The doctor looked at the woman and knew that she was speaking from the depths of her heart.
II
ANOTHER fortnight, and the tang of spring was in the air. Ellen had procured work as a charwoman in a large school, and being a good, reliable worker, several smaller jobs came her way. Her wages now amounted to nine shillings a week. Norah had recovered a little; the cough was not as hard as formerly; the pain under her left shoulder-blade had lost its sting, but, though hardly noticeable, it was always there. At first Ellen found it difficult to induce Norah to stop in bed; the girl wanted to get about and do some work. Only when she got to her feet did Norah become fully conscious of the weakness in her legs and spine.
As she lay there in her narrow bed she could discern through the cracked window the sky, always sombre grey and covered with low, sagging clouds. Now and again she could see a homing crow fly past on lazy wings or perhaps a white sea-gull turning sharply far up in the sky with a glint of sunshine resting on its distended wings. And often on a clear night, when the moonbeams filtered through the ragged blind, Norah would dream of Frosses, and the sea, the old home, with the moon rising over the hills of Glenmornan and lighting up the coast of Donegal.
“I have been a great trouble to ye, Ellen,” Norah said one evening, turning round in the bed and looking earnestly at her friend. “I seem to be only a trouble to everyone that I meet, and now to yerself most of all. Ye have been the great friend to me, Ellen.”
“Haud yer tongue, ye muckle simple hussy,” said Ellen with a smile, sorting the blankets on the bed. “Now gang to sleep and dinna let me hear ye fash any longer. Are ye happy?”
“I’m very happy, Ellen, waitin’ for the minit.”
“What are ye haverin’ aboot, silly lassie?”
“I used to build castles on Dooey Strand, that’s home in Donegal, when I was wee,” said Norah. “And then when they were big and high the tide would come in and sweep them away in one little minit. Them castles were like people’s lives. Used ye to make castles in the sand when ye were wee, Ellen?”
“Not in the sand, but in the air, Norah,” said Ellen reminiscently. “I began the bad life gey early. My mither—she wasna what some people might cry vera guid; but she was my mither, Norah. Maybe I wasna wanted when I came, but she had the pain o’ bringin’ me forth. Well, I kent most things before I was sixteen years auld. Sixteen is an age when a girl dinna weigh her actions, and sixteen likes pretty dresses, and sixteen disna like to starve. Though we were poor and often hungry I kept pure for a long while. But to tell the truth I didna think it worth it in the end, Norah.”