“I can’t say. Tim and I fought the day, and—”
“Fought? Ay, there’ll be fighting enough before wrong’s made right, Barry. Listen! I’m dying, son, but I must see him before I go.”
“Is it Tim?” said I.
“No.” Then she lifted herself in her bed, and her face was wild and excited as she clutched my hand. “Barry, it’s Gorman I must see—Maurice Gorman. Fetch him to me. Make him come. Tell him I’m a dying woman, and must speak before I go. There’s time yet—go, Barry!”
“Mr Gorman!” exclaimed I. What could my mother want with his honour down at Knockowen?
“Ay, and quickly—or it will be too late.”
Knockowen was across the lough, five miles up above Dunree. It would be hours on a night like this before he could be here. But my mother continued to moan, “Go, Barry—make haste.” So, much against my will, I put on my cap and prepared to leave her alone. At the door she called me back.
“Kiss me, Barry,” said she. Then before I could obey her she fell to raving.
“Give me back the lassie,” she cried, “dead or alive. She’s more to me than all Kilgorman! Trust me, Mr Maurice—I’ll breathe never a word if you’ll but save Mike. It’s false—he never had a hand in it! Some day truth will out—if the lad’s mine no harm shall come to him. I’ll use him against you, Mr Maurice. The truth’s buried, but it’s safe. There’s more than earth under a hearthstone.” And she laughed in a terrible way.
After a minute she opened her eyes again and saw me.