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"Do you think I'm not doing my best for you, gel--my very best?"
I must have made some kind of assent, for he said:
"Then don't moither me any more, and don't let your Aunt Bridget moither
me--telling me and telling me what I might have done for her own
daughter instead."
At last, with a kind of rough tenderness, he took me by the arm and
raised me to my feet.
"There, there, go to bed and get some sleep. We'll have to start off for
the high Bailiff's early in the morning."
My will was broken down. I could resist no longer. Without a word more I
left him.
Returning to my room I took the letter I had been writing to Father Dan
and tore it up piece by piece. As I did so I felt as if I were tearing
up a living thing--something of myself, my heart and all that was
contained in it.
Then I threw open the window and leant out. I could hear the murmur of
the sea. I felt as if it were calling to me, though I could not
interpret its voice. The salt air was damp and it refreshed my eyelids.
At length I got into bed, shivering with cold.


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