She paused again, as though the subject was too painful to be pursued.
Milbanke looked at her compassionately.
"Has he had proper medical advice?" he asked.
"Oh yes! Doctor Gallagher from Carrigmore has done everything, and we have a trained nurse from Waterford."
"That's right. I must have a talk with the doctor. But how is Denis now? Will he know me, do you think?"
"Oh yes! Ever since the first night he has been quite conscious. He expects you. He's longing to see you."
"Then may I go to him?"
Clodagh nodded; and, turning, led the way silently up the remembered staircase. On the landing, the recollection of their curious interview on his first night at Orristown recurred forcibly to Milbanke. He glanced at his guide to see if it had any place in her mind; but her thoughts were evidently full of other things. With a quick gesture that enjoined silence, she led him down the corridor, upon which rough fibre mats had been strewn to deaden sound.
With that peculiar sensation of awe that serious illness always engenders, he tip-toed after her, a sense of apprehensive depression growing upon him with every step. As they neared the end of the passage, a door opened noiselessly, and two figures emerged from a darkened room. The taller of the two—a pale, emaciated woman, dressed in mourning—was unknown to him; but a glance told him that the latter was little Nance, grown to pretty, immature girlhood.
On catching sight of him, she drew back with a passing touch of the old shyness; but, conquering it almost directly, she came forward and shook hands in silence. In the momentary greeting, he saw that her vivacious little face was red and marred by tears; but before he had time for further observation Clodagh touched his arm.