A little while after that dinner at Damerstown Nora confessed to me with tears that she had stolen out in my absence and had lain in wait for Richard Dawson.

“And after all, Miss Bawn,” she said, “I was punished, for he only lifted his hat to me and rode away; and I felt as if I must fall in the track of his horse’s feet and implore him to kiss me as he used to.  And he never looked back, Miss Bawn.”

“I am glad to hear it,” I said, feeling that the words were hard and cold.

“I don’t know what’s come over him,” poor Nora said miserably, “unless that, maybe, a good love has come to him at last.  I’d just as soon be dead, Miss Bawn.”

Soon after that she began talking of going to America, and I used to notice that she looked strangely at me.  But I never saw what every one else must have seen; partly, no doubt, because of that old troth between Theobald and me which I thought my grandparents held to be binding.  I ought to have mentioned in its proper place that there had been no cause for Theobald’s weeks of silence, or but a trifling one, and that his letters came as of old and were very full of gay doings.  I noticed that he did not talk now so much of coming back as he had done at first; but at first he had been very lonely for Aghadoe and all of us.

Day by day during that summer the shadow seemed to darken on Lord St. Leger’s face, and my grandmother looked no less harassed.  It was, indeed, cruel to see the faces which had been placid enough, despite the lines of sorrow, becoming so haggard and careworn.  I used to hate to see them so anxiously polite to Garret Dawson, so willing to sit at his table and have him at theirs.  I noticed, too, that they looked strangely at me at times; and I found my grandmother in tears more than once.  It hurt me that she should weep at her age.

Another thing I noticed was that they ceased to talk of Theobald; and when his letters came they would read them without comment, or they would take my news of him without an eager stretching forth of their hands for the letter as of old.  In those days mysteries seemed to gather thick and fast about me.  And I had my own trouble to bear as well.  I used to think that Captain Cardew would have made short work of it all.  He would have swept away the shadowy terrors.  He would have lifted us all into the daylight.  But, alas, he was I knew not where; and his name was never mentioned in the hearing of Lord and Lady St. Leger.

Then the blow fell.  One afternoon Garret Dawson had been to see my grandfather and talked with him alone; and at dinner my grandmother’s face bore traces of tears, and I noticed that my grandfather’s hand shook so that he spilt his wine.  There was not a word spoken, and after a time the silence got on my nerves, so that I began to dread I knew not what, and could almost have burst into tears from the tension.

We had dined where we often dined when we were alone, in a little room, panelled with black oak, which opens off the hall.  It is bright enough when a fire leaps and sparkles in the grate, but it was then too warm for fires, and the room seemed cheerless even while the white cloth was on the table and the lit candles made the silver and glass sparkle.