I
TIME wore on and Norah lived for the most part in a world of fancy, spoke to imaginary individuals and at moments addressed Ellen as Sheila Carrol or as Maire a Glan. Sometimes she was gloomy and reserved, made folds in the sheet, murmured in an almost inaudible voice, and seemed to be calculating distances. The least movement of the left arm pained her and caused her to groan aloud. Now and again her eyes were dull, heavy, and glassy; at other times they were re-lit and sparkled like stars. She ate next to nothing; wrinkles formed round her eyes, her cheeks were sunken; she became the shadow, the ghost of her former self.
After a while the name of Dermod Flynn entered into her prattle; at first she spoke of him, eventually she spoke to him as if he were in the room. When her mind resumed its normal state all this was forgotten. Once Ellen spoke to her of Dermod Flynn.
“I would like to see him again, just once,” Norah said, then added: “I’m a heart-break to ye, Ellen; to everybody that I ever met. I’m like a little useless wean, useless, of no use at all.”
Acting on Norah’s wishes a priest was called in, heard Norah’s confession and administered the sacraments. This made the girl happy for many days. Ellen disliked priests, but never gave hint of her dislike to Norah.
“Ye’re sic a funny little thing,” she exclaimed more than once. “I took a fancy to ye when I saw ye for the first time that mornin’ on Greenock Quay along wi’ Dermod Flynn. He was a comely laddie, and I would like to see him comin’ here.”
“I wonder where’ll he be now?” said Norah.
“I wunner.”
II
SPRING was over the town. The sun shone almost daily through the window and rested on Norah’s bed; the birds twittered on the roof; their songs, even in the city slums, were filling the air.