CHAPTER XVIII. THE PEAK OF DESOLATION WHERE GOD WAS.
The Rector paced up and down in front of Grace Connor's little cabin. The Rector's heart was sorely burdened. The stars in their courses, the moon as she came up in the heavens, had no effect upon him. Dominic had gone in search of Maureen. It was impossible to say a word to Grace. Her deafness was of that stony sort that no words could break. She lived in a world of silence—a world of silence absolute and complete.
Grace Connor was not an unhappy old woman. The Silences around her, the Everlasting Hills which surrounded her, gave to this withered old body a strange sensation of peace. She saw immediately that the Rector was troubled, but it was impossible for her to help him. She therefore did not try. She looked at Dominic with the admiration all women had for the brave lad, and when he spoke of Maureen, hoping that his clear young voice would penetrate through the unbroken stillness, she understood him sufficiently to point outwards, and to smile in a vague and yet comforting manner. Then she busied herself, preparing all she could in the way of refreshments for the Rector, the young maid, and the boy.
Pegeen had provided her with eatables and with money to buy more. In her early days Grace had also been quite a famous cook, so now she prepared eggs and bacon and she made coffee in her ancient coffee pot, coffee of the very best description. She laid her little table with a snowy but coarse cloth, and put the coffee on the hob to keep hot, and then she waited with folded hands. She was accustomed to waiting, she had waited for so many long years now. She saw the Rector pace backwards and forwards outside the cabin. She herself personally was not at all troubled. She was sure the young maid would soon come back, but she could not convey this certainty which dwelt in her mind to Mr. O'Brien, for it was only very occasionally she spoke. In fact she had almost lost the power of speech in that stony silence in which she dwelt. She stood and contemplated her own work, her spotless kitchen, nothing forgotten, for the welfare of the hungry wanderers. They would soon be here; she was certain on that point.
But the Rector was not certain. His troubles affected him in a most intense way. A kind of black sorrow had descended on him, the like of which he had never even imagined. As the night grew darker the feelings in his breast became more intense. Suddenly, as they reached a certain pitch of untold agony, the deaf old woman came up and touched him on the sleeve. Her eyes were very bright, and her face full of unfathomable peace.
"Masther," she said, "pray! 'Our Father,' masther."
In an instant the Rector was on his knees, tears were streaming from his eyes. He prayed aloud the prayer of all prayers, and it seemed as though Grace understood him, for she joined her words to his in a kind of rapture. Her cracked old voice sounding the note of hope through life's despair.