The woman sat down on the orange box and looked curiously round, first at the lighted lamp, then at the fire, then at Norah, and afterwards back to the fire again.
“Hae ye got siller the noo, lassie?” she exclaimed at last. “Has yer rich uncle kicked the bucket? Fire and light the noo and everything? Ah! what’s this?” she exclaimed, bending down and lifting a half-smoked cigarette from the floor. She looked at it for a moment, then threw it into the flames.
“Has it come to this, Norah Ryan?” she asked, and a faint touch of regret mingled with the woman’s tones.
Norah, who was bending over the child, turned round fiercely; for a moment she looked like some beautiful animal cornered in its own lair.
“It has come to this, Meg Morraws!” she shouted. “Did ye think that I couldn’t sell my soul? I would do anything under heaven to save my boy; that’s the kind of me, Meg Morraws. I’ve money now and Dermod won’t die. I won’t let him die!... What wouldn’t I do for him, child of my own and of my heart?... It’s ill luck that’s drawin’ me to ruin, Meg, but not the boy. He can’t help the sickness and it’s myself that has got to make him well again.... I had whisky this night: that made me brave. I could.... Isn’t it time that ye were in bed, Meg Morraws? I’m not feelin’ kind towards anyone but the child. I want no one here but Dermod, my little boy.”
Meg went into her room, closing the door softly behind her. Norah took some money—five shillings—from her pocket and put it on the mantelpiece, under the picture of the Virgin and Child. It made a tinkling sound as she put it down and the silver coins sparkled brightly.
Then she turned down the light, threw some more coals on the fire, and taking the child from the bed she sat down and held the little bundle of pink flesh against her bosom. She could hear the water bubbling from the tap out on the landing; the noise of footsteps on the stairs; loud, vacant laughter from No. 8. Why did those women laugh, Norah wondered.... The fire blazed brightly, and as she raised her eyes she could see the silver coins on the mantelpiece shining like stars.
III
SOMEONE rapped; and receiving no answer, the caretaker, the woman with the red wisps of hair, and a string for a neck, poked her head through the door.
“Not in bed yet, Norah Ryan?” she asked.