* * * * *
When Stormont came out a great fire of birch-logs was blazing in the living-room, and Darragh stood there, his elbow on the rough stone mantel-shelf.
Stormont came straight to the fire and set one spurred boot on the fender.
"She's warm and dry and sound asleep," he said. "I'll wake her again if you think she ought to swallow something hot."
At that moment the fish-culturist came in with a pot of steaming coffee.
"This is my friend, Ralph Wier," said Darragh. "I think you'd better give Eve a cup of coffee." And, to Wier, "Fill a couple of hot water bags, old chap. We don't want any pneumonia in this house."
When breakfast was ready Eve once more lay asleep with a slight dew of perspiration on her brow.
Darragh was half starved: Stormont ate little. Neither spoke at all until, satisfied, they rose, ready for sleep.
At the door of his room Stormont took Darragh's offered hand, understanding what it implied:
"Thanks, Jim. … Hers is the loveliest character I have ever known. … If I weren't as poor as a homeless dog I'd marry her to-morrow. … I'll do it anyway, I think. … I can't let her go back to Clinch's Dump!"