Ellen shook her head sadly. “Lungs canna be put back again once they’re gone,” she said. “But hurry and bring Dermod Flynn here.”
The man turned and clattered downstairs.
III
“MOLESKIN Joe is an old friend of mine,” said Ellen, coming in and counting the money as she made her way towards the bed. “Thirty bob—two—two fifteen—three, three punds nine and sixpence!” she cried. “And Dermod will be here in a meenit.... My goodness! what’s gang wrang wi’ ye, child?”
Norah was lying unconscious on the bed, a stream of blood issuing from her lips. One pale white hand was stretched over the blue lettering of the blanket, the other was doubled up under her body.
“Poor Norah Ryan!” exclaimed Ellen, opening the window and drawing back the clothes from the girl’s chest. “It’s the excitement that’s done it.... Wake up, Norah! It’s me, Ellen, that’s speakin’ to ye. Ye ken me, don’t ye?”
She placed her hand on Norah’s breast. Although her hand had lost most of its delicacy of touch she could feel the heart beating faintly, almost like the wing of a butterfly flickering against the net in which it is imprisoned.
“She’ll be better in a wee meenit! There, she’s comin’ to. She’ll ken me as soon as she opens her eyes!” said Ellen, and she nearly cried with joy.
In a little while Norah recovered and looked round with large, puzzled eyes; then, as if recollecting something—
“Is he comin’?” she asked eagerly, but so softly that Ellen had to bend down to catch the words. “He was the kind-hearted boy, Dermod,” she went on. “I always liked him better than anyone, Ellen.... ’Twas the bad girl that I was ... and I’m a burden on ye more than on anyone else.”