“Why?—why?—why?”—she asked, and raised despairing eyes to the heavens that only seemed to smile mockingly down. She could not vent her feelings in anger like Paddy—least of all anger with Lawrence—so in her misery she became a prey to those questionings and reasonings which torment each soul confronted suddenly by some strange enigma of existence. Questions of faith, questions of doubt, all the boundless “why and wherefore” of daily being thronged round and hammered unceasingly at her brain, stealing the delicate colour from her cheeks, the light from her eyes, and the elasticity from her steps. In those first troubled days it was curious how Jack and Eileen both turned to the mountains, the one for their companionship, and the other for air. Jack’s troubled horizon made him feel as if he could not breathe—it was like something gripping at his throat; so he strode off up the mountain, where he felt there was more air and a wider sense of freedom. It was torture to him to see Eileen’s white face and flagging health, and not be able to do anything; and ever since Paddy’s outburst he had been ravaged by the thought that had he accepted a man’s responsibilities sooner, instead of frittering away his life, he might possibly have been in a position to oust Lawrence before matters had grown serious. Paddy watched the two of them, and the ache in her heart deepened also; the ache for herself, the ache for Eileen, the ache for him. And with it widened and deepened also her bitterness toward Lawrence. Suddenly in the midst of their joyous life, it was as though a cloud of darkest menace had descended, and she blamed him entirely. Hopeful by nature, she still cherished the belief that things would come all right by and by, and meanwhile she spent nearly all her time with the General. In some way he seemed ailing, and one or two spasms, like heart seizures, had given them all a fright. Mrs Adair did not like him to go about too much alone for fear of another attack, so, as she was not strong enough to walk far herself, Paddy quickly fell into the habit of going with him every day. Eileen would gladly have gone, but she could not chatter like Paddy, and she knew, without feeling the smallest pang of jealousy, which of them the father liked best for a companion. It only seemed natural to her that it should be so, for she had such an admiration for Paddy’s brightness that she felt everyone must in their hearts prefer her. So while sorrow drew Eileen and her mother closer together, failing health did the same for Paddy and her father. Day after day, in any weather, the pair might be seen pacing the road either to Carlingford or Newry—the grey-haired, soldierly man, somewhat bent now, leaning on Paddy’s arm, and the bright-eyed girl chattering briskly all the time about anything or nothing.