"I wonder sometimes if I've been wrong to keep you so much with me," she said wistfully. "You had to be told all the terrible old story. I told you myself, because I wanted you to understand."
"Mother!" There were reverence and adoration in his eyes as they rested on her.
"You're sure—sure, you don't feel strange about your mother, Dan?" she asked. "A jury acquitted me, but I know I was right myself. There was nothing else to do."
She was quivering to the shock of startled memories.
"I can't feel that I could have done anything else than I did," she cried passionately, "but I can't forget, Dan. The horror of it all shadows me still—it always will."
The boy slipped his arms through hers and pressed against her.