“Where’s Paddy’s Milestone?”
“It’s a big rock out in the middle of the sea, half-way between Ireland and Scotland,” said Dermod.
“Oh, is that it?... What kind of time had ye in Tyrone?”
“Not so bad, but Scotland will be a better place.... Is old Master Diver livin’ away?”
“Dead, God rest his soul. He was only ill for three days. And poor Maire a Crick is gone as well.”
“She was as old as the Glenmornan hills. And old Oiney Dinchy?”
“He got one of his eyes knocked out with the horns of a cow. That was because the priest put the seven curses on him; but that was before ye went away.”
“Is Fergus writin’ home now?”
“We haven’t heard hilt nor hair of him for a long while,” said Norah sadly. “Maybe it is that he is dead.” “Don’t say that!” Dermod exclaimed, fixing a pair of sad eyes on the girl.
“Well, it is a wonder that we’re not hearin’ from him,” Norah went on, “a great wonder entirely.... Your face is very.... Is it sore now?”