If you hear me singin'
again, you'll know he's come back, and ye'd better scoot with what
you've already got, and be thankful."
She shut the door again and locked it, went into the dining-room,
returned with some provisions wrapped in paper, took a common
wicker flask from the wall, passed into her brother's bedroom, and
came out with a flannel shirt, overalls, and a coarse Indian
blanket, and, reopening the door, placed them before the astonished
and delighted vagabond. His eye glistened; he began, "Glory be to
God," but for once his habitual extravagance failed him. Nature
triumphed with a more eloquent silence over his well-worn art. He
hurriedly wiped his begrimed face and eyes with the shirt she had
given him, and catching the sleeve of her rough pea-jacket in his
dirty hand, raised it to his lips.
"Go!" she said imperiously. "Get away while you can."
"Av it vas me last words--it's speechless oi am," he stammered, and
disappeared over the railing.
She remained for a moment holding the door half open, and gazing
into the darkness that seemed to flow in like a tide. Then she
shut it, and going into her bedroom resumed her interrupted
toilette. When she emerged again she was smartly stockinged and
slippered, and even the blue serge skirt was exchanged for a bright
print, with a white fichu tied around her throat. An attempt to
subdue her rebellious curls had resulted in the construction from
their ruins of a low Norman arch across her forehead with pillared
abutments of ringlets.
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