“Send Dermod at once, will ye?” asked Norah.
“I’ll do that,” said the man, then to Ellen: “I want to speak to you.”
She accompanied Moleskin out on the landing and closed the door behind her.
“Isn’t she a comely wench!” said the man.
“I know that. Is that all ye have to say to me?”
“Why is she in bed at this hour of the day?”
“She’s waitin’ for the meenit,” said Ellen in a low whisper. “She’ll maybe no’ last another twenty-four hours.”
“And she looks the picture of health!” said the man.
Ellen told of the assault on Norah, her narrative bristling with short, sharp, declamatory sentences. When she finished the man pulled some money from his pocket and put it into Ellen’s palm.
“Dermod’s my matey,” he explained apologetically. “I’ll bring the youngster here and we’ll be back in a jiffy. He’s lodgin’ near the wharf. And by heaven! we’ll cure the girl. She’ll be better in next to no time.”