"Well, we'd better not wait for Larry," she interposed hastily. "You know what a time it takes to get round to Muskeere with that big barouche."
Mrs. Asshlin became all assiduity.
"Certainly!—certainly, my dear child! Mr. Curry and his brother are already waiting. Won't you come in?"
With hospitable excitement she marshalled them into the dining-room.
The room into which they were ushered, though small, was bright and cheerful; and, notwithstanding the season, there were flowers upon the table and mantelpiece. But even under these favourable conditions, the lunch was scarcely a success. Mrs. Asshlin was genuine enough in her efforts at entertainment; but the guests were not in a condition to be entertained. Milbanke was intensely nervous; Clodagh sat straight and rigid in her chair, uncomfortably conscious of insubordinate emotions that crowded up at every added suggestion of departure. Even the rector's brother—a bluff and hearty personage, who, out of old friendship for the Asshlin family, had consented to act as best man at the hurriedly arranged wedding—felt his spirits damped; while little Nance, who sat close to her sister, made no pretence whatever at hiding the tears that kept welling into her eyes.
It was with universal relief that at length they rose from the table and filed out into the hall. There, however, a new interruption awaited them. In the shadow of a doorway they caught sight of Hannah, arrayed in her Sunday bonnet and shawl, and still breathless from the walk from Orristown.
At sight of the little party she came forward with a certain ungainly shyness; but catching a glimpse of Clodagh, love conquered every lesser feeling.
"Let me have wan last look at her!" she exclaimed softly. "That's all I'm wantin'."
And as Clodagh turned impulsively towards her, she held out her arms.
"Sure, I knew her before any wan of ye ever sat eyes on her!" she explained, the tears running down her cheeks. "Go on now, miss—ma'am," she added brokenly, pushing Clodagh forward towards the door, and turning to Milbanke with an outstretched hand. "Good-bye, sir! And God bless you!" Her sing-song voice fell, and her hard hand tightened over his. "Take care of her!" she added. "An' don't be forgettin' that she's nothin' but a child still, for all her fine height and her good looks."