Nora, meanwhile, was counting the days. She had made herself quite au fait with postal regulations during these hours of waiting. She knew exactly the very time when the letter would reach Mr. Hartrick in his luxurious home. She thought she would give him, perhaps, twelve hours, perhaps twenty-four, before he replied. She knew, then, how long the answer would take on its way. The night before she expected her letter she scarcely slept at all. She came down to breakfast with black shadows under her eyes and her face quite wan.
The Squire, busy with his own load of trouble, scarcely noticed her. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan took her place languidly at the head of the board. She poured out a cup of tea for her daughter and another for her husband.
“I must send to Dublin for some better tea,” she said, looking at the Squire. “Can you let me have a pound after breakfast, Pat? I may as well order a small chest while I am about it.”
The Squire looked at her with lack-luster eyes. Where had he got one pound for tea? But he said nothing.
Just then the gossoon Mike was seen passing the window with the post-bag hung over his shoulder. Mike was the postman in general for the O'Shanaghgan household for the large sum of twopence a week. He went daily to fetch the letters, and received his money proudly each Saturday night. Nora now jumped up from the table.
“The letters!” she gasped.
Mrs. O'Shanaghgan surveyed her daughter critically.
“Sit down again, Nora,” she said. “What is the matter with you? You know I don't allow these manners at table.”
“But it is the post, mammy,” said the girl.
“Well, my dear, if you will be patient, Margaret will bring the post in.”