Jack was quite at a loss to understand in what way he had so unexpectedly offended, and for the matter of that Paddy was not much wiser but under her show of determination and spirit her heart was just breaking, and she felt she must go to one extreme or another to keep up at all. And then that he could talk so calmly of her getting married and belonging to someone else? Was it possible he would not care the least little bit if his old playfellow could be the same to him no longer? Did his love for Eileen make her no more of any account at all? Of course it was so—she could see it plainly now; he did not really mind leaving anything or anybody except Eileen; the rest of them were all in a bunch—just people he had been fond of once. Her goaded heart ran on, exaggerating every little detail in its misery, and adding tenfold to its own loneliness; while in every thought she wronged Jack. Before all things he was intensely affectionate and true; and so deep was his distress at leaving his aunts and the old home and each inmate of The Ghan House, that he had given less thought to Eileen than usual, as the day of departure approached. “What have I done, Paddy?” he said, seeing the wild, strained look in her eyes. “Go away,” she said. “Go away to Eileen, and leave me with daddy.” The tears rained down her cheeks, as she turned from him to her father’s grave, and leaning against a tombstone behind it buried her face in her hands, murmuring passionately: “Why did you go away, daddy, when I wanted you so? Didn’t you know I hadn’t anyone else?—that I’d be just all alone? Mother loves Eileen best, and Jack and the aunties love her best, but you and I belonged to each other, and we didn’t mind. It wasn’t kind to go away and leave me. It wasn’t good of God—it was cruel. I’ll be a good son, because I promised, but I’d much rather come to you, and no one would mind. Daddy, daddy, can’t you hear me? Ah! I know you can’t or you’d come to me. You couldn’t stay in Heaven or anywhere else if you knew your Paddy had this awful—awful lonely feeling—you’d just make God let you come back to me. Only you can’t hear, you can’t hear, and I’m all alone—alone. What shall I do through all the long years to come?” She was now in a paroxysm of weeping, all the more intense that she had kept up so long, and Jack was frightened. His impulse was to run and fetch one of the aunts, but something held him back. Instinct told him that there was in Paddy a kindred soul, which would shrink from letting anyone see her in tears if she could possibly help it. So he stood and waited beside her silently, as he would have wished her to do had he been in her place. And when Paddy grew quieter, this action in itself appealed to her more than anything else could have done, and all her anger against him died away. “I’m awfully silly, Jack. I don’t know what you’ll think of me,” she said, trying to stay the tears. “I think you’re rather unkind,” he answered.