"Lave you? But, my darlin'——"
"I must be alone."
Hannah looked at her in agonised concern.
"Miss Clodagh——" she began. But something in Clodagh's stony quiet daunted her. She gave a muffled sob, and moved slowly across the room.
Clodagh was conscious of the wailing sounds of grief for several minutes after she had disappeared; then gradually they faded, as she descended into the lower regions, to share the appalling and yet grimly fascinating news with Burke and the farm-labourers; and silence reigned in the lonely room.
When full consciousness that she was alone came to Clodagh, she let her hands drop from the back of the chair; and, moving stiffly, crossed the room to the fireplace.
She made no attempt to touch the notes that lay as Asshlin had placed them; but she looked at them for long with a species of horror. And at last, as though the thought of them had begotten other thoughts, she raised her eyes to the picture hanging above them—the picture of Anthony Asshlin in his lace ruffles and black satin coat, with his powdered hair, his gallant bearing, and dark eager face.
The eyes of the picture seemed to look into hers with an almost human smile of satire. Time had passed since that gay, reckless presence had filled the old room; dice and duelling were gone out of fashion; but human nature was unchanged—there were still Asshlins of Orristown!
"O God——" she said aloud; then she stopped. "There is no God!" she added wildly—"there is no God!"
At the sudden sound of her voice, Mick rose from the corner where he had been crouching. The sight of him calmed her; she passed her hand once or twice across her eyes, then walked quite steadily across the room.