When they were back again in the big drawing room Nora gave Molly a wild look.
“Come out,” she said; “at least out of doors the air is the same as of old.”
Molly caught up a shawl and wrapped it round her head; but Nora went out just as she was.
“You'll catch cold,” said English Molly.
“I catch cold in my native land!” replied Irish Nora. “How little you know me! Oh, come, Molly, I am going to be wild; I am going to give way.”
They both stepped outside on the broad gravel sweep. The moon was up, and it was shining over everything. In the moonlight Castle O'Shanaghgan looked very much as it had done before. The moon had always glorified the old place, and it glorified it still. Nora stood and gazed around her; up to the tops of the mountains, with their dark summits clearly defined against the evening sky; across the wide breadth of the Atlantic; over the thick plantations, the fields, and the huge trees in the background.
“It's all the same,” she said, with a glad laugh; “thank God it is all the same. Even your father, Molly, cannot destroy the place outside, at least.”
“Oh Nora, it is such a lovely, lovely place!” said Molly. “Cannot you be happy in it with its modern dress?”
“Happy,” said Nora, suddenly brought back to her sense of misery by the word. “I am thankful that my father is not so ill; but—but you must help, Molly. Promise that you will.”
“I am sure I'd do anything in the world,” said Molly. “I think I have been very good to-day. I have kept in my naughty words, Jehoshaphat and Moses and Elephants, and all the rest. What do you want me to do, Nora?”